This bilingual edition was the first to include Lorca's last poems, the previously lost Sonnets of Dark Love. It covers the full range of his poetry, from the early poems and the gypsy ballads to the agitated Poet in New York and the Arab-influenced gacelas and casidas. Also included is the Lament for Sanchez Mejias, Lorca's great elegy for his bullfighter friend, as well as his famous lecture, "Theory and Function of the Duende".
Born in Fuente Vaqueros, Granada, Spain, June 5 1898; died near Granada, August 19 1936, Garc铆a Lorca is one of Spain's most deeply appreciated and highly revered poets and dramatists. His murder by the Nationalists at the start of the Spanish civil war brought sudden international fame, accompanied by an excess of political rhetoric which led a later generation to question his merits; after the inevitable slump, his reputation has recovered (largely with a shift in interest to the less obvious works). He must now be bracketed with Machado as one of the two greatest poets Spain has produced in the 20th century, and he is certainly Spain's greatest dramatist since the Golden Age.
You can pretend you know Spanish by reading the even pages. Or stick to the odd pages with English translations by W. S. Merwin and other writers. Either way, you will be impelled to read them aloud.
Although it's hard to ignore that their author was murdered and his body hidden by the Fascists so no one could mourn, these poems don't leave me mournful. Not by a long shot. They affirm life and celebrate it. This is as true in his tribute to a famous bullfighter as in the much shorter poem "Farewell," which I quote in full here:
Farewell
If I die, leave the balcony open.
The little boy is eating oranges (From my balcony I can see him.)
The reaper is harvesting the wheat. (From my balcony I can hear him.)
If I die, leave the balcony open!
Putting aside small reservations with a few of the translations, most stay true to the original Spanish. Line breaks are hard to maintain. Yet, seeing the original Spanish poems and English translations more than compensates for small changes. The poems live on. That much is to be commended.
My edition shows Lorca looking more relaxed (and playful even) on the cover. His eyes shine not with pain but a desire for life. Even shut on a shelf, it reminds me of what is good.
One of Spain's greatest 20th century poets cut down in his prime by a homophobic Nazi regime, his work lives on as a testament to his aged soul and his delicate pen.
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.
It has been a meandering weekend, laden with thoughts on consciousness and narrative, These thoughts led to a certain brooding. Most of the selected work here appeared lighter, odes to tranquility and affection. My soul wasn't overly callous for such but neither did it bloom.
These clipped lines embrace Spain's Moorish past. Not the Caliphate but traditions of poetry which rolled across deserts and seas. There were troubadours of the moment who found hope in the scent of flowers. Unfortunately the same tide of history which propels those sentiments brought something ugly his way.
U po膷etku mi se nisu dopale pesme , a onda sam naletela na ovu i jo拧 par pesama i odu拧evila sam se.
Crni su im konji Crne potkovice Na ogrta膷ima sijaju mrlje mstila i voska Nose, zato ne pla膷u lobanje od olova. Sa du拧om crnom kao lak idu drumom. Pogureni i 膰utljivi, kuda pro膽u , nare膽uju 膰utanje tamne gume i strah finog peska. Idu kad im se prohte i u glavi kriju nejasnu astronomiju nekonkretnih revolvera.
O ciganski grade! Na uglovima zastave. Mesec i tikva sa slatkim od vi拧anja.
O ciganski grade! Ko te je video a ne se膰a te se? Grade bola i mo拧usa sa tornjevima od vanile. Kada bi do拧la no膰, oh, kakva no膰, no膰na no膰, Cigani su u kova膷nicama kovali sunce i strele. Jedan smrtno ranjen konj zvao je na svim vratima.
Y si la muerte es la muerte, 驴qu茅 ser谩 de los poetas y de las cosas dormidas que ya nadie las recuerda? * * * If death is death, what then of poets and the hibernating things no one remembers? 蟽蔚位. 2-3
An incredible collection. An instant five stars rating.
Tienen gotas de roc铆o las alas del ruise帽or, gotas claras de la luna cuajadas por su ilusi贸n * * * 未蚁慰蟽慰蟽蟿伪位委未蔚蟼 蟽蔚 蠁蟿蔚蟻维 伪畏未慰谓喂慰蠉 魏伪胃维蟻喂蔚蟼 蟽蟿伪纬蠈谓蔚蟼 蠁蔚纬纬伪蟻喂慰蠉 蟽蠂畏渭伪蟿喂蟽渭苇谓蔚蟼 伪蟺' 伪蠀蟿伪蟺维蟿畏 蟽蔚位. 6-7
隆Qu茅 gran torero en la plaza! 隆Qu茅 gran serrano en la sierra! 隆Qu茅 blando con las espigas! 隆Qu茅 duro con las espuelas! 隆Qu茅 tierno con el roc铆o! 隆Qu茅 deslumbrante en la feria! 隆Qu茅 tremendo con las 煤ltimas banderillas de tiniebla!
...because he is amazing and beautiful. Here's why:
"Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful! We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth or we climb to the knife edge of the snow with the voices of the dead dahlias. But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams do not exist; flesh exists. Kisses tie our mouths in a thicket of new veins, and whoever his pain pains will feel that pain forever and whoever is afraid of death will carry it on his shoulders."
Lorca might be the most inspiring writer that I麓ve ever read. This collection is well translated and features some of his best/best known poetic works. Everyone interested in poetry should have read Lorca and I think this might be a good starting point. He麓s more a magician than a poet to me.
THE SELECTED POEMS of Federico Garc铆a Lorca, translated from the Spanish (Spain) by committee, New Directions, 1961.
Knowing the biography (or pieces of it) of an artist, before actually knowing their art.
This was the case for me with Garc铆a Lorca's work - unfortunately one of the prime things I knew about him is how he was assassinated and buried in 1936, and after years of searching mass graves, his remains have still not been recovered.
A seminal Spanish poet, musician, playwright, and artist. Murdered for his leftist political beliefs and his sexual orientation under the fascist coup of Francisco Franco at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War.
I picked up this 1961 New Directions collection of his work a few years ago. My recent foray into Spanish Civil War history revived the book from the huge TBR, and the time was right to read his words. This dual language edition collects his life's work, 1921-1936 - long ballads, lyrical stories with folkloric elements of Andalusia, his education in New York City, his return to Spain. Repetition of phrases (his use of anaphora makes these poems sing when read aloud!), strong visuals, and rhythm.
It's a selection to whet the appetite for more. It worked on me, as I spent some more birthday gift cards on another collection, A SEASON IN GRANADA: Uncollected Poems and Prose, and have added more of his work to my wishlist.
Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars, but my way is lost in the soul of the mist. Light lops my wings. The hurt of my sadness moistens memories in thought鈥檚 fountain.
Lorca's poetry should be read aloud, in Spanish, perhaps in a smoky Tablao with full flamenco accompaniment. This edition is good in that the English translation appears opposite the original. And they're pretty good at conveying the mystery and passion of Lorca's beloved Andalucia. The selection is a decent display of Lorca's experiments in the region's poetic traditions. But ultimately, it's almost like watching black and white TV after you've experienced high definition color.
Even if you don't understand Spanish, try to experience a reading - you can hear Lorca's mastery of his language. For example, in "Cancion del jinete," the words gallop along just as urgently as the poems lone rider, dark except for the moon at his shoulder.