A Portrait of Antonio Machado (Edit) (Other) by Sasha
My boyhood is all memories of a patio in Sevilla,
And how an orchard bore its share of lemons come the fall,
My growing up: some twenty years in regions of Castilla
The rest of it's a thing or two I'd rather not recall.
I'm not a playboy, never been Don Juan or gone for Juliet.
-You know I'd never fit the part. My style is dull and old-
Yet Cupid had an arrow with my name and I endured it
But only loved the girls I knew would have a friendly soul.
Although my veins are pulsing blood enough for revolution
My poetry comes flowing from some from a well that's calm and pure,
And more than any guy around who knows the catichism,
I'm truly "good" at heart in every good sense of the word.
Itâs beauty I aspire to. With the sheers of new asthetics
I've cut some ancient roses from the garden of Ronsard,
But I disdain that modernistic dappling of cosmetics,
I'm not a fan of muses singing latest avant-garde.
But hell with lovey-dovey tunes of certain hollow tenors,
The choirs of unceasing crickets crooning at the moon.
I quiet down to try and tell the voices from the echos,
And out of all the voices heard I listen for just one.
Am I romantic, or a classic? Donât know. But I rather
Would leave my poems somewhat as a captain leaves his blade:
Famed for the manly hand whose fingers brandished it in battle
And not the learned forgerâs fist that had the metal made.
I hold a conversation with a guy who's always with me
-The man that talks alone may talk with God someday in grace-
What I soliloquize is only chatting with this fellow
Who taught me all the secret things of how to love my race.
I don't owe you a thing, you see, you owe me for my writings.
I go about my work with care. I scrimp and save to buy
The clothes and suit that warm me up, the roof to bar the weather,
The bread that helps me stay alive, the bed in which I lie.
And when the day arrives when I must make the final voyage,
The ship that never comes again will lift the anchor free.
You'll find me boarded with the crew, with very little luggage
With scarce a rag upon my back, like children of the sea.
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January 13, 2007 10:21 AM PST
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