Drop me down out of the cold wet gloom
into the orange trees in bloom:
the olives, almonds, windmills, cypresses,
the black-eyed girls with wild tresses;
where once were barren hillsides, peasants, mules,
are now estates with swimming pools.

*****

Mallorca, or Majorca to the English, has always been an attractive destination for people from further north. Frederic Chopin and George Sand moved there at the beginning of their relationship, spending three months while Chopin completed his 23 preludes in each of the major and minor keys (but the locals were suspicious of his coughing, and were antagonised by George Sand’s avoidance of church; the couple moved on). Robert Graves (whose Wikipedia entry’s Sexuality section is mind-boggling) lived for decades in the village of Deia, also associated with Anais Nin, Richard Branson, Mick Jagger, Mark Knopfler, etc. And these days Mallorca gets over 10 million tourists a year.

My short poem is inconsequential, but it has just been published in the September issue of Allegro, which is themed on ‘Flight’. It was a simple reflection on revisiting Mallorca decades after summer holidays there.

Photo: “Parella i ase” by Arxiu del So i de la Imatge de Mallorca is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.