Long Federico Poems

Now is going on through a secret way
Between the martyrdoms and the ground wall,
My master, and I behind him to stay.

“Oh highest virtue, who me gently haul
In wicked rounds”, I started, “If you please,
Speak to...

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Lorca Translations I

Gacela of the Dark Death
by Federico Garcia Lorca
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

I want to sleep the dreamless sleep of apples
far from the bustle of cemeteries.
I want to sleep the dream-filled sleep of...

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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...

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Lorca Translations II

Canción del jinete (“Song of the Rider”)
by Federico Garcia Lorca
translation 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,...

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The young woman waits anxiously, backstage 
In the shadows created by the soft, velvet curtain. 
Her heart is pounding so loudly that she was sure
It could be heard by those standing around her, 
Possibly even...

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One o'clock in the morning,
we connect by phone, 
Chicago to Boston. I tell you 
about the ugly tomatoes I bought, 
your in hysterics. Listen, I say, 
they have a their own web site; 
take them...

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Touched by God's light  Born in Granada.
               Federico used to presume 
        ...

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By any river, all the waterfalls,
Every scene of life, we toast the stars.

we run and we sing, with passion in heart
Just like Kurt's guitar: broken apart.

Shrinking the world, borders go away
In this fantasy, we'd better...

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A Love Poem for Federico Garcia Lorca

Last night, I dreamed of you,
my raven-haired gitano.
Dreamt of your succulent mouth,
Rich and full,
like the black grapes from the vineyards,
near the unmarked place where you lie.
“Te amo mi amor”...

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The killing of a poet
  There are many sorts of poets those who
extoll the sitting regime tell of order it has brought
their words are recited they win prizes but few, today remembers their names
Federico...

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All my favorite poets are dead 
Pero sus poemas los leo en el atardecer 
And they come alive again. 

Soy sus Lazaros; los revivo, y viven en mi vida, en este presente.
I want to be...

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I was in Trieste

It was in 1962, a revolution attempt that failed
roads had been churned; the American CIA tried to blend in
not successfully wearing Hawaii shirts to hide the guns.
I met her at the railway...

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Inspired by and an interpretation of:  "El poeta pide a su amor que le escriba" (He begs his love to write) 
by Federico García Lorca

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Waiting in Agony - revised

Silence in time halts
turns people to...

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When they murdered him,they went everywhere
To cemeteries,to caffees, to churches
But they didn`t find him! No! He wasn`t there!
They never found him!
The trees cried when he died
The trees from the garden of forbidden desires
The roses cried...

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