Sunday 23 June 2013

"Port Bou" (1933) by Sylvia Townshend Warner

Through the ruined walls
the unflawed sea.
And to the smell of sunned
earth and of salt
sea is added a third
smell that cries; Halt!
I am what will be

familiar to you
by this journey's end.
I am, stale, the smell
of the fire that quenced
the fire on this hearth, that brought
down these walls, that wrenched
this wound in the ground.

I am the smell
on all the winds of Spain.
I am the stink in the nostrils
of the men of Spain.
I have taken the place
of the incense at the burial,
I have usurped the breath
of the rose plucked for the bridal,
I am the odour of the wreath
that is held out for heroes
to behold and breathe.
I cordial the heart,
I refresh the brain,
I strengthen the resolved fury
of those who fight for Spain.

No comments:

Post a Comment