homage, catalonia

Am I the last person to learn of the Walter Benjamin monument in Spain, near the graveyard in which he was buried?  I can't find adequate pictures, but my sense is that I would be very affected by it— although traveling there with the purpose of seeing it seems all wrong, unless the bus were to leave me stranded overnight.

Health update: I'm walking again with an air cast; I seem to have caught a cold.  So far everything else is in order.

P.S.: The Lusíads.  Camões was The Great Portuguese Poet until Pessoa, who carried on an agon with him, because of The Lusíads, which are the Age of Exploration version of the great classical epics.  By "version" I mean "hilariously ham-handed imitation:" the Roman gods all show up to take sides over Vasco da Gama's voyage to India— Venus, of course, is on Vasco's side, while scheming Bacchus wants to keep India for himself.  Camões assures us that it's better than that hackwork Aeneid; it's certainly funnier, and so far has caused me to shriek more often.  Lordy.

But it was Bacchus who dissented
Most from Jupiter's edict, well aware
His own powers in India would cease
If such men came there as the Portuguese.

He knew it was fated there would come
From Iberia, over the high seas,
An invincible people to subjugate
All his India's foaming coastline,
And with fresh victories would dwarf
Legends, whether his own or others.
[. . .]

Against him spoke the lovely Venus,
Favouring the people of Portugal
For her love of the Roman virtue
She saw resurrected in them;
In their stout hearts, in the star
Which shone bright above Ceuta,
In the language which an inventive mind
Could mistake for Latin, passably declined.

This stirred the Cytherean, and more
Deeply since fate clearly had in mind
That wherever these warrior people
Roamed, her rites would be respected.

Eeek!  Eeek!  Stop!  Nooooo....