Posts Tagged ‘ Lorca ’

Thursday Poem | 3 Quarks Daily

A Supermarket in California

…. What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
…. In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
…. What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!—and you, García Lorca, what were you doing down  by the watermelons?

…. I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys.
…. I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
…. I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and followed in my imagination by the store detective.
…. We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.

…. Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in a hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
…. (I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.)
….Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we’ll both be lonely.
…. Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
…. Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?

by Alan Ginsberg
—Berkeley, 1955

Source: Thursday Poem | 3 Quarks Daily

Haiku | Wales Haiku Journal | Trembling of the Moment – Lorca

Quiero vivir en Graná

porque me gusta el oír

la campana de la Vela

cuando me voy a dormir

(I want to live in Granada / because it pleases me to hear / the bell of the Vela / when I go to sleep.)

 

In 1932, Lorca would deliver a lecture on the duende, the elemental, demonic earth spirit, embodying irrationality, darkness and an awareness of death. For Lorca, the appearance of the duende in literature, art and performance was not a question of technical ability, but of “true, living style, of blood, of the most ancient culture, of spontaneous creation”. And it is this profound authenticity which resonates in the finest examples of both the haiku and the copla. For both forms are, at their purest, “a momentary burst of inspiration, the blush of all that is truly alive . . . the trembling of the moment and then a long silence”.

Source: Haiku | Wales Haiku Journal | Trembling of the Moment – Lorca

Dawn by Federico García Lorca

Dawn
Federico García Lorca  

Dawn in New York has
four pillars of muck
and a hurricane of black pigeons
splashing in the putrid waters.

Dawn in New York moans
on the immense staircases
searching between the corners
for spikenards of depicted anguish.

Dawn arrives and no one receives it in his mouth
because neither morning nor hope are possible:
at times furiously swarming coins
perforate and devour abandoned children.

The first to arise know in their bones
there will be neither paradise nor leafless loves:
they know the muck of numbers and laws awaits them,
of simple-minded games, of fruitless labor.

The light is buried by chains and noises
in a shameless challenge to rootless science.
Insomniacs stagger around in each district
like refugees from a shipwreck of blood.

 

Willard Bohn, translation

Camarón de la Isla – La leyenda del tiempo 1979

A dear friend, Carmen, wrote, This is the album that changed Flamenco. Camarón used one of Garcia Lorca´s plays to write the lyrics.

Teresa Berganza & Narcisco Yepes / Anda, jaleo by Federico Garcia Lorca

Federico García Lorca / Romance Sonambulo

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,
all things are watching her
and she cannot see them.

Green, how I want you green.
Big hoarfrost stars
come with the fish of shadow
that opens the road of dawn.
The fig tree rubs its wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the forest, cunning cat,
bristles its brittle fibers.
But who will come? And from where?
She is still on her balcony
green flesh, her hair green,
dreaming in the bitter sea.
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Mezzo Soprano Teresa Berganza / Nana de Sevilla by Federico Garcia Lorca

Listen, my child, to the silence., a poem by Federico Garcia Lorca

Listen, my child, to the silence.
It’s an undulating silence,
a silence
that brings valleys and echoes down
and bows foreheads
to the ground.

Federico Garcia Lorca
Scott Keeney, trans