Sketches of Spain

1.
Deep, inside Spain

I entered you at Valcarlos
I’ve not yet come out again
I’ve been up, down and all around your Picos
So when will you speak to me, Spain?


2.
Señoras como Dolores

You look out the corner of your eye
as you pass by

No wonder, for I
am outside a monastery

A dead giveaway -
here today and gone tomorrow

That’s true of me
but Dolores

it still causes me
sorrow

that I can’t know you
except as this momentary vision

borrowed at great cost
Maybe it’s for the best

How much more
might I have lost

in your fiery prison
　
　
3.
Haiku: Spanish autumn

Evening in the park
Boy kisses his girl loudly
Just before I pass


4.
Alone in Pamplona

No stampede, this time of year
No trampling people underfoot
None of that bullshit
Sampling the goods
Students in floods
Real handful, I bet

I’m tramping along
the streets
of Pamplona
Exploring the historical zone
all alone

But I’m not the only one

No camp-sites
or none known of
Starting to sweat
Damp patches won’t be shown
They’re hid in my armpits

Stamping along
Lost even with a map
Need no more examples
There’s already ample
of my simplicity

Once more I pull
the guidebook from my bag
Just need to find the hostel
before people start smelling me

Indeed, they seem to be telling me
not to ramble too close
unless I’m spending euros

But the symbol of
the Union Jack flows
past on their clothes,
the young scrambling
to let each other know
they’re cool

They’re cool to me too
but sometimes they seem cruel

Mustn’t grumble
I almost stumble on a kerbstone
fumbling with my phone
Nearly took a tumble
that would’ve humbled me even more

That could’ve been a funny story
among the mumbles and the hubbub
of the pub

Freedom to roam
complete freedom
means being alone

I remember I could be home
so I dismember my grumbles
and I amble
up to the cathedral

This was a gamble
for it takes some cojones
to crumble into flakes
the rumble of fakes
phoneys
and moaners
who dissemble
that only an assembly
can take a break
from their own country
for an exploratory
holiday

And what can they
learn anyway

from crumpled napkins
cramped conversation
about humdrum things

for which again they pay
Does it make them feel like someone?

I feel like someone


5.
In Zamora Cathedral

The tapestries in Zamora Cathedral
are remarkable

That’s why they’re there
on show

But what about the people
there to see it all?

They just get in the way
Out of the way, sheep!

Couldn’t you find this place by yourselves?
Instead, you pay to be shepherded

Can’t you go to the toilet by yourselves?
Can’t you even sleep….?

Ah yes, beautiful tapestries
but dead
and therefore dead boring

But there’s no ignoring this guided group
as they stoop under each arch
looking bored

Would they rather be alone and free?
Has the thrill of company gone?

At least they can go for a drink
in their twos and threes

Then they can talk briefly about
what they came here to see

and argue strenuously
about what they’ve bought

Me, I’ve only seconds to interact...

Mmm, nice eyes
looking at me with interest
which I return with interest

The freeze returns
as her guide turns to the frieze

and his drone
echoes up to and all around the dome

We have to stop
weaving around each other
living
invisible
tapestries
　
　
6.
La Mancha

Yellow and brown
Spotted with countless clumps of green

An endless tablecloth
The distant hills are its rumples

It sometimes gets you down
But you can’t just slide off


7.
Santiago Cathedral

Why don’t they scrape off the moss?
Yellow growth covering carved stone
slowly becoming a real-life Gaudí
Or could it be
that without the moss
it would be too gaudy?

Poor beggar women
Have they spent years queuing
to own this doorway?
Have they plotted and poisoned
to sit in your way
besotted with their hungry children
but in no rush to earn more pay?
Are there beggar women in Norway
Or would sitting there be too chilling?
Maybe the law would claw them away
and house them humanely under a ceiling
so they can’t spoil your day

You can’t put your arms around a memory
but you can put them around a statue
For this moment, they queue
St James was never buried here, they tell me
but it’s fun to pretend he was
There’s life in the old apostle yet
if they want to postulate this
preposterous though it is
for if there was no gilded protector
here
there’d be another pretender
for there are plenty in the pilgrim sector
Santiago’s numero uno
that’s clear
but I wonder where we could trek to
next year?
　
　
8.
In a Basque Country garden
(to the tune of ‘In an English country garden’)

All grab your paint pots, only red and white
For your old Basque Country houses

Space your houses quite far apart
All your old Basque Country houses

If you see a stranger
Keep your eyes open
Question what they’re doing

We’re all the same, anti-Spanish as can be
In our old Basque Country houses