Tango
~ by Joanne de Longchamps
Our longest love will not outlive us
but go down crying in the cold
of those sealed countries walled within.
Heat dictates the tango years
and we outlive our gliding loves,
outstay our spring and summer selves
repenting of the coldest change
when forward looking turned its face
to looking back.
See
all our moons ascend and snap
like children's lost balloons of light.
Over meadows moulting down,
hot landscapes alter to a thin
God-fearing city spiked with spires,
robbed of roses and of swans.
Rivers carried prints of leaves,
sucked sweetness in a riot of sun
where ice has settled down to stay—
trees are gallows waving ghosts.
There is nothing to be done but this:
Take grief to bed, last chilly lover
who will be faithful kissing in the cold.
Can anyone translate the message written on the back of this old postcard in 1928 (or was it 1916...I am not sure)? And, while Barcelona is on your mind may I suggest that you visit Carlos Lorenzo at his marvelous Barcelona Photoblog.....
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9 comments:
The chap standing behind her could almost be Zorro
Slight tangent, as am unable to translate the postcard - there was a summer hit here in the 70s called Una Paloma Blanca - all about partying in spain, no doubt. But the funny thing is that a band called The Wurzels did an alternate version sung in West Country accents "I Am A Cider Drinker"
ooh-arr, ooh-arr
There is nothing to be done but this:
Take grief to bed, last chilly lover
who will be faithful kissing in the cold.
oh chills indeed. well this is a depressing thought! i am going to take a warm stuffed animal to bed with me instead. and in the end, i hope it is not grief but gratitude that i kiss last :^) ( i could be naive....)
lydia, i covet correspondence with a thick ink pen or feather! it is so beautiful
love
kj
Pixies~ Wow, what a strange 70s summer hit that must have been. I was going to say that I am impressed you remembered it, but both versions were probably so strange that they would be difficult to forget. :)
kj~ It's a miserable way to think of the ending of a life. But it's probably more common than we want to believe.
I covet that kind of correspondence too. My dear blogging friend in Vienna sends real mail (and vice versa) and I adore it!
I love the use of hot and cold, and seasons. It's moving. And tragic.
Amber Lee~ The author was a college writing professor of mine. There always was a tragic sense about her, even before her beloved son committed suicide...
The address is definitely German, Lydia, but I can't find one identifiable German word in the text. It does't seem to be Spanish either. Maybe Catalan. The date is 16 January 1928.
And well do I remember Joanne de Longchamps. Lovely poem.
bfk~ Thank you for the info. Clears a bit of the mystery, anyway.
Her book, Torn by Light is full of deep dark loveliness.
Rivers carried prints of leaves
sucked sweetness in a riot of sun
where ice has settled down to stay
trees are gallows waving ghosts.All the places is very beautiful and must be more attractive sides in there.
Barcelona~ Thank you for your beautiful poem! I appreciated your visit.
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