Garcia Lorca

I think you'll like these poems by Garcia Lorca. He was a musician, an artist, a dramatist, but above all a poet, a poet of Spain, of the world and most particularly of his native Andalucia. He was born in Granada, a land of olive groves, and he died there 38 years later on August 19, 1936, one of the first casualties of the murderous confusion which marked the opening of the Spanish Civil War. I found it in the old LIFE magazine, dated March 20, 1967, which I bought when I was a student in LI.

LANDSCAPE

The olive grove
opens and closes
like a fan.
Beneath a crushing sky
and a dark rain
cold leaf-stars
glimmer.
Reed and shadow tremble
on the river's brim.
The gray air coils itself.
The olive trees
are full of cries.
A covey
of captive birds
who, in the dimnes,
sway their long tails.

(translated by Philip W. Payne)


FAREWELL

If I die,
leave the balcony open.

The little boy is eating oranges
(From my balcony I can see him,)

The reaper is harvesting the wheat.
(From my balcony I can hear him.)

If I die
leave my balcony open!

(Translated by W.S.Merwin)