"For One A Long Time Gone"

You loved her for a time,
And that was no small thing.
Two processions chime;
You loved her for a time

And died. In such a clime
Of thwarts no more I bring:
You loved her for a time.
And that was no small thing.


"When the sirocco blows the human skin perspires, the cheekbones sparkle in faces dripping with grimy sweat and overlaid with a black down which leaves a dirty moist shadow about eyes, lips and ears. Even voices sound thick and lazy, and words have an unwonted meaning, a mysterious significance, as though they belonged to a forbidden jargon. The people walk in silence, as though oppressed by a secret anguish, and the children spend long hours seated mutely on the ground, nibbling crusts of bread or fruit black with flies, or looking at the cracked walls on which can be seen the motionless outlines of lizards, embedded by mildew in the ancient plaster. The air is heavy with the perfume of the brilliant carnations which stand in terra-cotta vases on the window-sills. The voice of a woman, singing, ascends now from this side, now from that: the song echoes slowly from window to window, coming to rest on the sills like a weary bird." --Malaparte, op cit

"Ten years ago, a man wearing a plain V-neck tee and drinking a Pabst would never be accused of being a trend-follower." Momus responds.


Yma on YouTube. (from Secret of the Incas)