Backstreets
You go from the beaches turn away from the waters
and walk with your warder through this catholic prison,
through the streets of this city where innocents die
and the guilty confess to pitiless crimes
in hide-bound confessionals of dark white-washed churches
that strut in the streets and the heart-breaking alleys
with washing at windows and black widows waving
as you consciously wander through past sins and problems
forgetting remembering the squares with their fountains
with their saints and their statues in cold heartless marble,
with swords without edges and tongues sharp as grass
that cuts you with silence as it slips through your fingers
whilst bitter and bleeding you wander through labyrinths
of meaningless shortcuts leading to churches
and stationary statues that threaten with footsteps
until you come out at last to the light and the sea
Commentary:
Another Golden Oldie, this time from my poetry book Broken Ghosts, published by Goose Lane (Fredericton, 1986). It dates from time spent in Spain (1969-1971) and recalls walking in tiny seaside towns along the north coast (Cantabria) without being specific to any single place, although Castro Urdiales, Comillas, Laredo, Santander, and Zarauz all conjure up similar visions and memories. A single sentence, the poem can be read in one breathless breath.
This is an oldie that is truly golden, Roger. The images are evocative. Hope you are keeping warm. 😊💐
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Written so long ago, Tanya, but it brings back memories (time and place). I’m working on a selected … it will be fun to see how the old poems stack up.
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I can’t wait to read it.
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Thanks,Tanya. I am working on it with one of my close friends, an excellent poet herself.
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Beautiful language, Roger, and so full of imagery. This is wonderful!
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Thanks, Meg. It was one of my favorites. I’m working on a selected and trying some of the old ones out here. This is one of them.
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Excellent! Love it!
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