Dialectical Anthropology

, Volume 33, Issue 1, pp 13–13 | Cite as

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“Among the folds of Mohammed’s woolen garment a kitten was born

so cats are sacred.” Wool is sacred. All scraps kept. Bread is sacred.

Grapes are sacred. I imagine the grapes as the tears of those who suffer.

There are kilos of grapes.

Plaintive complaint snarls out a speaker followed by handclap

chop chop cuts to beggar’s moans. Corner cats sleep heaped

threads back to the music, light blink like rain. A fast drift

to be nowhere in the gnaoua night begins again and

again, each phrase lit by tune then stretch

the music edging towards trance

Your red things are your artifice

You get sick from that veneer

The muezzin sings when

because he must and the time for that’s now

Afternoon slowly lowing, how an oud loves its crooked scale.

Gulls mark the deeper blue surface where

the water is cool. White skid narrows west

Sea lit by milky surface slow reflects

the machines to take us there from here

That invention. To be here. This elevation

From the collection Mekhtoub, Lyrics & Invocations

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© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2009

Authors and Affiliations

  1. 1.GranadaSpain

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