Now they’re postmodern. They talk about the Cause / purely to get a rise out of the git / who’s Irish and has actually lived through it.
Croatia: not as beautiful as your cock.
Because the Wounded Child crooned in my ear, / ‘You cunt. You are the fuck-up in all this. / The Man will help you leave. But first come here. / The Woman in the Dress would like a kiss.’
This moment is only a delay: / tomatoes, / waiting blankly at the executioner’s block, / on the verge of exploding and sourly burning / the impression of morning, scorching the light, / burning the face. / Victorious tomatoes.
Take your pulse. If it is / above 75, propose marriage. // Sing as loud as you can, / and wait for the echo. / If it is her voice you hear, / build a city where you stand.
"Tavern" is a significant long poem that captures the tenor of mid-1960s Prague, and all its attendent political, social, and literary uproars. It does so with an inventive and complex structure that puts Dalton on the edge of the mid-century Spanish-language avant-garde.
Sang the songs by myself in a drab corner / Felt scared and strange being alone / & singing the songs of my past till I heard myself singing