Here is a fragment of the video's recital, written by Rafael Narbona, so-called "Fucking police". I translated the best I can, but of course some peculiar shades are lost.
I have always hated you. You are the offspring of infamy, the first line of the most soulless capitalism, the executioners of the working class. No matter if your appearance changes. Although your transit uniform from Hitler's black to the infamous Duke of Ahumada's olive, your gaze shows invariably the same indignity. You always enrage with the weakest. You eject families from their homes and beat workers, students and unemployed, you torture in dark dungeons, invoking duty and patriotism. You make your victims disappear into chasms, ravines or pits covered with quicklime. Sometimes you prefer to throw your victims into the dark deep waters of the ocean. You are the legions who crucified 6,000 slaves between Capua and Rome, transforming the Appian Way in a demonstration of the imperial power, enraged by the revolt of Spartacus, the Thracian gladiator. You, murderers of García Lorca, boasted of having dried a source of beauty, with a mean discharge of lead. People hate you and dream of walking your heads on a pike. You are in my nightmares since childhood, when I looked down the Gran Via (avenue of Madrid), chasing protesters beaten with batons and gas. Until then, the evil was only an abstraction, but that day I realized (...) Your crimes will not fall into oblivion. The hand of Mateo Morral (anarko-activist) awaits at every corner, ready to do justice. True poetry is not composed with verses and stanzas, but with anger and dynamite.
Here is a fragment of the video's recital, written by Rafael Narbona, so-called "Fucking police". I translated the best I can, but of course some peculiar shades are lost.
ReplyDeleteI have always hated you. You are the offspring of infamy, the first line of the most soulless capitalism, the executioners of the working class. No matter if your appearance changes. Although your transit uniform from Hitler's black to the infamous Duke of Ahumada's olive, your gaze shows invariably the same indignity. You always enrage with the weakest. You eject families from their homes and beat workers, students and unemployed, you torture in dark dungeons, invoking duty and patriotism. You make your victims disappear into chasms, ravines or pits covered with quicklime. Sometimes you prefer to throw your victims into the dark deep waters of the ocean. You are the legions who crucified 6,000 slaves between Capua and Rome, transforming the Appian Way in a demonstration of the imperial power, enraged by the revolt of Spartacus, the Thracian gladiator. You, murderers of García Lorca, boasted of having dried a source of beauty, with a mean discharge of lead. People hate you and dream of walking your heads on a pike. You are in my nightmares since childhood, when I looked down the Gran Via (avenue of Madrid), chasing protesters beaten with batons and gas. Until then, the evil was only an abstraction, but that day I realized (...)
Your crimes will not fall into oblivion. The hand of Mateo Morral (anarko-activist) awaits at every corner, ready to do justice. True poetry is not composed with verses and stanzas, but with anger and dynamite.
A very moving words, a record of history.
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