Archive for the ‘Federico Garcia Lorca’ Tag

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   

Oak Creek Bridge   4 comments

Oak Creek Bridge North of Sedona, Arizona — Photo-Artistry by kenne

And Then

The labyrinths
that time creates
vanish.

(Only the desert
remains.)

The heart,
fountain of desire,
vanishes.

(Only the desert
remains.)

The illusion
of dawn and kisses
vanish.

Only the desert
remains.
Undulating desert.
The illusion
of dawn and kisses
vanish.

Only the desert
remains.
Undulating desert.

— Federico Garcia 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

Copacabana, Bolivia — Lake Titicaca   Leave a comment

BoliviaCopacabana, Bolivia On Lake Titicaca — Image by kenne

In the green morning
I wanted to be a heart.
A heart.And in the ripe evening
I wanted to be a nightingale.
A nightingale.

(Soul,
turn orange-colored.
Soul,
turn the color of love.)

In the vivid morning
I wanted to be myself.
A heart.

And at the evening’s end
I wanted to be my voice.
A nightingale.

Soul,
turn orange-colored.
Soul,
turn the color of love.

— Federico García 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

Deer By Water Photo-Artistry   4 comments

Deer by Water-Edit blogDeer By Water Photo-Artistry by kenne
The goblets of dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
Useless
to silence it.
Impossible 
to silence it.
-- from The Guitar by Federico Garcia 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

Dead at Daybreak   Leave a comment

Green Mountain Trail Deadwood II blog“Age Has Character” — Images by kenne

Dead at Daybreak

Night of four moons
and a single tree
with a single shadow
and a single bird.

On my flesh, I seek the
imprint of your lips.
The jet of spray kisses the wind
without even touching it.

I bear the “No” you handed me
in the palm, if my hand
like a wax lemon
nearly white.

Night of four moons
and a single tree.
On the point of a needle
stands my love — whirling round!

— Federico Garcia Lorca

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