Pierre Joris

In Larache

1
When colonialism holds you - French
there, Spanish here - an old
architecture circles the plaza,
crenellating the minds.

The two young women
we stay with
speak perfect Spanish
for having gone to Spanish
school here in Larache
since age 3. Cannot read
a street sign in Arabic,
their language.

2
this time it is here:
the lead of religion.
it is all over

it is all over
when in the beginning is
perfection

it is all over
when the only hankering
is for pristine Medina
it is all over
when the educated middle class
techno-savvy as any roumi

says there is no veil
over the book, only
over the woman.

3
a mint tea on the plaza
& now another on el balcon
atlantico facing
that western ocean
a pressed orange
on the horizon
in my glass
& a black coffee,
aaah! happiness at 8 a.m.

4
in the Maghreb of the Maghreb
on the farthest western point
there where the desert army
is stopped
by the sea
where Sidi Okhba
danced his horse prancing into
the waves,
where now the mosque of
Hassan II sits on land
stolen from the people,
there spins the mad dervish of
the Maghreb, spins &
spins - it is no longer
a dance, there is no ecstasy
to it, only pain & breath-
lessness - he spins
& spins & doesn't know
in which direction to stop,
east towards Mecca
west toward America
he twists & twists
skewered by
Ameccarica
the nightmare
from which there is
no waking up.

5
Here lies
ci-gît
Jean
Genet,

brought back
to Larache
in a burlap sack
tagged
"immigrant worker,"

now
two white stones
at head & foot
green plants
in between

looks out
over Ocean -
tired from
a long death:

the stone says
he was born
as we all are
on one day

but he died
on both the 14
and 15 April.