Archive for the ‘Federico Garcia Lorca’ Tag
“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
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Seashell 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
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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.
Naturalists Tom Skinner and Fred Heath welcome the walkers in front of the Sabino Canyon Visitor Center.
Everyone gathers near lizard spotter off the trail,
a common side-blotched lizard.
Naturalists 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
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Copacabana, 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
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Cattle Skulls, Nogales, Sonora– Photo-Artistry by kenne
As I have not worried to be born, I do not worry to die.
— Federico García Lorca
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“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
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Two-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
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“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
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Deer 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
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Water 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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“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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Sunset Over The Sea of Cortez (Puerto Peñasco, February 12, 2018) — Computer Art by kenne
The poem,
the song,
the picture,
is only water
drawn
from the well
of the people,
and it should
be given back
to them
in a cup
of beauty
so that they
may drink –
and in drinking
understand themselves.
— Federico Garcia Lorca
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