Long Federico Poems
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“All art is autobiographical. The pearl is the oyster’s autobiography.” - Federico Fellini
Scars, reminders
What was once painful,
Has changed to a special flaw,
Sometimes only a hint,
Subtly secreted, the blame
Beneath a thought, a whisper
Singing to the spirit,
Colored in rose and gentle,
Comforting the heart
Who listens, the blemish,
Revealing the hidden
Heart, the music of a soul,
Who dances with the light,
Stirring grace, embracing the pearl,
Both significant and surreal,
Emphasizing what is sincere,
The beautiful buried between layers of grief,
Anguish leaking through in dewlike sweetness,
Amazing even the truth
With the beauty of its secret.
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 Lorca was not one of them.
He wrote the truth of the brutal fascistic nature of the state and what
it had become.
He was a man they had to kill.
He tried to flee but on a side road he was stopped by assassins, at the time
he was in the company of a one-armed priest a communist
They had to dig their own grave.
Since Lorca was gay, they shot him in the rear “you like this sort of things
they laughed, these cruel people were killing art.
They also shot him in the groin: squealed like a pig they later said.
This was a Spain of old but the ghost of fascism is still among us we have
To be vigilant.
Touched by God's light Born in Granada.
Federico used to presume
to be born beside the Alhambra.
Bright mind, deep heart, a soul to be admired.
Between lines, he used to be lost,
a pen was his best friend.
Dalí was a mate, both near from chilhood.
His friends were many,
but his real ones never too close.
He was a shadow facing the light,
but a light in the shades.
Federico was born in Granada,
his beloved land.
He projected his art with a pen,
nobody could understand.
Artist he was born, playing the piano
he used to play music for ears,
but at writing he used to be the best.
Born at a wrong time,
Lorca was misunderstood.
Difficult to understand how life mistreated it him.
Born as a poet that will never be forgotten.
Writing line to line, he was killed,
young as he was,
he had no time to write the best line of his life.
Federico García Lorca,
the one I will always bow for.
A cool September day
We came to La Magdalena of Santander
Next to the Beach of Sardinero
To see the penguins and the seals
And the galleons "Ana de Ayala"
The "Cantabria" and the "Quitus Amazonas"
Stranded in the air
In the blue of the sky, in the sun
Waiting for the sailors to arrive
Who have abandoned them
Carrying a chest in their hands
With a mermaid's heart
Found on the high seas
By the sailor from Santander, Vital Alsar
Singing to sincere love
Like water poured into a basket:
-Be careful, children.
Do not cross the hedges
You may meet pirates
Gentle and cheerful
Who sing to the fire of a skull
That is not known whether it is
Emeterio's or Celedonio's
Who crossed the Pacific
On an oceanic adventure:
“Peninsula of La Magdalena
With its Palace and Royal Stables
Full of green meadows and coastal views
Where Federico García Lorca sang
With his Company La Barraca
Ramón Gaya, Ponce de León
And Santiago de Ontañón
The "Entremeses" by Miguel de Cervantes
"Fuenteovejuna" by Lope de Vega
and "Life is a dream" by Pedro Calderón de la Barca”.
Before going to eat at the Restaurant
“El Mirador de Suso”
On Sobremar Street in Suances
We will go down to the beach of La Magdalena
In front of the Isla de los Ratones
(Mouse Island).
Afterwards, we will go to Bikini Beach
To see if we can see Victoria Eugenia
And Isabel Garay wearing these clothes.
Quote:"All art is autobiographical. The pearl is the oyster's autobiography".
Federico Fellini
The Taos Indian crafted jewel,
A necklace strung with jade and some other gems.
Looked so pretty to me, I bought it on the spot,
Presented it to my wife, which she never wore in her life.
Once I asked her, why don’t you wear that necklace?
You would look pretty in it and would arouse some romance.
She looked at me and asked, have you ever judged jewelry?
Whoever wears green stone jewelry, I would rather buy a pearl necklace.
What is so special about pearl necklaces?
Pearl harvesters find only in one percent of oysters,
Its layers of sand, glued in oyster’s glands,
Still women love the bright white lustier of beady pearls.
She is gone for many years, the jade necklace I keep in my heart,
It’s not the value of jewelry, it is what it is sentimentally worth,
She wore pearl and other jewelries, and tried to look her best,
If she had worn my gift necklace, she would have looked her best.
Now I adore her picture on the wall,
With the jewelry she did not like at all,
To me she looks the prettiest doll,
Wearing this precious jade jewel crafted by love.
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 station, a small woman with a big suitcase
which I offered to carry at her lodging.
I was a polite young man, thanks to my communist mother.
It was a long road, a cobblestone road, was heavy going
I have come to think Federico Fellini was hiding in the case.
Arriving at her lodging, I was not invited to her room
she gave me a peck on the nose.
Later I learned she was a famous actress, but I wondered
why is she, in Trieste?