ODE TO THE CAFÉ PAMPLONA Womb of friends, conversations, books, Marrow, cellar of human moods, Door into feeling, Iberian light slice, I come to celebrate your seasons. In June church shade Or under September stars, Reading Cervantes in the sun, Unamuno by the rushing Dudley bus, Machado or Lorca near your winter stove, I have knit my soul to Spain here. Speak to me your Shaly consonants and grassy vowels, Conciones earth, bright in your passionate home tongue. When your steam machine roars I hear bulls thunder through holy Pamplona. Your caffeine music kindles my veins. And your waiters-wonderful! Generations, torrents, encyclopedias Of waiters have rivered my years. So I give you my praise song Scratched within your cloud, white basement walls My sweet space Heart within my heart. Bless all your twelve tables, Rich calendar of my delight. --David H. Brennan David H. Brennan (1948-2017) was a poet and long-time habitué of the Café Pamplona in Harvard Square.
Josefina Yanguas
A Day in Macau