Monday, June 12, 2006

The Ballad of The Moon

The Ballad of the Moon

The moon came into the fore
her bustle of flowering nard.
The little boy stares at her, stares.
The boy is staring hard.
In the shaken air
the moon moves her arms,
and shows lubricious and pure,
her breasts of hard tin.
"Moon, moon, moon, run!
If the gypsies come,
they will use your heart
to make white necklaces and rings."
"Let me dance, my little one.
When the gypsies come,
they'll find you on the anvil
with your lively eyes closed tight."
Moon, moon, moon, run!
I can feel their horses come."
"Let me be, my little one,
don't step on me,
all starched and white!"
Closer comes the the horseman,
drumming on the plain.
The boy is in the forge;
his eyes are closed.
Through the olive grove
come the gypsies,
dream and bronze,
their heads held high,
their hooded eyes.
Oh, how the night owl calls,
calling, calling from its tree!
The moon is climbing through the sky
with the child by the hand.
They are crying in the forge,
all the gypsies, shouting, crying.
The air is veiwing all,
views all.
The air is at the viewing.
Garcia Lorca


Blogger KidKawartha said...

You gotta stop posting these wonderful pieces of poetry that a literary redneck like myself can't dive into even after 3 or 4 readings. ;) Poetry was always so hard for me, my mind spinning like a nuclear cascade all the time. I'd get these brutal headaches trying to read Shakespeare- trying to force my brain to read slow enough to actually comprehend under the surface.
JD says that mznicky is conspicuously absent from the General's threads lately........
How's life in the great state of Missouri? Your Cards are doing fine, Pujols injury notwithstanding, but the Mets are flying right now, too.
Jays are playing well, considering we once again have a crew of so-so starters, excepting the Doc who smoked the Orioles with a complete game 6-hitter two days ago.
Watching my Netherlands team in the World Cup is a lot of fun, too.

3:02 PM  
Blogger durrati said...

Sorry about the Lorca, at times I think you must read him for the simple pleasure of the feelings he evokes, rather than searching for some obscure meaning.....
I must write the General again, I really like his sense of humor...
Good luck to yer Jays I saw they climbed to within one game today. Hopefully the Cards will tread water til the return of Prince Albert; and hopefully the rumors are not true :(

4:53 PM  
Blogger KidKawartha said...

No need to apologize, brother, and thanx for the advice- it is beautiful writing about one of favorite parts of life- a rich, dark night, preferably summertime.
Which rumours are we speaking of? Something permanent with Albert?

4:55 PM  
Blogger durrati said...

Rumors of enhancing drug use....

6:10 PM  
Blogger KidKawartha said...

Aaaaahhhhh. Following in the footsteps of the great Barry Bonds, is he? Who I think should be stripped of his home runs.

8:03 PM  
Blogger durrati said...

not sure yet,we'll see....I hope not.

3:32 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I love the poem. Thanks for pointing me towards Lorca. Hope all is well with everyone. Been absent cause my Aunt just passed away.

3:33 PM  
Blogger durrati said...

sorry, to hear,what.:(

3:57 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thank you, you are a pal. There is a season, and it was time. She was 95, sharp as a tack till the end, but all her beloveds had already gone, and she wanted to go. I only wish she had a painless death. You don't know how many times over the past few weeks I've thought about euthanasia, just to relieve her pain. There was no chance that she could have survived, so we had to sit and watch her sleep, struggling for breath, moaning when the nurses had to turn her over, invade her dearly held privacy and bathe her. It was not humane, but she's at peace now.

5:35 PM  
Blogger durrati said...


I went through the smae thing with my father. H e struggled and fought mightily and endured too much pain. On the other hand he gave us moments of lucidity and dementia through which we gained valuable insight into his life, most especially his childhood. I feel selfish for enjoying the wisecracks and dreams that he shared with us, enduring his pain. Guilty and enriched. A hellavu quandry....

6:54 PM  

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