Dedicated to the enduring memory of:

Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca,

1896 - 1936, gypsy, homosexual, poet, anti-fascist

murdered by fascist militia in Granada, Al-Andalus.  

 

Lorca’s blood wedding

full of vaginas bleeding

into the lemon-tree- soil of suffering spain

reminds me of nothing more than the toil, toil, toil

of life in Al-Andalus.

Priests chanting the rosary

like it was El Maleh Rachamim

or the Mourner's Kaddish

(which it probably was, if the priest

was a Converso, who  had changed his religion

to save his life or, maybe, the lives of his children).

The Moriscos (ex-Muslims), as usual, prayed louder,

than did the Spanish. These conversos never coughed,

touched the head-coverings they did not wear.

What they did on Fridays (or Saturdays) was only the business

Of the Inquisition.

Many Moriscos fled to Morocco, Lebanon.

to the centres of the Islamic world: Damascus, Baghdad.

Now nobody wants anything

To do with these terrorists

the surviving Spanish, victors of the genocide,

are now good Europeans. 

Such is the irony of History. 

 

Nearly 450 years after the final surrender of the Moors on January 2, 1492 

With the fall of the Emirate of Granada to the Christian Castilian army,

Franco’s Moroccan units commit numerous abominations

In many Spanish cities, including Toledo

Murdering men, women and children

Helping defeat the Spanish, Socialist Republic,

And allying Spanish Christian-Nationalists with Italian Fascists and German Nazis.

Such are the ironies of History.