PORTUGAL – SIX IMAGES FROM JULY ´91 by Syd Blackwell
Hot weather was forecast for western Europe for the summer of 1991. Some like it hot, but we don´t. Research led us to Portugal, where the historic average July temperature was a moderate 24º C. That sounded just perfect.
LISBON – July 9
We arrived in Lisbon without our luggage that had somehow failed to make the plane change in London. It was hot. Too hot for the clothes we had worn from Canada. We went by taxi to a modest hotel recommended by the lost baggage department at the airport. They assured us our bags would arrive later in the day. And, they were right.
Portugal at this time had joined the European Economic Union but was still mostly an awakening country. We embraced that idea and we enjoyed Lisbon. However, the new attitudes towards drugs in Portugal were still a decade away.
We arrived in Lisbon without our luggage that had somehow failed to make the plane change in London. It was hot. Too hot for the clothes we had worn from Canada. We went by taxi to a modest hotel recommended by the lost baggage department at the airport. They assured us our bags would arrive later in the day. And, they were right.
Portugal at this time had joined the European Economic Union but was still mostly an awakening country. We embraced that idea and we enjoyed Lisbon. However, the new attitudes towards drugs in Portugal were still a decade away.
ON RUA PORTAS SÃO ANTÃO
Rubber truncheon
across black man's head and
angry threats
from Portuguese policemen
breaking free
he fled them northwards
they let him go
they'd had the last word
whatever his crime
we did not ask them
we won't debate
any justice by truncheon
But later when
I went for water
street person approached me
with an offer
showed me hashish
sweet soft and brown
but it did not take long
to turn him down
On a day quite full
of natural highs
I could not see
any reason why
I'd dull my mind
with a drug infusion
or risk my head
to a rubber truncheon
Rubber truncheon
across black man's head and
angry threats
from Portuguese policemen
breaking free
he fled them northwards
they let him go
they'd had the last word
whatever his crime
we did not ask them
we won't debate
any justice by truncheon
But later when
I went for water
street person approached me
with an offer
showed me hashish
sweet soft and brown
but it did not take long
to turn him down
On a day quite full
of natural highs
I could not see
any reason why
I'd dull my mind
with a drug infusion
or risk my head
to a rubber truncheon
SINTRA – July 11
My childhood was limited financially and materially, but rich in fantasy worlds. The old castle above Sintra was inspirational. Still hot though.
My childhood was limited financially and materially, but rich in fantasy worlds. The old castle above Sintra was inspirational. Still hot though.
MOORISH FANTASY
I'm sitting on top of
Castelo dos Mouros
By closing my eyes the
ninth century seems quite close
I know at this instant
the mind of my childhood
would eat up the moment
like fire through dry firewood
would make the light breezes
bring voices of Mouros
bring clanging of armor
and snorting of horses
preparing for forays
'gainst all who would dare us
raw fury and death to
hold on to our fortress
For swarthy and turbaned
I'd be of the Mouros
I'd ride a white stallion
and wear only black robes
My eyes that now open
see Sintra below me
small breezes bring only
fresh scents from green shade trees
Though I never knew of
this serpentine fortress
the child's vivid visions
were certainly not less
than any I'd just had
while leaning with eyes closed
against the old rocks of
Castelo dos Mouros
I'm sitting on top of
Castelo dos Mouros
By closing my eyes the
ninth century seems quite close
I know at this instant
the mind of my childhood
would eat up the moment
like fire through dry firewood
would make the light breezes
bring voices of Mouros
bring clanging of armor
and snorting of horses
preparing for forays
'gainst all who would dare us
raw fury and death to
hold on to our fortress
For swarthy and turbaned
I'd be of the Mouros
I'd ride a white stallion
and wear only black robes
My eyes that now open
see Sintra below me
small breezes bring only
fresh scents from green shade trees
Though I never knew of
this serpentine fortress
the child's vivid visions
were certainly not less
than any I'd just had
while leaning with eyes closed
against the old rocks of
Castelo dos Mouros
ÓBIDOS -July 13
The walled medieval town of Óbidos was a must visit for me. Our accommodation, Casa do Poço, was a house rebuilt from an older building. It was apparently once the scene of illicit love between a Christian and a beautiful Moorish woman. It is very near the Lagar da Mouraria Bar. Both businesses continue to operate in Óbidos today. It was still around 30º C. when I wrote this poem.
The walled medieval town of Óbidos was a must visit for me. Our accommodation, Casa do Poço, was a house rebuilt from an older building. It was apparently once the scene of illicit love between a Christian and a beautiful Moorish woman. It is very near the Lagar da Mouraria Bar. Both businesses continue to operate in Óbidos today. It was still around 30º C. when I wrote this poem.
YESTERDAY AND TODAY
The back door is ajar
at the Lagar da Mouraria Bar
Fado singing
leaks into the night
I lie in my bed
with half a bottle of Vidigueira red
in a room
with walls
painted white
Casa do Poço
inside the town walls of Óbidos
has been here
eight hundred years
or more
A church bell just rang one
tomorrow has already come
but I'm not yet ready
to shut
yesterday's door
I'll drink songs with my wine
and not be governed by time
nor care that I
don't know
the words
I'm thinking instead
from the nest of my bed
of two black shadows
discernible
as birds
Nestling this night
on a door frame to the right
of the Lagar
da Mouraria
Bar
We're quite likely all bound
to spend tonight on the ground
but our souls
can still travel
afar
Soaring in flight
on mind thermals of light
drafted from
present
and past
My wine will be gone
when I'm finished my song
I'll be able
to sleep
at long last
Soon wine fortified feet
will slip down cobblestoned streets
the revellers
will head it
on home
A night mantle of peace
will envelop drunks birds and me
just leaving
yesterday's ghosts
to roam
The back door is ajar
at the Lagar da Mouraria Bar
Fado singing
leaks into the night
I lie in my bed
with half a bottle of Vidigueira red
in a room
with walls
painted white
Casa do Poço
inside the town walls of Óbidos
has been here
eight hundred years
or more
A church bell just rang one
tomorrow has already come
but I'm not yet ready
to shut
yesterday's door
I'll drink songs with my wine
and not be governed by time
nor care that I
don't know
the words
I'm thinking instead
from the nest of my bed
of two black shadows
discernible
as birds
Nestling this night
on a door frame to the right
of the Lagar
da Mouraria
Bar
We're quite likely all bound
to spend tonight on the ground
but our souls
can still travel
afar
Soaring in flight
on mind thermals of light
drafted from
present
and past
My wine will be gone
when I'm finished my song
I'll be able
to sleep
at long last
Soon wine fortified feet
will slip down cobblestoned streets
the revellers
will head it
on home
A night mantle of peace
will envelop drunks birds and me
just leaving
yesterday's ghosts
to roam
COIMBRA – July 15
Coimbra was once the medieval capital of Portugal. Since 1537, it has been the home of the country´s oldest and most prestigious university. Sometimes this university city is called Lusa Atenas, an allusion to Greek learning. And yes, it was still very hot.
Coimbra was once the medieval capital of Portugal. Since 1537, it has been the home of the country´s oldest and most prestigious university. Sometimes this university city is called Lusa Atenas, an allusion to Greek learning. And yes, it was still very hot.
OPENING NIGHT IN THE CITY OF LUSA ATENAS
While leaning on my window rail
just hoping for the moon to sail
out past my roof
and join the stars
above the university
My eyes fixed on a frame of light
a window to the soul of night
the stage was set
the curtains drawn
the actor his appearance made
His costume this revealing night
was certainly not what I might
have guessed it was
before he came
from shadowland and took the stage
He posed before his bedroom sink
I looked about lest anyone think
his nakedness
attracted me
but this life play I had to watch
His fingers combed through thick black hair
he sought and found the greyness there
he picked up dye
applied it to
each traitor that revealed his years
Retaking youth took him some time
quite long enough to think that I'm
adverse to try
to fool with time
although I too am turning grey
Now finished with this makeup task
he tried on yet another mask
sucked in his gut
stuck out his chest
his mirror showed a muscled youth
The image seen excited him
his manhood sheathed and still quite slim
was rising from
the bed of curls
it dormant had been lying in
He pulled on it it lengthened some
then stopped as though this play had run
its course for all
the world to see
the curtains now I thought he'd close
He didn't so I turned away
I knew the climax to this play
one last look to
the place of thoughts
the floodlit university
I felt disturbed that I had been
a witness to a secret scene
I had not paid
to have a seat
for this performance from his life
When I was sure the play was through
I went back to the window view
from where I'd seen
the tale unfold
I was not sated with night air
At first I did not even glance
down to the place where happenstance
had played strange acts
when all I sought
was pure light from a sweet full moon
Eventually I surely did
to find that now he fin'lly hid
his exposed self
but peeked out from
some deep folds in the stage curtains
As he saw me framed in the glow
what way was there that he could know
that I had been
his audience
as he played out his private mime
Yet I sensed then right to my core
a feeling I'll have evermore
he waited there
in blackest wings
for cheers before a dark encore
While leaning on my window rail
just hoping for the moon to sail
out past my roof
and join the stars
above the university
My eyes fixed on a frame of light
a window to the soul of night
the stage was set
the curtains drawn
the actor his appearance made
His costume this revealing night
was certainly not what I might
have guessed it was
before he came
from shadowland and took the stage
He posed before his bedroom sink
I looked about lest anyone think
his nakedness
attracted me
but this life play I had to watch
His fingers combed through thick black hair
he sought and found the greyness there
he picked up dye
applied it to
each traitor that revealed his years
Retaking youth took him some time
quite long enough to think that I'm
adverse to try
to fool with time
although I too am turning grey
Now finished with this makeup task
he tried on yet another mask
sucked in his gut
stuck out his chest
his mirror showed a muscled youth
The image seen excited him
his manhood sheathed and still quite slim
was rising from
the bed of curls
it dormant had been lying in
He pulled on it it lengthened some
then stopped as though this play had run
its course for all
the world to see
the curtains now I thought he'd close
He didn't so I turned away
I knew the climax to this play
one last look to
the place of thoughts
the floodlit university
I felt disturbed that I had been
a witness to a secret scene
I had not paid
to have a seat
for this performance from his life
When I was sure the play was through
I went back to the window view
from where I'd seen
the tale unfold
I was not sated with night air
At first I did not even glance
down to the place where happenstance
had played strange acts
when all I sought
was pure light from a sweet full moon
Eventually I surely did
to find that now he fin'lly hid
his exposed self
but peeked out from
some deep folds in the stage curtains
As he saw me framed in the glow
what way was there that he could know
that I had been
his audience
as he played out his private mime
Yet I sensed then right to my core
a feeling I'll have evermore
he waited there
in blackest wings
for cheers before a dark encore
TORREIRA – July 18
We sought relief from the heat and ended up in Torreira, a tiny community on a narrow isthmus, with the Rio de Aveiro estuary on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other side. Two beaches and coastal winds. Was it better? Yes, but it was still too hot and besides the beaches, there was little to do in Torreira. We made a decision. Portugal had not been cool as we had hoped. As we were going to be hot anyway, we decided to continue our journey in Spain, Gibraltar, and Morocco, seeing sights we had not planned to visit.
We sought relief from the heat and ended up in Torreira, a tiny community on a narrow isthmus, with the Rio de Aveiro estuary on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other side. Two beaches and coastal winds. Was it better? Yes, but it was still too hot and besides the beaches, there was little to do in Torreira. We made a decision. Portugal had not been cool as we had hoped. As we were going to be hot anyway, we decided to continue our journey in Spain, Gibraltar, and Morocco, seeing sights we had not planned to visit.
WHILE DRINKING SUMO LIMAO
At Torreira today
I saw a father and son
so blasé
each in his own way
on a bicycle built for one
With both hands on the handle bar
father's cigarette
was not far
from dropping ash on the crossbar
but had not done so yet
With shoulders inside father's arms
son balanced on the bar
sat cross-armed
oblivious to ash or other harm
which had worked out well so far
I wondered as I quenched my thirst
ash or son which would fall first
At Torreira today
I saw a father and son
so blasé
each in his own way
on a bicycle built for one
With both hands on the handle bar
father's cigarette
was not far
from dropping ash on the crossbar
but had not done so yet
With shoulders inside father's arms
son balanced on the bar
sat cross-armed
oblivious to ash or other harm
which had worked out well so far
I wondered as I quenched my thirst
ash or son which would fall first
AMARANTE – July 21
Our exit from Portugal took us north through Porto and upriver towards Spain. We spent an afternoon and a night in the delightful city of Amarante, where there has been continuous settlement for about 1600 years. In the very hot late afternoon the skies darkened with ominous black clouds that soon erupted in a spectacular thunder and lightning storm. Finally, some heat relief as we were leaving the country.
Our exit from Portugal took us north through Porto and upriver towards Spain. We spent an afternoon and a night in the delightful city of Amarante, where there has been continuous settlement for about 1600 years. In the very hot late afternoon the skies darkened with ominous black clouds that soon erupted in a spectacular thunder and lightning storm. Finally, some heat relief as we were leaving the country.
STORMS OF SÁBADO
On a night
when white lightning
rended a roiling sky
above the dome
of São Gonçalo
the cleverly designed
vertical lines
of soft yellow light
emanating from the cupola
pulled pilgrims across the ponte
to huddle in the portico
Before Grupo Musica Reservata
played cantos e danças
of the 14th century
under the dome
of São Gonçalo
an old lady
knelt and prayed
while we played
with our cameras
When you knelt
on the same floor
to take a photograph
(had she not knelt
a short time before)
I had to laugh
at the disgust
she showed she felt
for your short skirt
as though your knees
would obviously displease
whatever god
had caused the storm
On a night
when white lightning
rended a roiling sky
above the dome
of São Gonçalo
the cleverly designed
vertical lines
of soft yellow light
emanating from the cupola
pulled pilgrims across the ponte
to huddle in the portico
Before Grupo Musica Reservata
played cantos e danças
of the 14th century
under the dome
of São Gonçalo
an old lady
knelt and prayed
while we played
with our cameras
When you knelt
on the same floor
to take a photograph
(had she not knelt
a short time before)
I had to laugh
at the disgust
she showed she felt
for your short skirt
as though your knees
would obviously displease
whatever god
had caused the storm
POSTSCRIPT
July 2018, last year, saw record high temperatures in Portugal. The previous hottest temperatures were recorded in July 1991.
July 2018, last year, saw record high temperatures in Portugal. The previous hottest temperatures were recorded in July 1991.
