Apologies to Lorca -------- Koon Woon

Apologies to Lorca

I am in a city without time

Where food and sex are squeezed out of tubes.

The three friends ascend the green balustrade

To view the changeless sea from the balcony,

Concluding with infinite sadness

That beneath the green, green waters, fathoms

Deep, lie early sunken Greek ships with corroding

Treasures.

I am in a house without a number,

Where food and sleep come at unpredictable hours.

Maria hides behind the purple curtains

As the three friends descend the balustrade,

Talking of white horses with black manes

And comparing the saddle to the mantle piece.

By and by came Lorca himself speaking sadly to his friends:

“Mocitoes, if I can, this house is your house,

And your horse is my horse,

But I am no longer I and my house is no longer my house.”

The three friends bid the old man adios

And vanished in the Andalusian air.

It is said that sadly from Maria’s green, green eyes,

Silver tears began to flow

As the moon climbs further with the night.

I am in a city without a name, galloping

On a horse from the high mountain pass,

heading toward the water, where the silvery streaks

In the moonlight tell of countless sorrows

In a note in a bottle with the script of the Chinese Empress

That no one can read.

Finding the bottle and leaving it remaining on the beach,

The three friends gallop now to another city,

Another city without time,

As the waves undulant, undulant roll in.

Beneath these fathoms of green, green water,

Lie sunken ships with useless treasures.

Koon Woon