The Spanish Poems of John Clare

Sleepy Spain

I wander into a tiny bar
    the football screen
    a plate of salted almonds
    six barrels on the wall

    a glass
    crystal clear
    with manzanilla
    a plate
    with large green olives

the barman is
sitting on a box
at the bottom of the garden
talking to his chickens
as we watch the football
    in southern sleepy Spain

    * * * * *

a grid of streets
a ruined castle juts
on a rock
above the sea

the bodega next door
is open
it is cool inside
a row of barrels on the floor
manchego cheese
and black
passos puro
sticks to the inside of my glass
    in sleepy Spain

    * * * * *

a plate of prawns
a dish of mussels
an ice cold fino

a group of friends
home from work
talk
then jump to song
and clap their hands
she uses sticks like castanets
as speech
wanders back
from words
to pure rhythm
    it's how they speak
    in sleepy Spain

    * * * * *

the sand goes on
sifting through my toes
drift wood curves
like a snake on the beach
cold gazpacho waits
on the table
a glass of sangria in my hand
I look out to sea
    from sleepy Spain

    * * * * *

I sit on the roof
of a house in Baza
below is the tiny square
the lights from windows
echo the moon
lighting a fantasy world
in the cool dark air

somewhere a girl is singing
la paloma
and her voice bounces
off the windows
slides over the roofs
and splashes into the cistern
next to where I sit
    in sleepy Spain

    * * * * *

it is hot
we have eaten all the bread
tomatoes and cheese
the empty bottle lies beside us
the almond blossom
blows in the slight breeze
landing like butterflies
on the yellow oxalis

i heap the flowers over you
like a bright spring skirt
I'd meant to lift
before i fell asleep
in flowers
    in sleepy Spain