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Reflections of a working writer and reader

 

 

Federico Garcia Lorca – a poem

Ballad of the Moon

The moon came into the forge
in her bustle of flowering nard.
The little boy stares at her, stares.
The boy is staring hard.
In the shaken air
the moon moves her arms,
and shows lubricious and pure,
her breasts of hard tin.
“Moon, moon, moon, run!
If the gypsies come,
they will use your heart
to make white necklaces and rings.”
“Let me dance, my little one.
When the gypsies come,
they’ll find you on the anvil
with your lively eyes closed tight.
“Moon, moon, moon, run!
I can feel their horses come.”
“Let me be, my little one,
don’t step on me, all starched and white!”

Closer comes the horseman,
drumming on the plain.
The boy is in the forge;
his eyes are closed.
Through the olive grove
come the gypsies, dream and bronze,
their heads held high,
their hooded eyes.

Oh, how the night owl calls,
calling, calling from its tree!
The moon is climbing through the sky
with the child by the hand.

They are crying in the forge,
all the gypsies, shouting, crying.
The air is viewing all, views all.
The air is at the viewing.”

*

Romance de la luna, luna

La luna vino a la fragua
con su polizón de nardos.
El niño la mira, mira.
El niño la está mirando.

En el aire conmovido
mueve la Luna sus brazos
y enseña, lúbrica y pura,
sus senos de duro estaño.

Huye Luna, Luna, Luna.
Si vinieran los gitanos,
harían con tu corazón
collares y anillos blancos.

Niño, déjame que baile.
Cuando vengan los gitanos,
te encontrarán sobre el yunque
con los ojillos cerrados.

Huye Luna, Luna, Luna,
que ya siento sus caballos.
Niño, déjame, no pises
mi blancor almidonado.

El jinete se acercaba
tocando el tambor del llano.
Dentro de la fragua el niño,
tiene los ojos cerrados.

Por el olivar venían,
bronce y sueño, los gitanos.
Las cabezas levantadas
y los ojos entornados.

¡Cómo canta la zumaya,
ay, cómo canta en el árbol!
Por el cielo va la Luna
con un niño de la mano.

Dentro de la fragua lloran,
dando gritos, los gitanos.
El aire la vela, vela.
El aire la está velando.

Federico García Lorca

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3 Responses to “Federico Garcia Lorca – a poem”

  1. Barry Stepe says:

    Thanks for sharing this by Spain’s greatest poet! Reading Garcia Lorca’s poetry in college motivated me to learn Spanish. It wasn’t easy, but years later I can speak and read Spanish and finally read Lorca in his original language.

  2. john baker says:

    Glad you liked it, Barry. And thanks for visiting.

  3. paisley says:

    It makes me feel a silvery moon necklace around my throat. I love the contrast between the silent distance of the moon and the vibrant chaos of the gypsies. More please.

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