The end-of-season bullfight in October at Plaza de la Torres, Sevilla, Spain
Death in the afternoon
spurred Hemingway's missive
this male-bonding ritual of machismo
man against beast in an oft-repeated battle
sometimes difficult to determine
which is the beast
Matadors and torreadors in their sequined coats of light
and pink tights displaying artistry and balletic grace
as they swirl their satin cloaks around the bull's head
or pause for a moment, standing with their capes artfully spread
waiting expectantly like Velasquez's full-skirted models
for their unwitting victim
The bull charging at any hint of movement
angry, confused, life's blood draining
the number painted on his side indicating his number was up
long before he was released into the ring
the strong bulls fall down and get up again
refusing to die without a fight
A last valiant effort to survive
the crowd applauds the bull's courage
waving white handkerchiefs in admiration
for the dance of death before them
but don't lean too close, lest blood spatters
all over your festive clothes
The matador waits with practiced patience,
his knife blade glinting in the evening sun
in the final act, an artery is severed
lackeys hook the bull to ropes
and plume-laden horses pull its stiff body from the ring
while men run alongside, cracking whips against the ground
Men in blue jumpsuits sweep the
blood from the sand
preparing the ring for the next performance
another bull's death expected
Man or beast must be injured or die
it's Spanish tradition
The audience caught up in the fever pitch
when not tipping a bottle
and drinking it straight down
liquid's cool wetness a relief
from the relentless sun beating down
sending rivulets of sweat trickling down their spines
It's marked on the calendar
thousands paid to witness this spectacle
don't ask too many questions
it's deeply-rooted in Spain's culture
this struggle for dominance on a grand stage
a scene written long ago
I was in Barcelona this summer. And I love Hemingway. Seeing your pictures and reading your post now REALLy makes me regret not seeking out a bullfight somewhere.
Posted by: Mitch McDad | 06 January 2007 at 08:03
thanks for the response, paris... i take it that ole must be some sort of 'hurrah'. so i had to go look in the wikis...
toro: a spanish word for bull
ole: expression of triumph
see how much you make us think...
Posted by: AscenderRisesAbove | 04 January 2007 at 18:57
Yeah...not my thing. At least a great poem came out of it...I'm with Holli....Way too barbaric for me!
Peace Please....
giggles Sherrie
Posted by: giggles | 04 January 2007 at 17:00
Gorgeous photographs and words.
Much love and many blessings.
I always enjoy your visits so very much.
Love Jeanne ^j^
Posted by: Jeanne | 04 January 2007 at 15:57
Ascender, I never heard anyone shout 'toro' at the bullfight in Seville - just 'ole!'
Posted by: Paris Parfait | 04 January 2007 at 10:33
Very evocative writing. Thank you.
Posted by: Lee | 04 January 2007 at 10:12
Hi Tara,
What a lovely poem and what a tribute to this age old game-
I find these lines deeply philosophical and touching-
"sometimes difficult to determine
which is the beast"
Amazing pics!
Wish you a very happy New Year 2007!
Cheers!
Posted by: abhay | 04 January 2007 at 09:56
It amazes me how you are able to string words together like this. You always give us something to think about when we visit here.
I do have a question though... do they really call 'toro' to the bull?
Posted by: AscenderRisesAbove | 04 January 2007 at 08:05
As always, you've managed to capture the essence of an event, a tradition (even a bloody, cruel one) - painting it with your words so that we can all see it more clearly, as if it were unfolding before us. Perhaps it may even change a mind or two - which would definitely warrant an Ole!
xo
Posted by: tinker | 04 January 2007 at 05:47
This is awesome, I could feel the energy of the crowd just by looking at those pictures
Posted by: cathy | 04 January 2007 at 01:50
your gift of words continually amazes me...
Posted by: diana | 04 January 2007 at 01:14
I attended one as a child and wept while keeping my eyes closed. You wrote about it beautifully. XXOO
Posted by: Tammy | 04 January 2007 at 00:44
It breaks my heart. But at least I see we are both feeling better. Happy New Year! Raising my glass of wine to you this evening for good manners and compassion towards bulls and poor demented machismo men, men, men ...
Posted by: tamarika | 04 January 2007 at 00:30
I had the flu as well!
Great photo's -
come visit me -
i have moved:)
Posted by: sophie | 03 January 2007 at 23:54
the photos and poem are both exquisite and colorful! I loved "hearing aloud" (in my head :-) the way the words just roll off of each other...even if the event itself isn't quite gentile.
Posted by: susan | 03 January 2007 at 22:56
Tara,
Masterful. Beautiful poem, looking into the heart of the performance and giving us a glimpse of the cultural exhibition.
rel
Posted by: rel | 03 January 2007 at 22:38
Ack - I just can't handle bullfighting. But I am so sensitive to anything animal related. Don't jump me - I don't rail hunters, as I believe animals (in a perfect world) should live happily in nature and be killed as needed, rather than live in the horrible conditions of a slaughterhouse. Just the barbaric vibes that come to me from a crowd cheering the stabbing of a bull.. makes me want to cry. But I like that there is always something here to make me think or feel - good or bad. That is what makes the world go round.
I'm going to go snuggle with my dog. And we will beat a spider to death should we find one! OLE!
Posted by: Holli | 03 January 2007 at 22:13
I've never watched and have no plans of watching either,lol.
Posted by: Britt-Arnhild | 03 January 2007 at 21:44
Ritual. Tradition. Deeply rooted in ancient machismo. In a way I understand. But that's all I will say in a world where human beings are tortured and killed in unspeakable ways by other human beings....
Excellent pictures, excellent words.
Posted by: Colette | 03 January 2007 at 19:41
I would like to see a bull fight simply because I've seen how beef is killed on the chain in an abbatoir ... it's really not nice and I suspect that the bull in the ring has a better life and death, in a way.
I studied agriculture back in NZ and we went to an abbatoir. You really don't want to know how the beef you buy at the supermarket and in the fast food chains are killed ... and handbags ... who knew.
Posted by: Di | 03 January 2007 at 19:27
One wonders how such "traditions" come to be? Indeed, it is hard to tell man from beast these days...
Posted by: Regina Clare Jane | 03 January 2007 at 16:03
The prose is majestic in idea but I too have witnessed the bullfight. I did not think it would be so terrible. I was in Mexico but the tableau was the same. Some things just do not translate well. I don't get it.
Posted by: poody | 03 January 2007 at 15:39
I love the poem Tara!
agh bullfighting*
I don't understand
this tradition & always
find myself secretly rooting
for the bull:)
xoxo
Posted by: berrie | 03 January 2007 at 15:12