Lorca Translations Iii

Lorca Translations III Federico Garcia Lorca (1898-1936) was a Spanish poet, playwright and theater director. He was assassinated by Nationalist forces at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War and his body was never found. Paisaje (“Landscape”) by Federico Garcia Lorca loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The olive orchard opens and closes like a fan; above the grove a sunken sky dims; a dark rain falls on warmthless lights; reeds tremble by the gloomy river; the colorless air wavers; olive trees scream with flocks of captive birds waving their tailfeathers in the dark. Canción del jinete (“The Horseman’s Song” or “Song of the Rider”) by Federico Garcia Lorca loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Cordoba. Distant and lone. Black pony, big moon, olives in my saddlebag. Although my pony knows the way, I never will reach Cordoba. High plains, high winds. Black pony, blood moon. Death awaits me, watching from the towers of Cordoba. Such a long, long way! Oh my brave pony! Death awaits me before I arrive in Cordoba! Cordoba. Distant and lone. Arbolé, arbolé (“Tree, Tree”) by Federico Garcia Lorca loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Sapling, sapling, dry but green. The girl with the lovely countenance gathers olives. The wind, that towering lover, seizes her by the waist. Four dandies ride by on fine Andalusian steeds, wearing azure and emerald suits beneath long shadowy cloaks. “Come to Cordoba, sweetheart!” The girl does not heed them. Three young bullfighters pass by, slim-waisted, wearing suits of orange, with swords of antique silver. “Come to Sevilla, sweetheart!” The girl does not heed them. When twilight falls and the sky purples with day’s demise, a young man passes by, bearing roses and moonlit myrtle. “Come to Granada, sweetheart!” But the girl does not heed him. The girl, with the lovely countenance continues gathering olives while the wind’s colorless arms encircle her waist. Sapling, sapling, dry but green. Despedida (“Farewell”) by Federico Garcia Lorca loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch If I die, leave the balcony open. The boy eats oranges. (I see him from my balcony.) The reaper scythes barley. (I feel it from my balcony.) If I die, leave the balcony open! Keywords/Tags: river, tree, trees, rain, light, lights, bird, birds, Cordoba, Seville, Sevilla, Granada, sapling, countenance, oranges