THE HIGHWAYMAN - Alfred Noyes

PART ONE

I

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

II

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

III

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

IV

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

V

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

VI

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.

Honoré, kind of Blue

Tras la inmensa lejanía de su horizonte, deja pasar la gran tormenta de rayos azules y contempla en su interior la movilidad de lo estático, como su mirada. Levanta el nuevo Muro de Brujas y exorciza los fantasmas hacia su interior con un suspiro de humo, opaco en su alma como un cristal, transparente como el agua que cubre su pelo, más bien impalpable. Derrama zumo de fresa por todas las paredes de su casa, que ya se abstrae de todo pensamiento posible, y busca un tesoro en sus cimientos. Araña sus sábanas una y otra vez, dieciocho veces resumidas en tres o cuatro golpes. Palpa el frío y la oscuridad de las doce, con su caja de recuerdos estimulada por la cafeína, y comparte sus heridas en claves de sol, con uno o dos versos eternos, como una pintura que nunca llegará a secarse.

Es todo lo que visualiza mi mente sin pretensiones, lo que sangran mis labios esclavizados por costumbre, maltratados y condenados al silencio, ignorando las flechas clavadas lustros atrás por todo mi cuerpo. Veo una cama de hospital con nombre propio y una bolsa llena de líquido sin etiqueta. La dejo descansar suspendida en el aire, "calculando al milímetro el más leve movimiento", a la espera de mi bola de cristal.




For you.









Música: The Ronettes - Walking in the Rain