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Granada Sings Whitman

Nathalie Handal
By the river Genil
lovers sing what belongs to the water,
a shoemaker sings the dream he had,
his helper the dream he didn't,
a man sings to the woman
on the broken mattress,
death at midday sings,
on the banks of the Darro
a blind thief
collecting golden poplars sings,
and so does the crevice of quivers,
the saints flaming in la Sierra
and the men rehearsing a country.
They know nothing stays,
but when Whitman sings—
they allow his voice
to take them apart.

From Poet in Andalucía by Nathalie Handal. Copyright © 2012 by Nathalie Handal. Reprinted with permission of University of Pittsburgh Press. All rights reserved.

From Poet in Andalucía by Nathalie Handal. Copyright © 2012 by Nathalie Handal. Reprinted with permission of University of Pittsburgh Press. All rights reserved.

Nathalie Handal

by this poet

poem
When the white trees are no longer in sight
they are telling us something,
like the body that undresses
when someone is around,
like the woman who wants
to read what her nude curves
are trying to say,
of what it was to be together,
lips on lips
but it's over now, the town
we once loved in, the maps
we once drew