Archive for the ‘Federico Garcia Lorca’ Category

Garcia Lorca — Gacela of the Dark Death   Leave a comment

August 19th, 1936 — Federico García Lorca dies. Andalusian poet/dramatist/artist. Murdered by Franco’s fascists.
Accused of subversive activity, however evidence today suggests that it was a hate crime in response to his homosexuality.
His writings remained censored until Franco died in 1975. Despite this, Lorca became one of the
most widely read writers in the world.

Gacela of the Dark Death

I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to withdraw from the tumult of cemeteries,
I want to sleep the dream of that child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas?
I don’t want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,
that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.
I don’t want to learn of the tortures of the grass,
nor of the moon with a serpent’s mouth
that labors before dawn.
I want to sleep awhile,
awhile, a minute, a century;
but all must know that i have not died;
that there is a stable of gold in my lips;
that i am the small friend of the West wing;
that i am the intense shadow of my tears.
Cover me at dawn with a veil.
because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me.
and wet with hard water my shoes
so that the pincers of the scorpion slide.
For i want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to learn a lament that will cleanse me of the earth;
for i want to live with that dark child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.

— Federico Garcia Lorca

Ferry To Copacabana — The Return   Leave a comment

Taking the Ferry To Copacabana the Main Bolivian Town On the shore of Lake Titicaca — Image by kenne

The Return

I’m coming back
for my wings.

O let me come back!

I want to die where
it’s dawn!

I want to die where
it’s yesterday!

I’m coming back
for my wings.

O let me get back!

I want  to die where
it’s origin.

I want to die 
out of sight
of the sea.

— Federico Garcia Lorca

Life and Death in Sabino Canyon   Leave a comment

Life and Death in Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne

First/Last Meditation

Time
is in night’s colors.
Quiet night.
Over enormous moons,
eternity
is set at twelve.
Time’s gone to sleep
forever
in his tower.
All clocks
deceive us.
Time at last has
horizons.

— Federico Garcia Lorca

A Desert Foggy Morning   2 comments

Desert Foggy Morning (January 14, 2015) Image by kenne

   It is light made song
of romantic illusions.
It is soft yet firm,
full of sky and gentle.
It is mist and rose
of eternal morning.

— From ‘Morning’ by Federico Garcia Lorca

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   

We Walk On An Unsilvered Mirror   Leave a comment

Puerto Penasco Sunset — Photo-Artistry by kenne


Earth

We walk on
an unsilvered
mirror,
a crystal surface
without clouds.
If lilies would grow
backwards,
if roses would grow
backwards,
if all those roots
could see the stars
and the dead not close
their eyes,
we would become like swans.

— Federico García Lorca

The Six Strings   Leave a comment

The Six Strings

The guitar
makes dreams weep.
The sobs of lost
souls
escape through it’s round
mouth.
And like the tarantula
it weaves  Large star
to trap the sighs
floating in it black
wooden cistern.

— Federico Garcia Lorca

Image by kenne


	

Death   Leave a comment

Nogales“Death” — Photo-Artistry by kenne

His eyes did not close
When he saw the horns near,
But the terrible mothers
Lifted their heads.
And across the ranches
Went a breath of secret voices
By which the herdsmen of the pallid mist
Called to their heavenly bulls.

— from Lament for Ignacio Sanchez Mejias by Federico García Lorca

 

 

Seashell Still Life   Leave a comment

Rocky PointSeashell Still Life — Image by kenne

Seaside Prints

The sea

wants to blow

its lid.

Coral giants

have with

their shoulders.

And in their gold caverns

the sirens

try  out a song

that the water can sleep to.

Do you see its gullet

& scales?

In front of the sea

raise your lances.

 

— Federico García Lorca

Lizard Walk In Sabino Canyon   1 comment

The last Sabino Canyon Volunteer Naturalist (SCVN) Lizard took place on October 12th.
It was a perfect fall morning for a lizard walk. However,
some lizards may have not agreed since the number of sightings were low.
Still, it was a beautiful morning for a nature walk.

Lizard Walk October 2019-72.jpgNaturalists Tom Skinner and Fred Heath welcome the walkers in front of the Sabino Canyon Visitor Center.

Lizard Walk October 2019-3-72.jpgEveryone gathers near lizard spotter off the trail,

Lizard Walk October 2019 Common Side-blocked-72.jpga common side-blotched lizard.

Lizard Walk October 2019-4-72Naturalists Bill and Lousie Kaufman share information on the common side-bloched lizard.
— Images by kenne

 

In the parched path 
I have seen the good lizard 
(one drop of crocodile) 
meditating. 
With his green frock-coat 
of an abbot of the devil, 
his correct bearing 
and his stiff collar, 
he has the sad air 
of an old professor. 
Those faded eyes 
of a broken artist, 
how they watch the afternoon 
in dismay!

-- from "The Old Lizard" by Federic Garcia Lorca

Cattle Skulls   Leave a comment

NogalesCattle Skulls, Nogales, Sonora– Photo-Artistry by kenne

As I have not worried to be born, I do not worry to die.

— Federico García Lorca

Boy Painting In The Woods   Leave a comment

Art Student (1 of 1)-Edit-4-art-72-2“Boy Painting In The Woods” — Photo-Artistry by kenne

“I’ve often lost myself,
in order to find the burn
that keeps everything awake”

― Federico García-Lorca

Two-Tailed Swallowtail Butterfly — Grunge Art   1 comment

Two-Tailed Swallowtail Butterflies-Edit-2-art-blog.jpgTwo-Tailed Swallowtail Butterfly — Grunge Art by kenne

Landscape Seen with the Nose

A cold tremor
burnt out of flesh by
the roosters
Drops a cloud on the prairie.
In the house
someone’s burning
The chaff.
The plows will come
with the down.

— Federico Garcia Lorca

The Guitar   3 comments

Guitar (1 of 1)-2 art blog-2“The Guitar” — Photo-Artistry by kenne

The Guitar

The weeping
of the guitar begins.
Wineglasses shatter
in the dead of night.
The weeping
of the guitar begins.
It’s useless
to hush it.
It’s impossible
to hush it.
It weeps on monotonously 
the way water weeps,
the way wind weeps
over the snowdrifts.
It’s impossible
to hush it.
It weeps for things
far, far away.
For the sand of the hot South
that begs for white camellias.
Weeps for arrows without targets,
an afternoon without a morning,
and for the first dead bird
upon the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart gravely wounded 
by five swords.

— Federico García Lorca

The Song of Water Is A Thing Eternal   Leave a comment

Water Lily Art blogWater Lily Blossom Photo-Artistry by kenne

And the song of water
is a thing eternal.

— from the poem “Morning” by Federico Garcia Lorca

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