This a waste of time. I say poetry should be the arbiter here. This struggle is a century in the making. Bring the poetry of both sides out and see what rings hollow. I will go first posting a poem of resistance to the Right then Charlie or maybe John can post something for the Republican/Brexit sort of dreamworld Maybe some Pound from one his radio broadcasts might work?
Of course there is always some stuff over at Counter Currents that will do if you lads get in a pinch.
To Federico García Lorca
I.
He was seen walking among rifles,
down the long street,
leaving for the cold of the countryside
with the morning stars still bright overhead.
They killed Federico
at the break of day.
The assassins never dared
to look him in the face:
each of them had his eyes shut tight.
“God won’t save you!” they shouted,
and Federico fell dead—
blood on his clothes, lead in his back . . .
Let it be known that the crime was done in Granada
--poor Granada--in his Granada.
II. The poet and death
He was seen walking alone with her,
unafraid of her sickle.
--The sun was already lighting the towers;
hammers were sounding--striking and clanging in the forges.
Federico spoke to her,
playing up to death. She was listening.
“You’ve made my verses ring, my dear,
with the clapping of your dry hands.
You’ve put ice into my song and honed
my tragedies on your scythe of silver,
so I will sing to you of the flesh you don’t have,
the eyes you have lost,
the hair that the wind took away,
the red lips where you used to kiss.
Today, as always, oh Gypsy, my death,
how good to be alone with you
in these breezes of Granada, of my Granada!"
III.
He was seen walking . . .
friends, let us make
a monument for the poet in the Alhambra
out of stone and dreams
above a fountain where the water grieves
and says to anyone who hears it:
the crime was done in Granada, in his Granada!
Antonio Machado, 1936
Translated by Frank Beck
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