By the river Genil lovers sing what belongs to the water, a shoemaker sings the dream he had, his helper the dream he didn’t, a man sings to the woman on the broken mattress, death at midday sings, on the banks of the Darro a blind thief collecting golden poplars sings, and so does the crevice of quivers, the saints flaming in la Sierra and the men rehearsing a country. They know nothing stays, but when Whitman sings— they allow his voice to take them apart.
From Poet in Andalucía by Nathalie Handal. Copyright © 2012 by Nathalie Handal. Reprinted with permission of University of Pittsburgh Press. All rights reserved.