On, What Sorrow   Leave a comment

Sonoran Winter Sunset — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Crossroad

   On, what sorrow to have
poems off in the distance
of passion, and a brain
all stained with ink!

   Oh, what sorrow not to have
the happy man’s fantastical
shirt—a tanned skin,
the sun’s carpet.

   (Flocks of letters
wheel round my eyes.)

   Oh, what sorrow the ancient 
sorrow of poetry,
this sticky sorrow
so far from clean water!

   Oh, sorrow of sorrowing
to sip at the vein of lyric!
Oh, sorrow of dried-up fountains
and mills without flour!

   Oh, what sorrow to have 
no sorrow, to spend life
on the colorless grass
of the hesitant lane!

   Oh, the deepest sorrow:
the sorrow of joy, a plow
Cutting furrows for us
where weeping bears fruit!

   (The cold moon rises
over a paper mountain.)
Oh, sorrow of truth!
Oh, sorrow of the lie!

— Federico Garcia Lorca   

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