Tuesday, May 15, 2007

In city midieval


Buildings, people, customs,
seem all about to crumble
and fall of their own weight:
the present is a perpetually prolonged past.

To touch the past with one's hands is realized only in dreams;
and in Morocco the dream-feeling envelops one in every step.

- Edith Wharton, In Morocco

What Marrakesh is no longer, Fez remains:
inwards turned, spooky feeling...
Or so it's seemed in the few hours I've been here.

Its medina is the oldest always operating medina in the Arab world...
modern when Genghis Khan roamed the earth.

I'd braced for the medina tomorrow -
with a map, the light of day, a city-stamped guide.

Inconveniently, there was dinner in between.

The vendors atop their wares looked through me,
the shrouded forms pushed by me
and only the men at the cafes
(aside: it's creepier to be watched by men drinking tea than beers)
registered me with indifferent disdain...

(This medieval place eats little travelers for breakfast)

I found the gentlest face, attached to a cafe with the highest perch
and had my couscous.
I looked on with my mint tea.

Tomorrow, I tour.

C - in the medieval

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