In Barcelona, surrogate sloganising for nationalist tosspots. Worldwide, including Como, the route of least resistance for Friday afternoon copywriters and small businessmen.
Some more inspiring ground shared between Italy and Spain–in this case between a Sicilian squatter and the old guys guerrilla gardening (they call it borrowing) on a patch of belonging to the Diputación de Barcelona on this walk:
I well remember how, beneath the towers
Of old Tarentum where the dark Galaesus
Waters the yellow crops, I saw a man,
An old Cilician, who occupied
An acre or two of land that no one wanted,
A patch not worth the ploughing, unrewarding
For flocks, unfit for vineyards; he however
By planting here and there among the scrub
Cabbages or white lilies and verbena
And flimsy poppies, fancied himself a king
In wealth, and coming home late in the evening
Loaded his board with unbought delicacies.
Read the rest of this Virgil translation here. I know someone who wants to rent a vegetable patch in Horta or Carmelo. Any ideas?
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What a beautiful poem. I wonder if it would an idea sometimes to stop drinking and start reading poetry?