Federico García Lorca

Federico García Lorca

1898–1936 · lived 38 years ES ES

Federico García Lorca was a Spanish poet, playwright, and theatre director, widely regarded as one of the most important figures of the Generation of '27. His work is characterized by its lyrical intensity, exploration of Andalusian folklore, and profound engagement with themes of love, death, desire, and social injustice. Lorca's poetic and dramatic output, infused with elements of surrealism and symbolism, has had a lasting impact on Spanish and world literature.

n. 1898-06-05, Fuente Vaqueros · m. 1936-08-18, Víznar

19,876 Views

Adam

Adam


A tree of blood soaks the morning
where the newborn woman groans.
Her voice leaves glass in the wound
and on the panes, a diagram of bone.

The coming light establishes and wins
white limits of a fable that forgets
the tumult of veins in flight
toward the dim cool of the apple.

Adam dreams in the fever of the clay
of a child who comes galloping
through the double pulse of his cheek.

But a dark other Adam is dreaming
a neuter moon of seedless stone
where the child of light will burn.
Read full poem
Bio

Identification and basic context

Full name: Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca. Pseudonyms or heteronyms: He sometimes used the pseudonym "Maestro" when signing off on letters or collaborating, but not for his published works. Date and place of birth (and death, if applicable): Born June 5, 1898, in Fuente Vaqueros, Granada, Spain. Executed on August 19, 1936, near Granada. Family background, social class, and cultural context of origin: Born into a relatively prosperous landowning family in Andalusia. His father, Federico García Rodríguez, was a landowner, and his mother, Vicenta Lorca Romero, was a schoolteacher. His upbringing was steeped in the rich cultural traditions of Andalusia, including flamenco music, bullfighting, and rural life, which deeply influenced his artistic sensibility. Nationality and language(s) of writing: Spanish; wrote exclusively in Spanish. Historical context in which they lived: Lorca lived during a tumultuous period in Spanish history, including the reign of Alfonso XIII, the rise of the Second Spanish Republic, and the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War. His life and work were marked by the social and political tensions of the era, particularly the conflict between tradition and modernity, and the struggles of marginalized groups.

Childhood and education

Family background and social environment: His family was supportive of his artistic inclinations. His mother, in particular, encouraged his love for music and literature. He grew up surrounded by the vibrant folk culture of Andalusia. Formal education and self-education: He studied at the Colegio del Sacro Corazón in Granada and later at the University of Granada, where he pursued law, literature, and philosophy. He was an avid reader and learned much through self-study and exposure to artistic circles. Early influences (readings, culture, religion, politics): His early influences included Andalusian folk music and poetry (cante jondo), the works of Spanish poets like Rubén Darío and Antonio Machado, and the global literary movements of symbolism and surrealism. He was also deeply moved by the plight of the Roma people and other marginalized communities in Spain. Literary, philosophical, or artistic movements absorbed: Lorca was influenced by symbolism, surrealism, and the avant-garde movements of his time, which he integrated into his unique poetic and dramatic style. He was a key figure in the Generation of '27, a group of Spanish poets who sought to fuse traditional Spanish forms with avant-garde innovations. Significant events in youth: His move to Madrid in 1919 to study at the Residencia de Estudiantes, a vibrant intellectual hub, was a pivotal moment. There, he met prominent figures like Salvador Dalí and Luis Buñuel, forging lifelong friendships and artistic connections.

Literary trajectory

Beginning of writing (when and how it started): Lorca began writing poetry and prose at a young age, encouraged by his mother and his intellectual environment. His first published book was a collection of prose pieces, "Impressions and Landscapes" (1918), followed by his first poetry collection, "Book of Poetry" (1921). Development over time (phases, changes in style): His early work showed strong influences of Modernism and Romanticism. His "Gypsy Ballads" (1928) marked a significant development, blending folk traditions with surreal imagery. His later plays, such as "Blood Wedding" (1933) and "The House of Bernarda Alba" (1936), demonstrated his mastery of dramatic form, exploring profound social and psychological themes. Chronological evolution of the work: From his early lyrical poems and narrative ballads to his innovative dramas, Lorca's work evolved, becoming increasingly complex in its thematic depth and stylistic sophistication. Contributions to magazines, newspapers, and anthologies: He contributed to numerous literary journals and magazines, both in Spain and abroad. His poems and plays were widely anthologized and discussed. Activity as a critic, translator, or editor: Lorca was also involved in theatre direction and staging. He was part of the traveling theatre group "La Barraca," which aimed to bring classical Spanish theatre to rural audiences. He also translated works by other poets and playwrights.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Major works with dates and context of production: Poetry: "Gypsy Ballads" (Romancero Gitano, 1928), "Poet in New York" (Poeta en Nueva York, written 1929-1930, published 1940), "Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías" (Llanto por Ignacio Sánchez Mejías, 1935). Plays: "Mariana Pineda" (1927), "Blood Wedding" (Bodas de Sangre, 1933), "Yerma" (1934), "The House of Bernarda Alba" (La Casa de Bernarda Alba, 1936). Dominant themes — love, death, time, nature, identity, homeland, spirituality, etc.: Love (often passionate, tragic, and unfulfilled), death (inevitable and often violent), desire, repression, social injustice, the tragic fate of marginalized individuals (especially women and the Roma), nature (as a powerful, often destructive force), and the conflict between instinct and societal norms. Form and structure — use of the sonnet, free verse, fixed forms, metrical experimentation: Lorca masterfully blended traditional Spanish forms (like the ballad) with free verse and surrealist experimentation. His poetry is known for its musicality, employing varied rhythms and rhyme schemes. His plays often followed classical structures but were infused with poetic language and modern themes. Poetic devices (metaphor, rhythm, musicality): His work is rich in striking metaphors, vivid imagery, symbolism, and musicality. He drew heavily on Andalusian folklore, using traditional motifs and rhythms to create a unique and powerful poetic voice. Tone and poetic voice — lyrical, satirical, elegiac, epic, ironic, confessional: His tone varies from lyrical and passionate to elegiac and tragic. There is often an undercurrent of lament for lost beauty and an indictment of societal cruelty. His voice is deeply human, empathetic, and often imbued with a sense of impending doom. Poetic voice (personal, universal, fragmented, etc.): His poetic voice is deeply personal, drawing from his own experiences and emotions, yet it achieves a universal resonance through its exploration of fundamental human struggles and desires. Language and style — vocabulary, imagery density, preferred rhetorical devices: Lorca's language is evocative, sensual, and intensely imagistic. He used rich vocabulary, drawing from both learned traditions and the vernacular of Andalusia. His use of metaphor, personification, and synesthesia is particularly notable. Formal or thematic innovations introduced into literature: He revitalized traditional Spanish poetic forms and infused them with modernist and surrealist sensibilities. His plays broke new ground in their exploration of psychological depth and social critique, presented through poetic language. Relationship with tradition and modernity: Lorca masterfully synthesized tradition and modernity, grounding his avant-garde techniques in the rich heritage of Spanish folk culture and classical literature. Associated literary movements (e.g., symbolism, modernism): He is a leading figure of the Generation of '27, often associated with Spanish Surrealism and Symbolism, though his unique style transcends any single movement. Lesser-known or unpublished works: Lorca left behind many unpublished poems and plays, some of which have been discovered and published posthumously. His early experimental works also reveal a less polished but equally passionate artist.

Cultural and historical context

Relationship with historical events (wars, revolutions, regimes): Lorca was deeply affected by the political instability in Spain and the rise of fascism, which culminated in the Civil War. His assassination by Nationalist forces is a tragic symbol of the war's brutality and the suppression of artistic and intellectual freedom. Relationship with other writers or literary circles: He was a central figure in the vibrant literary and artistic scene of Madrid, befriending and collaborating with prominent figures like Dalí, Buñuel, Rafael Alberti, and Manuel de Falla. He was a key member of the Generation of '27. Generation or movement to which they belong (e.g., Romanticism, Modernism, Surrealism): He is the most internationally recognized member of the Generation of '27, a group that aimed to revive Spanish poetry by combining traditional forms with avant-garde innovations. Political or philosophical stance: While not overtly a political activist, Lorca was a vocal defender of human rights and a critic of oppression and injustice. His work often champions the marginalized and expresses solidarity with the oppressed. His liberal views and association with Republican intellectuals made him a target for the Nationalist regime. Influence of society and culture on the work: The specific cultural milieu of Andalusia, with its unique traditions of music, dance, and folklore, was fundamental to his work. The social and political climate of Spain, marked by conflict and inequality, provided the backdrop for his explorations of human suffering and societal repression. Dialogues and tensions with contemporaries: He engaged in lively intellectual debates with his contemporaries, pushing the boundaries of art and literature. His work often explored tensions between instinct and societal convention, a theme common among his generation. Critical reception during life vs. posthumous recognition: During his lifetime, Lorca was celebrated as a brilliant poet and playwright, achieving significant fame in Spain and internationally. His assassination tragically amplified his posthumous fame, making him a symbol of artistic persecution and a martyr for freedom of expression. His reputation has only grown over time.

Personal life

Significant emotional and family relationships and how they shaped the work: His mother's influence was crucial. His friendships with artists like Dalí and Buñuel were deeply formative, though his relationships were complex and sometimes fraught with romantic tension. His experiences with unrequited love and his sensitivity to the emotional lives of others deeply informed his art. Friendships and literary rivalries: He had a wide circle of friends and admirers within the artistic avant-garde. While his friendships were generally harmonious, the intense artistic and personal relationships he shared, particularly with Dalí, were subjects of much discussion. Personal experiences and crises, illnesses, or conflicts: His exile to New York (1929-1930) was a period of intense personal crisis and creative re-evaluation, resulting in "Poet in New York." His struggles with his own homosexuality in a deeply conservative society also informed his themes of repression and marginalization. Parallel professions (if they did not live solely from poetry): He was actively involved in theatre, serving as director of "La Barraca," and his plays were his primary source of income and public recognition as a dramatist. Religious, spiritual, or philosophical beliefs: Lorca's beliefs were complex, blending a Catholic upbringing with a more pantheistic reverence for nature and a deep empathy for human suffering. His work often touches on spiritual themes but is critical of institutionalized religion when it contributes to repression. Political positions and civic engagement: He was sympathetic to the Republican cause and spoke out against social injustice and repression. His support for the Republic and his openly liberal stance made him a target for the Nationalist regime. His death is often seen as a political act.

Recognition and reception

Place in national and international literature: Lorca is considered one of the greatest Spanish poets of the 20th century and a master playwright. His work has achieved international acclaim and is widely translated and performed. Awards, distinctions, and institutional recognition: He received numerous awards and accolades for his poetry and plays during his lifetime. His status as a cultural icon has only grown since his death. Critical reception at the time and over time: He was critically acclaimed during his lifetime as a major literary talent. Posthumously, his work has been subject to extensive critical analysis, with scholars exploring its symbolic depth, social commentary, and artistic innovation. He is universally recognized for his genius. Popularity vs. academic recognition: Lorca enjoys immense popularity with the general public worldwide, while also being a subject of intense academic study and critical acclaim.

Influences and legacy

Authors who influenced them: Andalusian folk tradition, Spanish Golden Age poets (like Góngora), Symbolists (like Baudelaire), and Surrealists (like André Breton). He also admired the work of other Generation of '27 poets. Poets and movements they influenced: Lorca's unique blend of folk tradition, symbolism, and surrealism has influenced countless poets and playwrights worldwide. His exploration of marginalized voices and social themes has inspired subsequent generations of artists. Impact on national and world literature and on later generations of poets: He is a foundational figure in modern Spanish literature and a major influence on 20th-century poetry and drama globally. His themes of love, death, and oppression continue to resonate powerfully. Inclusion in the literary canon: Lorca is an indispensable part of the Spanish literary canon and a major figure in the global literary canon. Translations and international dissemination: His works have been translated into virtually every major language and are continuously performed and studied internationally. Adaptations (music, theater, film): His plays have been adapted into numerous films, operas, and ballets. His poetry has been set to music by many composers, including Manuel de Falla and Leonard Bernstein. Academic studies dedicated to the work: An enormous body of scholarly work exists on Lorca, examining his poetry, plays, artistic development, biographical context, and political significance.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Possible readings of the work: Lorca's work can be interpreted through various lenses: as expressions of individual psychological struggles, as social critiques of repression and injustice, as explorations of universal themes of love and death, and as celebrations of Andalusian culture. His engagement with his own homosexuality provides another crucial interpretive layer. Philosophical and existential themes: His work grapples with the fundamental questions of life and death, the nature of desire, the consequences of repression, and the struggle for freedom. He often portrays a universe where destiny is inescapable and often tragic. Controversies or critical debates: Debates often surround the extent to which his work is overtly political versus deeply personal. The interpretation of his symbols, particularly those related to sexuality and death, is also a subject of ongoing critical discussion.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Lesser-known aspects of personality: Despite the tragic themes in his work, Lorca was known for his charm, wit, and vibrant personality. He was a gifted pianist and composer and had a lifelong passion for music. Contradictions between life and work: While his work often depicts stark tragedy, Lorca himself possessed a lively and often playful spirit. This juxtaposition between the darkness of his themes and the light of his personality is part of his enduring fascination. Significant or anecdotal episodes that illuminate the author’s profile: His friendship with Salvador Dalí and Luis Buñuel was marked by intense artistic and personal exchanges, reflecting the vibrant avant-garde culture of the time. His role in "La Barraca" demonstrated his commitment to democratizing art. Objects, places, or rituals associated with poetic creation: The landscape of Andalusia, with its olive groves, cypresses, and gypsies, is integral to his imagery. The guitar, the moon, water, and horses are recurring symbolic motifs in his work. Writing habits: Lorca was known to be a prodigious writer, often composing rapidly but also revising meticulously. He would often use music or drawing as an aid to his writing process. Curious episodes: His early fascination with insects and his childhood superstitions are sometimes noted as charmingly eccentric aspects of his personality. Manuscripts, diaries, or correspondence: His extensive correspondence and surviving manuscripts are invaluable resources for understanding his creative process, his relationships, and his intellectual development. They offer intimate glimpses into his life and artistic vision.

Death and memory

Circumstances of death: Lorca was arrested and executed by Nationalist forces shortly after the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War. The exact circumstances and location of his burial remain uncertain, though it is widely believed he was shot and buried in an unmarked grave. Posthumous publications: Numerous posthumous editions of his works have been published, including plays, poems, and essays that were not released during his lifetime. His legacy continues to be celebrated through performances, publications, and scholarly research.

Poems

22

Weeping

Weeping


Weeping,
I go down the street
Grotesque, without solution
With the sadness of Cyrano
And Quixote.

Redeeming
Infinite impossiblities
With the rhythm of the clock.
539

The Old Lizard

The Old Lizard

In the parched path
I have seen the good lizard
(one dropp of crocodile)
meditating.
With his green frock-coat
of an abbot of the devil,
his correct bearing
and his stiff collar,
he has the sad air
of an old professor.
Those faded eyes
of a broken artist,
how they watch the afternoon
in dismay!


Is this, my friend,
your twilight constitutional?
Please use your cane,
you are very old, Mr. Lizard,
and the children of the village
may startle you.
What are you seeking in the path,
my near-sighted philosopher,
if the wavering phantasm
of the parched afternoon
has broken the horizon?


Are you seeking the blue alms
of the moribund heaven?
A penny of a star?
Or perhaps
you've been reading a volume
of Lamartine, and you relish
the plateresque trills
of the birds?


(You watch the setting sun,
and your eyes shine,
oh, dragon of the frogs,
with a human radiance.
Ideas, gondolas without oars,
cross the shadowy
waters of your
burnt-out eyes.)


Have you come looking
for that lovely lady lizard,
green as the wheatfields
of May,
as the long locks
of sleeping pools,
who scorned you, and then



left you in your field?
Oh, sweet idyll, broken
among the sweet sedges!
But, live! What the devil!
I like you.
The motto 'I oppose
the serpent' triumphs
in that grand double chin
of a Christian archbishop.


Now the sun has dissolved
in the cup of the mountains,
and the flocks
cloud the roadway.
It is the hour to depart:
leave the dry path
and your meditations.
You will have time
to look at the stars
when the worms are eating you
at their leisure.


Go home to your house
by the village, of the crickets!
Good night, my friend
Mr. Lizard!


Now the field is empty,
the mountains dim,
the roadway deserted.
Only, now and again,
a cuckoo sings in the darkness
of the poplar trees.
702

The Gypsy and the Wind

The Gypsy and the Wind

Playing her parchment moon
Precosia comes
along a watery path of laurels and crystal lights.
The starless silence, fleeing
from her rhythmic tambourine,
falls where the sea whips and sings,
his night filled with silvery swarms.
High atop the mountain peaks
the sentinels are weeping;
they guard the tall white towers
of the English consulate.
And gypsies of the water
for their pleasure erect
little castles of conch shells
and arbors of greening pine.


Playing her parchment moon
Precosia comes.
The wind sees her and rises,
the wind that never slumbers.
Naked Saint Christopher swells,
watching the girl as he plays
with tongues of celestial bells
on an invisible bagpipe.


Gypsy, let me lift your skirt
and have a look at you.
Open in my ancient fingers
the blue rose of your womb.


Precosia throws the tambourine
and runs away in terror.
But the virile wind pursues her
with his breathing and burning sword.


The sea darkens and roars,
while the olive trees turn pale.
The flutes of darkness sound,
and a muted gong of the snow.


Precosia, run, Precosia!
Or the green wind will catch you!
Precosia, run, Precosia!
And look how fast he comes!
A satyr of low-born stars
with their long and glistening tongues.


Precosia, filled with fear,
now makes her way to that house
beyond the tall green pines
where the English consul lives.



Alarmed by the anguished cries,
three riflemen come running,
their black capes tightly drawn,
and berets down over their brow.

The Englishman gives the gypsy
a glass of tepid milk
and a shot of Holland gin
which Precosia does not drink.

And while she tells them, weeping,
of her strange adventure,
the wind furiously gnashes
against the slate roof tiles.
689

The Faithless Wife

The Faithless Wife

So I took her to the river
believing she was a maiden,
but she already had a husband.
It was on St. James night
and almost as if I was obliged to.
The lanterns went out
and the crickets lighted up.
In the farthest street corners
I touched her sleeping breasts
and they opened to me suddenly
like spikes of hyacinth.
The starch of her petticoat
sounded in my ears
like a piece of silk
rent by ten knives.
Without silver light on their foliage
the trees had grown larger
and a horizon of dogs
barked very far from the river.


Past the blackberries,
the reeds and the hawthorne
underneath her cluster of hair
I made a hollow in the earth
I took off my tie,
she too off her dress.
I, my belt with the revolver,
She, her four bodices.
Nor nard nor mother-o’-pearl
have skin so fine,
nor does glass with silver
shine with such brilliance.
Her thighs slipped away from me
like startled fish,
half full of fire,
half full of cold.
That night I ran
on the best of roads
mounted on a nacre mare
without bridle stirrups.


As a man, I won’t repeat
the things she said to me.
The light of understanding
has made me more discreet.
Smeared with sand and kisses
I took her away from the river.
The swords of the lilies
battled with the air.


I behaved like what I am,
like a proper gypsy.



I gave her a large sewing basket,
of straw-colored satin,
but I did not fall in love
for although she had a husband
she told me she was a maiden
when I took her to the river.
926

Sonnet

Sonnet


I know that my profile will be serene
in the north of an unreflecting sky.
Mercury of vigil, chaste mirror
to break the pulse of my style.

For if ivy and the cool of linen
are the norm of the body I leave behind,
my profile in the sand will be the old
unblushing silence of a crocodile.

And though my tongue of frozen doves
will never taste of flame,
only of empty broom,

I'll be a free sign of oppressed norms
on the neck of the stiff branch
and in an ache of dahlias without end.

Largo espectro de plata conmovida
el viento de la noche suspirando,
abrió con mano gris mi vieja herida
y se alejó: yo estaba deseando.

Llaga de amor que me dará la vida
perpetua sangre y pura luz brotando.
Grieta en que Filomela enmudecida
tendrá bosque, dolor y nido blando.

¡Ay qué dulce rumor en mi cabeza!
Me tenderé junto a la flor sencilla
donde flota sin alma tu belleza.

Y el agua errante se pondrá amarilla,
mientras corre mi sangre en la maleza
mojada y olorosa de la orilla.
647

Saturday Paseo: Adelina

Saturday Paseo: Adelina

Oranges
do not grow in the sea
neither is there love in Sevilla.
You in Dark and the I the sun that's hot,
loan me your parasol.


I'll wear my jealous reflection,
juice of lemon and limeand
your words,
your sinful little wordswill
swim around awhile.


Oranges
do not grow in the sea,
Ay, love!
And there is no love in Sevilla!
639

Preciosa Y El Aire

Preciosa Y El Aire

Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene
por un anfibio sendero
de cristales y laureles.
El silencio sin estrellas,
huyendo del sonsonete,
cae donde el mar bate y canta
su noche llena de peces.
En los picos de la sierra
los carabineros duermen
guardando las blancas torres
donde viven los ingleses.
Y los gitanos del agua
levantan por distraerse,
glorietas de caracolas
y ramas de pino verde.

Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene.
Al verla se ha levantado
el viento que nunca duerme.
San Cristobalón desnudo,
lleno de lenguas celestes,
mira a la niña tocando
una dulce gaita ausente.

Niña, deja que levante
tu vestido para verte.
Abre en mi dedos antiguos
la rosa azul de tu vientre.

Preciosa tira el pandero
y corre sin detenerse.
El viento-hombrón la persigue
con una espada caliente.

Frunce su rumor el mar.
Los olivos palidecen.
Cantan las flautas de umbría
y el liso gong de la nieve.

¡Preciosa, corre, Preciosa,
que te coge el viento verde!
Preciosa, corre, Preciosa!
¡Míralo por donde viene!
Sátiro de estrellas bajas
con sus lenguas relucientes.

Preciosa, llena de miedo,
entra en la casa que tiene,
más arriba de los pinos,
el cónsul de los ingleses.


Asustados por los gritos
tres carabineros viene,
sus negras capas ceñidas
y los gorros en las sienes.

El inglés da a la gitana
un vaso de tibia leche,
y una copa de ginebra
que Preciosa no se bebe.

Y mientras cuenta, llorando
su aventura a aquella gente,
en las tejas de pizarra
el viento, furioso, muerde.
916

Peaceful Waters:Variation

Peaceful Waters:Variation

peaceful waters of the air
under echo's branches

peaceful waters of a pool
under a bough laden with stars

peaceful waters of your mouth
under a forest of kisses
511

Ode to Walt Whitman

Ode to Walt Whitman

By the East River and the Bronx
boys were singing, exposing their waists
with the wheel, with oil, leather, and the hammer.
Ninety thousand miners taking silver from the rocks
and children drawing stairs and perspectives.


But none of them could sleep,
none of them wanted to be the river,
none of them loved the huge leaves
or the shoreline's blue tongue.


By the East River and the Queensboro
boys were battling with industry
and the Jews sold to the river faun
the rose of circumcision,
and over bridges and rooftops, the mouth of the sky emptied
herds of bison driven by the wind.


But none of them paused,
none of them wanted to be a cloud,
none of them looked for ferns
or the yellow wheel of a tambourine.


As soon as the moon rises
the pulleys will spin to alter the sky;
a border of needles will besiege memory
and the coffins will bear away those who don't work.


New York, mire,
New York, mire and death.
What angel is hidden in your cheek?
Whose perfect voice will sing the truths of wheat?
Who, the terrible dream of your stained anemones?


Not for a moment, Walt Whitman, lovely old man,
have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies,
nor your corduroy shoulders frayed by the moon,
nor your thighs pure as Apollo's,
nor your voice like a column of ash,
old man, beautiful as the mist,
you moaned like a bird
with its sex pierced by a needle.
Enemy of the satyr,
enemy of the vine,
and lover of bodies beneath rough cloth...


Not for a moment, virile beauty,
who among mountains of coal, billboards, and railroads,
dreamed of becoming a river and sleeping like a river
with that comrade who would place in your breast
the small ache of an ignorant leopard.



Not for a moment, Adam of blood, Macho,
man alone at sea, Walt Whitman, lovely old man,
because on penthouse roofs,
gathered at bars,
emerging in bunches from the sewers,
trembling between the legs of chauffeurs,
or spinning on dance floors wet with absinthe,
the faggots, Walt Whitman, point you out.


He's one, too! That's right! And they land
on your luminous chaste beard,
blonds from the north, blacks from the sands,
crowds of howls and gestures,
like cats or like snakes,
the faggots, Walt Whitman, the faggots,
clouded with tears, flesh for the whip,
the boot, or the teeth of the lion tamers.


He's one, too! That's right! Stained fingers
point to the shore of your dream
when a friend eats your apple
with a slight taste of gasoline
and the sun sings in the navels
of boys who play under bridges.


But you didn't look for scratched eyes,
nor the darkest swamp where someone submerges children,
nor frozen saliva,
nor the curves slit open like a toad's belly
that the faggots wear in cars and on terraces
while the moon lashes them on the street corners of terror.


You looked for a naked body like a river.
Bull and dream who would join wheel with seaweed,
father of your agony, camellia of your death,
who would groan in the blaze of your hidden equator.


Because it's all right if a man doesn't look for his delight
in tomorrow morning's jungle of blood.
The sky has shores where life is avoided
and there are bodies that shouldn't repeat themselves in the dawn.


Agony, agony, dream, ferment, and dream.
This is the world, my friend, agony, agony.
Bodies decompose beneath the city clocks,
war passes by in tears, followed by a million gray rats,
the rich give their mistresses
small illuminated dying things,
and life is neither noble, nor good, nor sacred.


Man is able, if he wishes, to guide his desire
through a vein of coral or a heavenly naked body.



Tomorrow, loves will become stones, and Time
a breeze that drowses in the branches.


That's why I don't raise my voice, old Walt Whitman,
against the little boy who writes
the name of a girl on his pillow,
nor against the boy who dresses as a bride
in the darkness of the wardrobe,
nor against the solitary men in casinos
who drink prostitution's water with revulsion,
nor against the men with that green look in their eyes
who love other men and burn their lips in silence.


But yes against you, urban faggots,
tumescent flesh and unclean thoughts.
Mothers of mud. Harpies. Sleepless enemies
of the love that bestows crowns of joy.


Always against you, who give boys
drops of foul death with bitter poison.
Always against you,
Fairies of North America,
Pájaros of Havana,
Jotos of Mexico,
Sarasas of Cádiz,
Apios of Seville,
Cancos of Madrid,
Floras of Alicante,
Adelaidas of Portugal.


Faggots of the world, murderers of doves!
Slaves of women. Their bedroom bitches.
Opening in public squares like feverish fans
or ambushed in rigid hemlock landscapes.


No quarter given! Death
spills from your eyes
and gathers gray flowers at the mire's edge.
No quarter given! Attention!
Let the confused, the pure,
the classical, the celebrated, the supplicants
close the doors of the bacchanal to you.


And you, lovely Walt Whitman, stay asleep on the Hudson's banks
with your beard toward the pole, openhanded.
Soft clay or snow, your tongue calls for
comrades to keep watch over your unbodied gazelle.


Sleep on, nothing remains.
Dancing walls stir the prairies
and America drowns itself in machinery and lament.
I want the powerful air from the deepest night



to blow away flowers and inscriptions from the arch where you sleep,
and a black child to inform the gold-craving whites
that the kingdom of grain has arrived.
744

Nocturnos De La Ventana

Nocturnos De La Ventana

1

Alta va la luna.
Bajo corre el viento.

(Mis largas miradas,
exploran el cielo.)

Luna sobre el agua,
Luna bajo el viento.

(Mis cortas miradas,
exploran el suelo.)

Las voces de dos niñas
venían. Sin el esfuerzo,
de la luna del agua,
me fuí a la del cielo.

2

Un brazo de la noche
entra por mi ventana.

Un gran brazo moreno
con pulseras de agua.

Sobre un cristal azul
jugaba al río mi alma.

Los instantes heridos
por el reloj... pasaban.

3

Asomo la cabeza
por mi ventana, y veo
cómo quiere cortarla
la cuchilla del viento.

En esta guillotina
invisible, yo he puesto
las cabezas sin ojos
de todos mis deseos.

Y un olor de limón
llenó el instante inmenso,
mientras se convertía
en flor de gasa el viento.


4

Al estanque se le ha muerto
hoy una niña de agua.
Está fuera del estanque,
sobre el suelo amortajada.

De la cabeza a sus muslos
un pez la cruza, llamándola.
El viento le dice “niña”
mas no puede despertarla.

El estanque tiene suelta
su cabellera de algas
y al aire sus grises tetas
estremecidas de ranas.

Dios te salve. Rezaremos
a Nuestra Señora de Agua
por la niña del estanque
muerta bajo las manzanas.

Yo luego pondré a su lado
dos pequeñas calabazas
para que se tenga a flote,
¡ay! sobre la mar salada.
814

Quotes

13

Videos

50

Comments (0)

Share
Log in to post a comment.

No comments yet. Be the first to comment.