There’s probably an applicable (quasi-)Biblical reference of which I am unaware, but this stomped-on, clickable Jesus in a rural Maresme cemetery, rose petals lodged in his broken heart, reminded me of Barbry Allen:
Sweet William died on a Saturday night
And Barbara died on Sunday
Her mother died for the love of both
And was buried on Easter Monday.
They buried Willie in the old churchyard
And Barbara there anigh him
And out of his grave grew a red, red rose
And out of hers a briar.
They grew and grew in the old churchyard
Till they couldn’t grow no higher
They lapped and tied in a true love’s knot
The rose ran around the briar.
I grew up with the Joan Baez recording, which is different textually and musically in my memory from both Thomas Porter’s Appalachian and British versions, of which the former is used here. Here’s a beautiful 1969 version from Sara Jo Bell of Harrison, Arkansas. Does the bell belong to her front door or her alarm clock?
- The best of all possible donkeys
Although Catalonia has donkeys rather as the Soviet Union used to have coalminers, the nation’s poets have tended to avoid the
The good, the bad, and the quite ridiculously ugly.
- Sant Martí de Centelles slags off anarchists, disagrees on “historical memory”
Some Civil War street plaques sound a dissonant note with respect to the official Popular Front “historical memory” dogma. St James’
De politie in Barcelona doet alleen wat tegen mensen die niet stinken, zich vreedzaam gedragen, en vooral geen problemen willen krijgen.
- Frankfurt, Barcelona, Frankfurt
A new report from Baldie Research, Inc indicates that Spanish bus passengers eat significantly higher quantities of frankfurts and bratswursts than