{"id":38886,"date":"2020-01-20T13:53:16","date_gmt":"2020-01-20T13:53:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/revistaidees.cat\/rondalla-de-la-matanca\/"},"modified":"2021-04-15T15:27:49","modified_gmt":"2021-04-15T15:27:49","slug":"rondalla-de-la-matanca","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/revistaidees.cat\/en\/rondalla-de-la-matanca\/","title":{"rendered":"The Tale of the Pig Slaughter"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

In a mountain village in Europe <\/p>\n\n\n\n

in the spiritual back of beyond <\/p>\n\n\n\n

when icy winter arrives <\/p>\n\n\n\n

it\u2019s time to slaughter the pig <\/p>\n\n\n\n

up there in a world of their own <\/p>\n\n\n\n

locals gather in the street <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they\u2019re not from Porto or Geneva <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Madrid or Bucharest <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they can\u2019t make head nor tail <\/p>\n\n\n\n

of European Parliament debates <\/p>\n\n\n\n

to them the whole business <\/p>\n\n\n\n

all sounds like hogwash <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they don\u2019t know the far right has the run of the place <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brexit\u2019s set the cat among the pigeons  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

even if they knew all this <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they couldn\u2019t do a thing about it <\/p>\n\n\n\n

governments <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and people <\/p>\n\n\n\n

out of step <\/p>\n\n\n\n

like odd socks in today\u2019s Europe <\/p>\n\n\n\n

always wrong-footed, staggering <\/p>\n\n\n\n

from one disaster to the next <\/p>\n\n\n\n

but they can\u2019t escape the telly <\/p>\n\n\n\n

after picking the crops <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and checking the chickens are safe from the fox <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they spend their evenings on the sofa <\/p>\n\n\n\n

watching whatever they find on the box <\/p>\n\n\n\n

it\u2019s always the same old rubbish <\/p>\n\n\n\n

ranting and raving on every channel <\/p>\n\n\n\n

people kicking up an almighty ruckus <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they don\u2019t get out much to look at the stars <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the earth and the universe <\/p>\n\n\n\n

are on first-name terms <\/p>\n\n\n\n

but the majesty of the sky <\/p>\n\n\n\n

passes them by <\/p>\n\n\n\n

surplus to their needs <\/p>\n\n\n\n

what hubris the earth the centre of the cosmos <\/p>\n\n\n\n

yet <\/p>\n\n\n\n

how many still think <\/p>\n\n\n\n

there\u2019s nothing but us, the only sense <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and sensibility <\/p>\n\n\n\n

in an absurdly vast void <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they get on well this lot <\/p>\n\n\n\n

one wheeler-dealer two tongue-waggers  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the usual old-timers <\/p>\n\n\n\n

plus the blow-ins from Barcelona <\/p>\n\n\n\n

loath to return to the city on Sunday <\/p>\n\n\n\n

secretly praying for a downfall of snow <\/p>\n\n\n\n

that\u2019ll leave the village smothered in white <\/p>\n\n\n\n

sausages and chops grilled over coals <\/p>\n\n\n\n

washed down with wine from local vines <\/p>\n\n\n\n

bubbling stews with garden vegetables <\/p>\n\n\n\n

a handful of beans garlic from the woods <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and half a rabbit and a rasher of bacon <\/p>\n\n\n\n

from a friendly farmer down the lane <\/p>\n\n\n\n

a lettuce that\u2019s never been washed <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014a marvel of nature like  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

fish that have never felt ice\u2014 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

tongues of fire burst forth from the hearth <\/p>\n\n\n\n

warming nooks, crannies <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and the cockles of hearts <\/p>\n\n\n\n

but it never happens <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the German lass Steffi <\/p>\n\n\n\n

has made a place for herself here <\/p>\n\n\n\n

like past generations of villagers <\/p>\n\n\n\n

she\u2019s manged to raise <\/p>\n\n\n\n

poultry, tomatoes and three kids of her own <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the father\u2019s the shepherd they say <\/p>\n\n\n\n

a strapping young man <\/p>\n\n\n\n

maybe it\u2019s him or maybe it\u2019s not <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Steffi gets on with her stuff <\/p>\n\n\n\n

she\u2019s taken in two German lads <\/p>\n\n\n\n

boys with issues they say <\/p>\n\n\n\n

some love and attention soon calms them down <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the mountain air <\/p>\n\n\n\n

soothes their troubles and cares <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and a spot of hard work <\/p>\n\n\n\n

leaves no time for screens <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and dispels the screams <\/p>\n\n\n\n

of past abuse <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they run with the sheep through fields <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and valleys <\/p>\n\n\n\n

chasing and larking the day away <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Agustina and Marcelino <\/p>\n\n\n\n

living legends in the village <\/p>\n\n\n\n

invite them over to their pool <\/p>\n\n\n\n

diving <\/p>\n\n\n\n

splashing <\/p>\n\n\n\n

basking <\/p>\n\n\n\n

in their new life <\/p>\n\n\n\n

but when they can <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they\u2019re away <\/p>\n\n\n\n

off to Berlin <\/p>\n\n\n\n

thumbing a lift and cocking a snoot <\/p>\n\n\n\n

out of control <\/p>\n\n\n\n

fucking who they like <\/p>\n\n\n\n

taking what they want <\/p>\n\n\n\n

sleeping in the street till they tire <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and then they\u2019re back <\/p>\n\n\n\n

in the village <\/p>\n\n\n\n

there\u2019s a poet with sparks <\/p>\n\n\n\n

coming out of his ears <\/p>\n\n\n\n

he shapes words with his hands <\/p>\n\n\n\n

sowing syllables where others <\/p>\n\n\n\n

plant potatoes and up sprout poems <\/p>\n\n\n\n

with words in their roots <\/p>\n\n\n\n

from distant dells and hidden gorges <\/p>\n\n\n\n

words like <\/p>\n\n\n\n

griglans <\/p>\n\n\n\n

smeech <\/p>\n\n\n\n

brock <\/p>\n\n\n\n

his tongue on his fingertips <\/p>\n\n\n\n

his eager eyes leap up from the page <\/p>\n\n\n\n

from Kill <\/em>A<\/em>ll <\/em>Normies<\/em> <\/em>to the treetops <\/p>\n\n\n\n

from El <\/em>cor<\/em> quiet<\/em> to Montmagastre <\/p>\n\n\n\n

from Carner\u2019s verse <\/p>\n\n\n\n

to the fashionable fascists <\/p>\n\n\n\n

who hate everything and everyone <\/p>\n\n\n\n

he jots down the thoughts <\/p>\n\n\n\n

whispered in his ear <\/p>\n\n\n\n

by the buzzing bees <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the elm becomes a cloud <\/p>\n\n\n\n

of enchanted umeboshi <\/p>\n\n\n\n

barking dogs tractors chainsaws <\/p>\n\n\n\n

jangling cowbells squawking chickens <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the next-door neighbour\u2019s kids <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they say if you listen carefully <\/p>\n\n\n\n

you can hear the wind being born <\/p>\n\n\n\n

an open door lets everything in <\/p>\n\n\n\n

an open poem turns nothing away <\/p>\n\n\n\n

yes <\/p>\n\n\n\n

this isn\u2019t prose <\/p>\n\n\n\n

yes <\/p>\n\n\n\n

it twists and turns <\/p>\n\n\n\n

scattering syllables pairing words <\/p>\n\n\n\n

all welcome <\/p>\n\n\n\n

yes <\/p>\n\n\n\n

this is a poem <\/p>\n\n\n\n

where nonsense is also new sense <\/p>\n\n\n\n

playing with tongues <\/p>\n\n\n\n

curling up words <\/p>\n\n\n\n

chewing the cud <\/p>\n\n\n\n

you\u2019re reading this in translation <\/p>\n\n\n\n

not everything matches the original <\/p>\n\n\n\n

some colours are new <\/p>\n\n\n\n

some meanings are shaded <\/p>\n\n\n\n

some offshoots have run wild <\/p>\n\n\n\n

others were nipped in the bud <\/p>\n\n\n\n

some turnings were taken by chance <\/p>\n\n\n\n

swerving away from the usual path <\/p>\n\n\n\n

to a new home stocked with <\/p>\n\n\n\n

strange fruit and perky jams <\/p>\n\n\n\n

made by crabby grannies <\/p>\n\n\n\n

grafted tongues <\/p>\n\n\n\n

freed and reborn <\/p>\n\n\n\n

if we have to belong to a culture <\/p>\n\n\n\n

let it be a sea of tongues <\/p>\n\n\n\n

out with the maladies <\/p>\n\n\n\n

of perfect pure lives <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the poet doesn\u2019t go to the slaughter <\/p>\n\n\n\n

but others arrive the day before <\/p>\n\n\n\n

early morning still dark <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the cock\u2019s too sleepy to crow <\/p>\n\n\n\n

lights come on <\/p>\n\n\n\n

coffeepots whistle on stoves <\/p>\n\n\n\n

stirring <\/p>\n\n\n\n

lazy lie-abeds <\/p>\n\n\n\n

wiping sleep from their eyes <\/p>\n\n\n\n

a hop, skip and a jump out into the cold <\/p>\n\n\n\n

following their own frozen breath <\/p>\n\n\n\n

an umbilical premonition <\/p>\n\n\n\n

like Donnie Darko\u2019s <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they head for Steffi\u2019s house <\/p>\n\n\n\n

an ancient tradition <\/p>\n\n\n\n

gathering in the square to kill the pig <\/p>\n\n\n\n

a public event for the last 500 years <\/p>\n\n\n\n

since the Reconquest <\/p>\n\n\n\n

since the Jews were expelled <\/p>\n\n\n\n

proving one\u2019s Christian credentials <\/p>\n\n\n\n

pigs that divide <\/p>\n\n\n\n

pigs as animal borders <\/p>\n\n\n\n

give us this day our daily pig <\/p>\n\n\n\n

for ever and ever <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and yet before <\/p>\n\n\n\n

it was simply a kind of meat <\/p>\n\n\n\n

with no special meaning <\/p>\n\n\n\n

not a symbol <\/p>\n\n\n\n

but merely a beast <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and also to test <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the skills and fears of the village youngsters <\/p>\n\n\n\n

who baulks at cleaning the innards <\/p>\n\n\n\n

who licks their lips at the bubbling pot <\/p>\n\n\n\n

who covers their ears from the dying squeals <\/p>\n\n\n\n

who ties up sausages with their teeth <\/p>\n\n\n\n

there were no pigs in America until <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Christopher Columbus brought eight <\/p>\n\n\n\n

from La Gomera in 1493 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they ate lizards <\/p>\n\n\n\n

pineapples cassava walnuts and birds <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they soon multiplied <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and the flu virus they carried <\/p>\n\n\n\n

killed a million and a half Indians <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Steffi brandishes the knife <\/p>\n\n\n\n

she knows what to do <\/p>\n\n\n\n

she\u2019s won over the village elders <\/p>\n\n\n\n

now she leads the slaughter <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and sets everyone to work <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the struggling pig knows what\u2019s coming <\/p>\n\n\n\n

it takes six to hold it steady <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the knife cuts true <\/p>\n\n\n\n

out spurts blood <\/p>\n\n\n\n

gushing and gurgling <\/p>\n\n\n\n

into the black bucket <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they sear it with the blowtorch <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the smell of scorched skin <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the stench of burnt animal <\/p>\n\n\n\n

fills the cold air <\/p>\n\n\n\n

now they skin it while <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the children clean the innards <\/p>\n\n\n\n

with the hosepipe in the field <\/p>\n\n\n\n

inside the adults <\/p>\n\n\n\n

skin, cut and separate <\/p>\n\n\n\n

first head feet and spine  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

out with the innards <\/p>\n\n\n\n

heart and liver <\/p>\n\n\n\n

hung up high <\/p>\n\n\n\n

next fillets, chops and tenderloin <\/p>\n\n\n\n

from the shoulder and belly <\/p>\n\n\n\n

then cheeks ears and snout <\/p>\n\n\n\n

from the head <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the bones are cut from legs and shoulders <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the fat for making sausages <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and lard <\/p>\n\n\n\n

then <\/p>\n\n\n\n

chop up the meat and mix together <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201con their knees <\/p>\n\n\n\n

with two hands <\/p>\n\n\n\n

till it sweats from its arse\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

as Mesquida said in Llefre<\/em> de <\/em>tu<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

salt and pepper <\/p>\n\n\n\n

herbs and spices <\/p>\n\n\n\n

stuff the sausages <\/p>\n\n\n\n

hang them up <\/p>\n\n\n\n

set the table <\/p>\n\n\n\n

for a celebratory feast <\/p>\n\n\n\n

after the slaughter <\/p>\n\n\n\n

celebrate the slaughter <\/p>\n\n\n\n

after the slaughter <\/p>\n\n\n\n

no one asks <\/p>\n\n\n\n

what\u2019s left of the pig <\/p>\n\n\n\n

everyone\u2019s full <\/p>\n\n\n\n

after the story <\/p>\n\n\n\n

no one asks <\/p>\n\n\n\n

what\u2019s left of the world <\/p>\n\n\n\n

we just live here that\u2019s all <\/p>\n\n\n\n

after the war <\/p>\n\n\n\n

no one asks <\/p>\n\n\n\n

what\u2019s left of the country <\/p>\n\n\n\n

we struggle to get by <\/p>\n\n\n\n

after Europe <\/p>\n\n\n\n

no one asks <\/p>\n\n\n\n

what\u2019s left of Europe <\/p>\n\n\n\n

everyone\u2019s dreaming distracted dreams  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the answer\u2019s always everything and nothing <\/p>\n\n\n\n

everything\u2019s used, nothing goes to waste <\/p>\n\n\n\n

everything changes shape and name <\/p>\n\n\n\n

you can\u2019t making sausages <\/p>\n\n\n\n

without any blood <\/p>\n\n\n\n

meat will be meat <\/p>\n\n\n\n

cooked in its own fat <\/p>\n\n\n\n

we\u2019ll throw a great party <\/p>\n\n\n\n

to celebrate whatever <\/p>\n\n\n\n

victory or fall <\/p>\n\n\n\n

what\u2019s left or what we\u2019ve lost <\/p>\n\n\n\n

maybe we\u2019ll become vegetarians <\/p>\n\n\n\n

perhaps there\u2019ll be no more pigs slaughtered <\/p>\n\n\n\n

they\u2019ll roam freely <\/p>\n\n\n\n

no longer our borders <\/p>\n\n\n\n

perhaps Europe will lose its name <\/p>\n\n\n\n

skinned to get through winter <\/p>\n\n\n\n

maybe we\u2019ll survive on sausages <\/p>\n\n\n\n

from the slaughter <\/p>\n\n\n\n

on the cured meat <\/p>\n\n\n\n

of hope <\/p>\n\n\n\n

learning forwards <\/p>\n\n\n\n

to tip the scales <\/p>\n\n\n\n

to counterbalance past sorrows <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and withered cultures <\/p>\n\n\n\n

when the cupboard\u2019s empty <\/p>\n\n\n\n

just crumbs of the past <\/p>\n\n\n\n

when all our meat\u2019s but a memory <\/p>\n\n\n\n

when we\u2019ve forgotten it all <\/p>\n\n\n\n

when a continent is once again just <\/p>\n\n\n\n

fertile land <\/p>\n\n\n\n

shelter <\/p>\n\n\n\n

possibility <\/p>\n\n\n\n

then we\u2019ll have another tale to tell<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t