Málaga

All Poems, Change, Humor, Málaga, Memories, Spain, Trips and Places

Lladró

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Years ago, we made many trips to Spain.

The souvenir most prized by parents was Lladró.

Detailed porcelain figures crafted outside Valencia.

Sold everywhere in gift shops.

Also, in stores dedicated only to Lladró.

On this trip to Málaga, they were missing.

I saw no Lladró for sale.

Though I know it’s fashioned.

Still honored in Spain.

Girls in long skirts and bonnets.

Satyrs playing flutes.

Young boys stealing kisses from sweethearts.

Pastoral couples with pets.

Mothers holding daughters.

Geese and bears.

Glossy and matte.

Whatever we carried home, hailed.

Appreciated, displayed.

But, as elders passed, the collection passed.

To us.

So, twenty or so figurines skip, run, pick flowers.

In our china cabinet.

Graceful, but impossible to sell.

They’re not the huge ones.

Complicated, intricate ones.

Expensive ones.

For, we bought them as young marrieds.

Not having hundreds of dollars.

Without capacity to pack elaborate sculptures.

Those statuettes spy behind the glass

in elegant pastel costumes.

Our gifts regifted back to us.

Cavorting cartoon heirlooms!

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 12, 2023

All Poems, Death, Loss, Málaga, Time

Time Compressed

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I can’t believe how compressed the time has been, said Bob.

Reviewing the days since our return from Málaga.

Dealing with the death of his mother.

Postponing jet lag.

Organizing the funeral.

Welcoming adult children and two grandkids.

Who mourned with us.

Supported us and each other in the loss.

A good example of rising to the occasion.

Dropping everything.

Focusing intently on the moment.

On the past.

Preparing food.

Writing eulogies.

Talking to the nursing home, funeral home.

Arranging time at the cemetery.

Informing people of the passing.

Alerting them to the livestream.

Our preference for a private shiva.

All within a concentrated time frame.

A structure that removed the future.

Kept us present, recalling the past.

Till the last son left.

Leaving the house still, quiet.

Then Bob held his mother

in his aching knees and back.

Reflected on bustling days.

So much to rethink, unpack.

No more visits to see her.

Not another Hershey kiss.

Normal routines interrupted.

What’s left? To reminisce.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 8, 2023

Bob’s back and knee ached from shoveling earth into his mother’s grave. Hence, he was holding her in his pain, both physical and psychic.

 

All Poems, Death, Loss, Málaga, Time

From Málaga to Mourning

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Life has a way of jolting you to attention.

Sometimes with surprises.

Sometimes with things you need to do.

Usually with some kind of action.

Something that keeps you in motion.

A death has a way of stopping time.

Making you pause.

Opening a box of memories.

About the person you’ve lost.

About yourself.

A kind of journey backwards.

Unlike the trip to Málaga.

With its forward trajectory.

Instead, stop, rewind.

The rewind insistent.

Pushing back to the beginning.

To remember my mother-in-law.

Then even further back.

To details of her family history.

A different kind of trip.

No cars or airplanes necessary.

Just space and hours to dream.

For those images come a flooding

in a steady pelting stream.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 6, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Death, Family, Farewell, Grandparents, Loss, Málaga, Spain, Trips and Places

Goodbye

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We arrived in Málaga in time for Three Kings.

About a month ago.

Now new visitors roam the streets.

To discover her charms.

Her history.

Her beauty.

While we pack to go home.

Unprepared for what awaits.

Though we know.

Were told.

Bob’s mother has Covid.

Refusing treatment.

Lying in hospice.

Alone.

Till Zev and Ari arrive.

Two angels to flank her.

Then, we, tomorrow.

We breathe in health from Mediterranean breezes.

As she breathes in her last.

Her final breaths.

In a hospice room.

Alone.

Till two grandsons appear.

An unenviable, ironic end

for one who feared being alone.

Who wanted to be remembered

surrounded by kin, and known.

So, we send our prayers on wings

to comfort, encircle with love.

Then hurry to her bedside

to hug, assure she’s thought of.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 1, 2023

 

All Poems, Humor, Málaga, Spain, Trips and Places

Monday in Málaga

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Today was the last Monday in Málaga.

Mondays are distinct.

On our first morning here, the property manager advised:

Never buy fish on Monday. The fish market is closed. Fish is not fresh.

So, on Mondays, never order fish.

Also, on Mondays, many museums are closed.

Our first Monday here, we taxied to the Botanical Gardens.

Closed.

The Museum of Málaga, closed.

The Military Museum, closed.

The Flamenco Museum, closed.

On Mondays, fewer people fill the streets.

The restaurants, the bars.

The movie theater.

So, Mondays in Málaga,

never ever eat fish.

Most museums are out,

but stroll where you wish.

The port, the old city.

The gardens and parks.

Alcazaba, Cathedral.

Both are landmarks.

Walk north, walk south.

Málaga’s full of surprises.

History pops out.

Can never guess what arises.

 

Lynn Benjamin

January 31, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Family, Love, Málaga, Spain, Spouses, Trips and Places

Gratitude to Málaga and to You (To Bob)

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It’s the second to last day.

Of a month’s stay in Málaga.

Where, with gratitude, we walked streets.

Where Picasso, as a child, played.

Artists before him ambled along.

Shaped Málaga’s Fine Arts Academy.

Bernardo Ferrándiz y Badenes.

Antonio Muñoz Degrain, José Nogales Sevilla.

Where Flamenco artists like Juan Breva strummed guitars.

And the Marqués De Lario donated funds for parks.

Where Phoenicians and Carthaginians settled.

Where Romans built a theater and garum pools.

Where Moors built defenses.

Symbols and landmarks of the city today,

Monuments along with the Cathedral.

Helping me find my way.

As I passed by each day.

I’m grateful my feet could tread Málaga’s paths.

Its gardens, port, and beaches.

For a full month, living at 67 Carreterría.

In a city where the past is honored.

The present valued.

But, mostly, I am grateful

I could spend the time with you.

Exploring and reminiscing,

examining old and new.

The Mediterranean sun warmed us

in its curative light.

Nourished limbs, hearts, minds

to bind us yet more tight.

 

Lynn Benjamin

January 31, 2023

All Poems, Málaga, Spain, Trips and Places

Málaga, A Happening Place

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Málaga never ceases to amaze.

In fact, it’s a happening place.

Live theater.

Movie houses.

Flamenco.

Concerts.

Art exhibits.

But, this morning at dawn, I couldn’t figure out what was going on.

As workers removed an exhibit of theater posters.

Arranged in the plaza in front of the Alcazaba.

Removed the names and times of movies.

Playing at the Albéniz.

Later, those theater announcements were all replaced.

With others saying La Chica de Nieve.

A red carpet covered the ground.

Or rather,  a plastic carpet in red.

By the Roman Theater.

Large screens flashed pictures of a woman’s face.

Again, the words La Chica de Nieve.

Camera and microphone equipment were readied.

When is the big event? I asked a crew member.

Around seven, he replied.

So, Bob and I returned.

To see what all the fuss was about.

It was the premiere.

Of La Chica de Nieve.

A Netflix adaptation of the thriller by Javier Castillo.

Spanish author, born in Málaga.

He, cast, and crew paraded on the carpet into the theater.

While crowds cheered them on.

Hooted and hollered love messages.

Bob and I stood back.

Watching it all unfold.

Contemporary drama.

Six episodes, complete.

Obscuring Roman Theater.

Making ancient obsolete.

 

Lynn Benjamin

January 26, 2023

 

All Poems, Humor, Málaga, Spain, Trips and Places

Tributes and Complaints

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Friends were with us in Málaga for six days.

I exclaimed, La limpieza de Málaga keeps the streets so clean.

Over and over, I said it.

Then, Málaga should be a model city.

Ann Marie agreed, I wish Madrid would wash its streets more.

Yes, I went on, Philadelphia and New York could use some lessons.

Well, she answered, make sure you tell the office of tourism.

They need to hear your appreciation.

Okay, I’ll do that, I agreed.

Some days later, we all walked to see the Cathedral of Málaga.

Stood in line for tickets.

Only to learn that full entrance was eight euros.

Seven and a half for seniors.

Our friends fumed.

Shameful, they asserted.

Shameful for the church to charge so much.

Much less for seniors! Shameful, they tsked.

So, we all turned on our heels.

Exiting the line.

Viewing the building from outside.

Ann Marie then swung around.

At turismo, tell them how much you value the street cleaning.

Then protest the prices at the cathedral!

 

I listened to my friend, heard her well.

Give both tributes and complaints.

But, the thought flashed through my mind,

without sinners, you can’t have saints!

 

Lynn Benjamin

January 23, 2023

All Poems, Gardens, Málaga, Spain, Stories, Trips and Places

The Park of Música Vieja

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What’s the name of this park? I asked the landscaper in Spanish.

Watching him trim some bushes.

Música Vieja, he answered.

Went on, there used to be a café with lots of umbrellas.

Near the bamboo. So, its nickname is Paraguitos.

The man and I studied each other’s faces.

I stopped him the other day to ask about the cactus tree.

In the same park.

At once, we recognized each other.

Then he asked me, where are you from?

I answered, from the United States, Philadelphia.

Abruptly, he stopped speaking Spanish.

Broke into a British lilt.

Said he’d been in Málaga for seventeen years.

Added there was no signage with the park’s name.

For the vandalism.

Then we shared a laugh.

Not about vandals, parks or trees.

A simple toast to our encounter.

Rather, our second-time reprise.

 

Lynn Benjamin

January 22, 2023

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Beaches, Málaga, Spain, Trips and Places

Warm Malagueño Saturday in January

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Málaga is a port on the Mediterranean.

A full day’s entertainment on warm winter days.

Maybe starting with a stroll along the paseo marítimo.

Twisting for miles beside public beaches.

Like Malagueta, Caleta, Acacias, El Palo.

Dotted with chiringuitos, places to stop for drinks.

Take a rest in the shade.

Even taste the grilled sardines.

At tables under dried grass umbrellas.

Keep walking and you’ll see children on playgrounds.

Whizzing back and forth on zip lines.

Adults exercising on outdoor machines.

Beachgoers with towels seeking sun.

Rock climbers clambering onto jetties.

Palm trees blowing in breezes.

Turn around and move in the direction of the ports.

An industrial port unloads container ships.

A cruise ship dock offers space for vacation liners.

A large car ferry travels to Melilla.

A marina harbors fishing craft, tour boats.

As well as spaces for yachts.

Where you can’t miss the Vava II super yacht.

Owned by Italian billionaires in pharmaceuticals.

The pier is newly renovated, hosting eateries and shops.

Even a museum, the Pompidou.

Smaller than its counterpart in Paris, but no less colorful.

Continue around the bend, past craft kiosks.

To El Palmeral de las Sorpresas.

Full of entertainers.

Guitarists.

Mimes.

Vocalists.

Acrobats.

And families, lovers, tourists.

Watching all the excitement.

Taking it in with ocean air.

On warm January winter days

the port stretches, wakes up, laughs.

A giant snake on which to ride.

Hold on tight, snap photographs.

 

Lynn Benjamin

January 23, 2023