On the fast train you wondered why the trains in England were so slow. Fascism was always in a rush to get to the future. You hurtled past a built-up environment: cement-trees-cement, your life flashing past you. The slowing down of a train into a platform, the muffled voices in the loudspeakers, the bustle of departures and arrivals, is a thing of beauty in the world.
Everything in Madrid seemed new, even the parks. At least compared to the south. Here you saw radiant new lovers hand in hand in the park, speaking freely with one another whereas deep down, in Cordoba, Al-andalus, all that lost country, there were only restrained glances and dark faces. The south is a dusty place, full of people sleepwalking to their death. The taxi driver stopped the car. "Why have you stopped?" I gestured. He nodded his head towards a woman crossing the street, her hips swinging wildly from side to side.
You searched out the cheapest meal, the place where you'd have to say as few as words as possible. Did con carne mean with meat, or without. 'Con', your mind told you, meant together, as you walked alone. Without any knowledge of a place, without any words, well, you could be an American or an Englishman, just another passer by, someone who will add a bit of green to the economy. Stick to the fish, even when inland. In Madrid you were told people party until 3 a.m. You went to the Prado and saw Goya's black pictures instead, choosing to be reminded of how much Spain loves the spilling of blood...
What is a kaffir? you said to yourself, looking into the mirror. The tall, elegant windows opened onto a blank wall. "It's the cheapest room we've got," said the man. You just spoke the magic words, I replied. In the lobby old men with thick moustaches and blue blazers read the newspapers with such repose, as if they were sitting in the balcony of their own homes!
Every poet/academic/ tourist/ junkie, walks around in the city in a state of bewilderment, invisible and precisely because so, the most visible. You think to yourself: the disappearance of a letter can take the plural and make it singular. Each person walks around in his own desert. It is said in an old poem of the desert that a man is half his tongue,and half his heart. And if you lose both?
~~~
You return to London and it is like being smacked in the eye. Despite all the bridges London seems like a very unromantic city. Madrid appeared formal, elegant, and far more beautiful-well, at least from the sky.
Everything in Madrid seemed new, even the parks. At least compared to the south. Here you saw radiant new lovers hand in hand in the park, speaking freely with one another whereas deep down, in Cordoba, Al-andalus, all that lost country, there were only restrained glances and dark faces. The south is a dusty place, full of people sleepwalking to their death. The taxi driver stopped the car. "Why have you stopped?" I gestured. He nodded his head towards a woman crossing the street, her hips swinging wildly from side to side.
You searched out the cheapest meal, the place where you'd have to say as few as words as possible. Did con carne mean with meat, or without. 'Con', your mind told you, meant together, as you walked alone. Without any knowledge of a place, without any words, well, you could be an American or an Englishman, just another passer by, someone who will add a bit of green to the economy. Stick to the fish, even when inland. In Madrid you were told people party until 3 a.m. You went to the Prado and saw Goya's black pictures instead, choosing to be reminded of how much Spain loves the spilling of blood...
What is a kaffir? you said to yourself, looking into the mirror. The tall, elegant windows opened onto a blank wall. "It's the cheapest room we've got," said the man. You just spoke the magic words, I replied. In the lobby old men with thick moustaches and blue blazers read the newspapers with such repose, as if they were sitting in the balcony of their own homes!
Every poet/academic/ tourist/ junkie, walks around in the city in a state of bewilderment, invisible and precisely because so, the most visible. You think to yourself: the disappearance of a letter can take the plural and make it singular. Each person walks around in his own desert. It is said in an old poem of the desert that a man is half his tongue,and half his heart. And if you lose both?
~~~
You return to London and it is like being smacked in the eye. Despite all the bridges London seems like a very unromantic city. Madrid appeared formal, elegant, and far more beautiful-well, at least from the sky.
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