House of Paine

Pinter butt blasts KAPTAIN AMERIKA

but better yet

he reads this neruda poem:

 And one morning all that was burning
   one morning the bonfires leapt out of the earth 
         devouring human beings
    and from then on fire, gunpowder from then on, and from
    then on blood. Bandits with planes and Moors, bandits
    with finger-rings and duchesses, bandits with black
    friars spattering blessings came through the sky to kill
    children and the blood of children ran through the
    streets without fuss, like children's blood.

    Jackals that the jackals would despise stones that the
    dry thistle would bite on and spit out, vipers that the
    vipers would abominate.

    Face to face with you I have seen the blood of Spain
    tower like a tide to drown you in one wave of pride and
    knives.

    Treacherous generals: see my dead house, look at broken
    Spain: from every house burning metal flows instead of
    flowers from every socket of Spain Spain emerges and from
    every dead child a rifle with eyes and from every crime
    bullets are born which will one day find the bull's eye
    of your hearts.

    And you will ask: why doesn't his poetry speak of dreams
    and leaves and the great volcanoes of his native land.

    Come and see the blood in the streets. Come and see the
    blood in the streets. Come and see the blood in the
    streets!*