The Fortress of Quermançó
....
 
The wind of the Tramuntana
Gallops down the Empordà
Its red hooves tearing open
Clouds of coral, mists of blood

Like a feral wolf it howls
On the heights of Quermançó,
Seeking a fit habitation
To tune and re-tune its voice.

It probes into every chink to find
The Golden Goat of the Jews;
An untimely Argonaut
Zealous for the priceless Fleece.

Cold hard chisel of steel,
It whets its whistle on turrets,
Flensing the flesh from old ramparts,
From portals and crumbling arches.

It howls in fury to find
No sign of the count's archives;
The castle was plundered by many.
Revenge and defeat! it cries.

It will leave no trace of those
Who ordered all this destruction,
Be it Philip, called 'the Bold'
Or the viscount of Peralada.

Or Ramon Berenguer IV,
Who was Count of Barcelona,
Or King John who sent his troop
Of men so merciless and strong!

Or that marshal called Suchet,
Maladroit artilleryman
Who did not touch flame to fuse-
In the war against the French,

Leaving to a daring Countess
Called Teresa from Molins
pith and marrow of a legend,
powder for her epic end.

Quermançó, cradle of noblemen
Independent, warriors all
Robust emblem of brave people
Despite overwhelming odds

Mocks the fantasy of such
As the bold Captain Thunder
And disdains all unpaid tithes
Levied upon feudal lands…

Austere battlements gnaw
At the sky of Empordà,
They count the stars as they spy
On the rough ocean below…

Quermançó, poised and collected
Waits atop its slender crag,
Biding some dream of Dalí's
To restore its fame and pride.


....



Poem by Maria Terrades i Compte

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