Bari

All the should-have- beens...-
what do they matter to us now?
This is what we have, what we are,
For which we must be grateful.
And, after all, we have always been
Experts in missed opportunities,
Prey to the avaricious fool
And the thieving crook.
Ruthless energy is fanatical to vent itself
In practical endeavour, to conquer
And convince the world,
And discover new Americas
Of pleasure and profit.
Here there is no melancholy,
Only strong accents of desire,
Calculating the next hectic transaction,
In this rational geometrical grid,
Without heroes or martyrs.
The scirocco and the tramontana
Trouble us equally,
The mysticism of dry stone
And the pragmatism of the sea.
Remember Joachim Murat,
Maniac of vanity,
Swaggering in his self-designed green uniform,
With golden cordons, silve ribbons
And red boots, in love with women
And horses, riding up on a white steed
To lay the foundation stone
Of the new town he had planned.
St Nicholas extends his wizard hand
To bless the sailor, the merchant and the thief,
And in the timeless souk of a moment
Life haggles over subtle advantages,
Speculating with inventive glee,
Desperate to expand, to survive.
Green oriflammes with crescent moon
Wave in the wind as Saracens
Charge on their darting Berber horses
And fire their words like arrows
Into the heart of the sun;
Thus an emirate of sphinxes
Codes its mathematics
Into the air, munificent as Allah.