La Caleta vs…
En la Caleta yo veía el infinito
besarse con el horizonte.
Luchaba contra olas
andaba sobre el sandbank,
nadaba y aprendí a nadar.
Ahí en la Caleta,
entre las rocas tras la Mamela
cazando cangrejos,
mi hermano a los cinco años comenzó
su Marine Biology degree.
El oleaje oleaba free
y entre sombrillas y barracas
al son del dado en la Tablita
otra cosa que aprendí,
es que la magia existe
there is no noubt,
y la manejan viejos
-que no tan viejitos
pues erá yo el shikitito-
en los momentos
en que los pairs
sincronizaban
sus cashonfingas
con sus tiradas
partiendo el flow
del otro pair
poniendo risa
sobre despair,
manejando el cubo
cual vara mágica
y así saca’,
el número que sea.
El 6, laaaaaaargo
El 5, a la pared
El 4, dale al taco
la pisha el gato
El 3, corta’o
El 2,debajo el puente, y
El 1, el 1 arriba
al aire
antes de tocar tablita.
Cuando una pareja conectaba
no había suerte, era magia salada.
-si después viene un tonto como Hedley o Karen que te quiere convencer de que hay que mover tras cada ‘6’, tu no le haga caso, eso es que no aprendieron en la Caleta plus they just wanna scew with your flow y partirte magic, eso no es así tu sigue tirando que hay más sixes ahí, ya verás lo que haces later.-
*cough, cough, excuse me.
La Caleta es shikitita
pero cada día entran,
easily, 300,000 Llanitas
que de una sola bolsa
sacan tres sombrillas
el termo del té
y otro de la leche
la nevera con la tortilla
los sandwiches de ham,
cheese, ham and cheese,
jamón serrano, salchichón
y chorizo, la Tablita
con el dado y las fichas.
¡Ay! que se me habian olvida’o,
4 sandwiches más de pollo empana’o,
el Coke y el squash y la ensaladilla
los goggles, las palas el cubo,
el sunscreen, las gafas de sol
y por si la moscas, plaster y panadol.
Magic.
Años más tarde,
a la Caleta acudíamos
borrachos y a rastras
a comer un English Breakfast
y así saluda’
al primer sol del año.
Y ahora proponen robarle
ese sol, ese sunrise,
ese beso del infinito y el horizonte
a la Caleta y sus Caleteños.
Ese horizonte y ese infinito
Pa’ la marina y pa’ sus dueños
y la Caleta y los Caleteños
que se contenten con ver la marina
que contamina sus orillas,
que se carga sus cangrejos
que se contenten con oler a la marina
y sus barcos bonitos
sus perfumes de gasolina
que se contenten con servir a la marina
que estará llena de
“High Net-Worth individuals”
que habrán pagado buen dinero
pa’ cagarse en esos sueños
de Caleta y Caleteños.
¿O será que algo queda
de magic y sense,
de ciencia y de decencia
entre las rocas y la mar
entre la arena y el pensar
de dirigentes de Gibraltar?
Too much, perhaps.
¿O será que el undercurrent
-que es la gente y sus sueños,
sus recuerdos-
que es más fuerte y peligroso
que las olas y las rocas,
deje ya de estar debajo
deje ya de estar callado
trinque el magic y la ciencia
el sense y la decencia
y se plante con la fuerza
del mar, y su contundencia
para hundir esta marina
antes de que llegue a la existencia?
This, perhaps, we could do.
This is magic we can handle.
La Caleta vs…
At La Caleta, I used to see infinity
kissing the horizon.
I fought against waves,
walked along the sandbank,
swam—and learned to swim.
There, at La Caleta,
among the rocks behind the Mamela,
my brother, hunting crabs
at five years of age
began his Marine Biology degree.
The waves waved freely,
and among umbrellas and beach huts,
to the rhythm of the dice on the Tablita,
another thing I learned
is that magic exists—
there is no doubt—
and it’s wielded by old men
(who weren’t that old,
since it was I that was little)
in those moments
when the pairs
synchronized
their cashonfingas
with their throws,
breaking the other
pair’s flow,
launching laughter
over despair,
handling the die
like magic wands
willing the numbers
out with each throw.
Number 6—loooooong
Number 5—on the wall
Number 4—hit the cue
the cat’s turu-lu!
Number 3—cut
Number 2—under the bridge, and
Number 1—one up
in the air
before hitting the Tablita.
When a pair connected,
it wasn’t luck—it was salty magic.
—if later some fool like Hedley or Karen comes along trying to convince you that you have to move after every ‘6’, don’t listen to them. That’s just because they didn’t learn at La Caleta, plus they just wanna mess with your flow and break your magic. That’s not how it works. You keep rolling—there are more sixes there, you’ll see what to do later.—
cough, cough, excuse me.
La Caleta is tiny,
but every day,
300,000 Llanitas fit in easily,
who from a single bag
pull out three umbrellas,
a thermos of tea,
another of milk,
a cooler with tortilla,
ham sandwiches,
cheese, ham and cheese,
jamón serrano, salchichón,
and chorizo, the Tablita
with the die and the pieces.
¡Ay! I almost forgot—
4 more sandwiches of breaded chicken,
the Coke and the squash and the potato salad,
the goggles, the shovels, the bucket,
the sunscreen, the sunglasses,
and just in case, plasters and Panadol.
Magic.
Years later,
we’d crawl back to La Caleta
drunk and dragging our souls
to feast on an English Breakfast
and greet
the first sun of the year.
And now they propose to steal
that sun, that sunrise,
that kiss between infinity and the horizon
from La Caleta and its people.
That horizon and that infinity—
for the marina and its owners.
And La Caleta and its people
should be content to see the marina
that pollutes its shores,
that wipes out its crabs,
should be content to smell the marina
and its pretty boats,
its perfume of gasoline,
should be content to serve the marina
that will be full of
“High Net-Worth individuals”
who paid good money
to crap on those dreams
of La Caleta and its people.
Or maybe something remains—
of magic and sense,
of science and decency
among the rocks and the sea,
between the sand and the thoughts
of Gibraltar’s leaders?
Too much, perhaps.
Or maybe the undercurrent—
which is the people and their dreams,
their memories—
which is stronger and more dangerous
than the waves and the rocks,
will stop being hidden,
will stop being silent,
will grab the magic and the science,
the sense and the decency,
and will rise with the force
of the sea, and its power,
to sink this marina
before it comes into existence?
This, perhaps, we could do.
This is magic we can handle.
Tongue Switching for a Better World
WARNING, WARNING, WARNING!
Rapid tongue switching may affect
a este poema,
‘cause we are inside outsiders
outside
in-
in-
in- CLIMBERS
we don’t sit on the fence
we ride the motherfucker,
y como resulta’o
nos llevamos palos por toh la’o
‘cause people like to stick
to one side, side, side
over there they hide, hide, hide
and look into the mirror
of their discontent.
Ahí donde la gen-te
ve sus prejuicios refleja’os
sus miedos imita’os
por otras sociedades
que también han engañao-ñao-
¡ñao!
y qué voy a decir
si es el mismo mensaje
a repetir-tir-tir-ando del hilo de la paz
mientras ignoran a filósofos de la pa-
y hacen caso a magnates
de la raz-hasta
que we drown
in our own fears,
do you hear?
DO YOU HEAR?
Do you even give a comino?
Globalizing products but not people
materials not real matters
fear but not love.
They want you to have, have, have,
a flat screen, flat brain, a flat consciousness,
lest you think of crossing that border
y hacer de esa frontera
algo que ya era
y no algo que es
algo que divide
algo que impide
algo que consigue
destrozar esa hermandad
entre pueblos y vecinos.
Más quisiera ser cochino,
que un nacionalista
que un medio fascista
escondido tras a tie
escondido tras a lie
que te mire y diga ‘hi’,
mientras odio va sembrando
lanzas va lanzando
amistades va apagando
antes que se enciendan
unas luces de igualdad
una nueva realidad
una vida de verdad-des-controlada.
P A U S E . . .
Stop and look and analyze
sit upon some big high ris-ing
mountain
and look at the little people
behind their curtains
believing the lies,
they choose to
bowing down to the flags,
they choose to, too.
Lo dijo otro y es verdad,
no hace falta caridad.
Solo la ausencia
de joder al prójimo,
solo hacerlo más próximo.
Pero given our record as a
human race
se ve que esto es algo
that we can’t even face.
Tongue Switching for a Better World
WARNING, WARNING, WARNING!
Rapid tongue switching may affect
this poem,
‘cause we are inside outsiders
outside
in-
in-
in- CLIMBERS
we don’t sit on the fence
we ride the motherfucker,
and as a result
we are under asault
‘cause people like to stick
to one side, side, side
over there they hide, hide, hide
and look into the mirror
of their discontent.
Over where the gents
see their prejudices reflected
their fears imitated
by other societies
that have also been mis- mis-mis.
directed!
And what is there to say
it’s the same message
on repea-pea-pea-ling out the thread of peace
while they ignore philosophers of pea-
and do the bidding of magnates
of race-until
we drown
in our own fears,
do you hear?
DO YOU HEAR?
Do you even give a green pepper?
Globalizing products but not people
materials not real matters
fear but not love.
They want you to have, have, have,
a flat screen, flat brain, a flat consciousness,
lest you think of crossing that border
and make that frontier
into something that was
and not something that is
something that divides
something impides
something that succeeds
in destroying that kinship
between peoples and neighbours.
I’d rather be a pig’s daughter,
than a nationalist
than half a fascist
hidding behind a tie
hidding behind a lie
who looks at you and says ‘hi’,
while hate he sows
spears he throws
the light of friendships he blows
before the sparking of
some flame of equality
a new reality
a life of un-con-trolled-ve-ra-city
P A U S E . . .
Stop and look and analyze
sit upon some big high ris-ing
mountain
and look at the little people
behind their curtains
believing the lies,
they choose to
bowing down to the flags,
they choose to, too.
Someone else said it and its true,
there is no need for charity.
Just the absense
fucking over your neighbour,
just make them closer.
but given our record as a
human race
It seems like this it something
that we can’t even face.