Lorca Poems - Poems about Lorca

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...

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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, 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...

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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 the child who longed to cut out his heart on the high seas. I don't want to hear how the corpse retains...

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Touched by God's light Born in Granada. Federico used to presume to be born beside the Alhambra. Bright mind, deep heart, a...

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Poet I was born, Granada is my land, I play, I live, I disappeared, I stay with poets...

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The morning came, but no one received her... mouths were not opened, bodies were closed... so, so quickly ...

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Morning came and no one received her... The mouths were not open and the bodies were closed... So she passed and did not say a word......

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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” you tenderly whisper in my ear. Your kisses, sweeter than the wine of the valley, Which I drank ages ago. I could melt...

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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 when he died The roses of sad poet`s garden Now he stands in Plaza de Santa Ana And a secret voice of hidden...

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