I love you; but far beyond you! I’ve run so far that I have to look at the sea just to recall the trembling of your lips. — Federico García Lorca, from “Once Five Years Pass,” Once Five Years Pass And Other Dramatic Works (Station Hill Press, 1989) Advertisements
But like love the archers are blind Upon the green night, the piercing saetas leave traces of warm lily. The keel of the moon breaks through purple clouds and their quivers fill with dew. Ay, but like love the archers are blind! — Federico García Lorca, “Before The Dawn,” Poem of the Deep Song (City… Continue reading Federico García Lorca
Gacela of the Flight I have lost myself in the sea many tunes with my ear full of freshly cut flowers, with my tongue full of love awl agony. I have lost myself in the sea many times as I lose myself in the heart of certain children. There is no one who in giving… Continue reading Federico García Lorca
The Little Mute Boy The little boy was looking for his voice. (The king of the crickets had it.) In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice. I do not want it for speaking with; I will make a ring of it so that he may wear my silence on… Continue reading Federico García Lorca
Arbole, Arbole . . . Tree, tree dry and green. The girl with the pretty face is out picking olives. The wind, playboy of towers, grabs her around the waist. Four riders passed by on Andalusian ponies, with blue and green jackets and big, dark capes. “Come to Cordoba, muchacha.” The girl won’t listen to… Continue reading Federico García Lorca
The afternoon, grown wild with figs and hot murmurs, swoons and falls… And black angels were soaring through the western sky. Angels with long tresses and hearts of olive oil. — Federico García Lorca, “The Feud,” Romancero Gitano. (Agebe, March 2006) Originally published 1928.
Romance Sonambulo Green, how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches. The ship out on the sea and the horse on the mountain. With the shade around her waist she dreams on her balcony, green flesh, her hair green, with eyes of cold silver. Green, how I want you green. Under the gypsy moon,… Continue reading Federico García Lorca