Federico García Lorca Quotes

الأغصان تموت من الحب

But now he sleeps endlessly.
Now the moss and the grass
open with sure fingers
the flower of his skull.
And now his blood comes out singing;
singing along marshes and meadows,
slides on frozen horns,
faltering souls in the mist
stumbling over a thousand hoofs
like a long, dark, sad tongue,
to form a pool of agony
close to the starry Guadalquivir.
Oh, white wall of Spain!
Oh, black bull of sorrow!
Oh, hard blood of Ignacio!
Oh, nightingale of his veins!

Era hermoso jinete,
y ahora montón de nieve.
Corrió ferias y montes
y brazos de mujeres.
Ahora, musgo de noche
le corona la frente

"Los puentes colgantes / Floating Bridges"

Oh what a crush of People
Invisible, reborn
Make their way to into this garden
For their eternal rest

Every step we take on earth
Brings us to a new world
Every foot supported
On a floating bridge

I know there is no straight road
No straight road in this world
Only a giant labyrinth
Of intersecting crossroads

And steadily our feet
Keep walking and creating
Like enormous fans
These roads in embryo

Oh garden of white
Oh garden of all I am not
All I could
And should have been

I know there is no straight road
No straight road in this world
Only a giant labyrinth
Of intersecting crossroads

Comprendo que no existe
El camino derecho
Solo un gran labertino
De encrucijadas multiples

My silk heart’s
filled with lights,
lost bells,
lilies and bees,
and I’ll go far,
further than these mountains,
further than the seas,
close to the stars
and I’ll say to Christ,
Lord, give me back
the child’s soul I once had

انسان بدون آزادی چیست؟

‎آه ماریانا به من بگو
‎به من بگو چگونه می‌توانم دوستت بدارم
‎اگر که آزاد نباشم، به من بگو
‎چگونه دلم را پیشکش تو کنم
...‎اگر که از آن من نباشد

The bull does not know you, nor the fig tree,
nor the horses, nor the ants in your own house.
The child and the afternoon do not know you
because you have died forever. The shoulder of the stone does not know you
nor the black silk on which you are crumbling.
Your silent memory does not know you
because you have died forever. The autumn will come with conches,
misty grapes and clustered hills,
but no one will look into your eyes
because you have died forever. Because you have died for ever,
like all the dead of the earth,
like all the dead who are forgotten
in a heap of lifeless dogs. Nobody knows you. No. But I sing of you.
For posterity I sing of your profile and grace.
Of the signal maturity of your understanding.
Of your appetite for death and the taste of its mouth.
Of the sadness of your once valiant gaiety.

Quiero morirme siendo
manantial.
Quiero morirme fuera
de la mar.

Don't ask me any questions. I've seen how things that seek their way find their void instead.

Small unhurt sorrows approach the hospitals
and every day the dead take off a suit of blood.
The architectures of frost,
the lyres and moans that escape the tiny leaves
in autumn, soaking the final slopes,
died out in the blackness of felt hats.

…I went away from your side,
in love without knowing it.
Now I don’t know how your eyes
look, nor your hands, nor your hair.
I know only the butterfly
of your kiss on my forehead.

You tormented
a hummingbird of love
between your teeth.

Caballito negro.
¿Dónde llevas tu jinete muerto?

لكنني أريدهم أن يعلموا بأنني مازلت حياً، أنني أمتلك معلفاً ذهبياً ما بينَ شفتيّ، أنني ما زلت الرفيقَ الصغيرَ للريحِ الغربية، أننّي أنا الظلُ الهائلُ لدموعي.

Death laid its eggs in the wound