Poetic Inspiration

Nadie me salvará de este naufragio

si no es tu amor, la tabla que procuro,

si no es tu voz, el norte que pretendo.

Eludiendo por eso el mal presagio

de que ni en ti siquiera habré seguro,

voy entre pena y pena sonriendo.

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No-one can save me from this shipwreck,

only your love, the floating plank for which I search,

only your voice, the direction for which I strive.

To avoid, therefore, the evil portent

that not even in you will I find a safe haven,

I go from pain to pain, smiling.

                  De “Tengo estos huesos hechos a las penas”

por Miguel Hernandez

I spent yesterday in Orihuela – the birthplace of Miguel Hernandez. He is the type of poet I love – awfully sad, reflective on his past, full of passions. Orihuela is a beautiful place. It reminded me of Cascais, Portugal in the way that it is the colorful and quiet home to a less-than-well-off population of people. The colors, though, for me anyway, mask the poverty in a way that highlights its rusticity. There was an apartment for a sale in a small orange building with a balcony and a small chair that seemed perfect for sitting and thinking.

Hernandez is infused in the city. He is in its soul. I sometimes feel like Albany lacks inspiration; that there is no “vibe” there. In Albany I can only write about silly boys and drinking too much but in Spain there is so much to see, so much to feel. Outside of the school where Hernandez spent two years of his childhood were enthusiastic boys with mischief in their eyes. Around the corner a street was blocked off by the policia while the townsfolk whispered and wondered what had happened. Inside of the cathedral was a serenity and a sense of reverence for God that guilted me into timidez and influenced a silent prayer.

Even now, as I write back in Alicante, I can hear Tomás singing. His voice flutters across the courtyard. It is honey, sweet and pure. Unrefined. I can’t make out all of the words but I can hear 'libertad', 'felicidad', 'Hermosa'. He tells me that he is a pacifist but that trouble always finds him. “I am just living”. 

This place is magical. Every day I have to remind myself that there is actually a reality waiting back for me across the Atlantic. That thought keeps me from floating too far off the ground. I'm thinking, though, that I should just let myself hover for a little bit. I'll be grounded soon enough.