Federico García Lorca Quotes

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

Pero el 2 no ha sido nunca un número
es una angustia y su sombra...

At five in the afternoon.
It was exactly five in the afternoon.
A boy brought the white sheet
at five in the afternoon.
A frail of lime ready prepared
at five in the afternoon.
The rest was death, and death alone

حين أموت ، فلتدعوا الشرفة مفتوحة

The dreadful nostalgia for a wasted life,
the fatal feeling that you were born too late,
or the restless hope for an impossible morning
with the nearby restlessness of the flesh's ache

Pero yo ire,
aunque un sol de alacranes me coma la sien.

"شکل‌های ناب که غرق شدند
،زیرِ جیرجیرِ گل‌های مروارید
.فهمیدم که مرا کشته‌اند

،کافه‌ها را گشته بودند به‌خاطرِ من، گورستان‌ها را، و کلیساها را
،از سرِ کنج‌ کاوی بشکه‌ها و گنجه‌ها را گشوده بودند
.سه اسکلت را نابود کردند که دندان‌های طلای‌شان را درآورند

.اما دیگر پیدایم نکردند
پیدا نکردند؟
.نه، پیدایم نکردند

،اما فهمیدند که ماهِ هفتم از برابرِ سیلاب گریخته است
و دریا ـ ناگهان! ـ به یاد آورد نامِ همه ‌ی آن ‌ها را که غرق شده بودند

........
قسمتی از شعر معروف «افسانه‌ی سه دوست که زیرِ بارانِ گلوله آواز خواندند» که گفته می شود "لورکا" در آن نحوه مرگش را پیش بینی کرده بود"

لا نجمة تهوى أن تكون الورقة

The round silence of night,
one note on the stave
of the infinite.

Ripe with lost poems,
I step naked into the street.
The blackness riddled
by the singing of crickets:
sound,
that dead
will-o'-the-wisp,
that musical light
perceived
by the spirit.

A thousand butterfly skeletons
sleep within my walls.

A wild crowd of young breezes
over the river.

- Hour of Stars (1920)

The night above. We two. Full moon.
I started to weep, you laughed.
Your scorn was a god, my laments
moments and doves in a chain.
The night below. We two. Crystal of pain.
You wept over great distances.
My ache was a clutch of agonies
over your sickly heart of sand.
Dawn married us on the bed,
our mouths to the frozen spout
of unstaunched blood.
The sun came through the shuttered balcony
and the coral of life opened its branches
over my shrouded heart.

- Night of Sleepless Love

[To find a kiss of yours]

translated by Sarah Arvio.

To find a kiss of yours
what would I give
A kiss that strayed from your lips
dead to love

My lips taste
the dirt of shadows

To gaze at your dark eyes
what would I give
Dawns of rainbow garnet
fanning open before God — The stars blinded them
one morning in May

And to kiss your pure thighs
what would I give
Raw rose crystal
sediment of the sun

Never let me lose the marvel
of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.

I am afraid of being, on this shore,
a branchless trunk, and what I most regret
is having no flower, pulp, or clay
for the worm of my despair.

If you are my hidden treasure,
if you are my cross, my dampened pain,
if I am a dog, and you alone my master,

never let me lose what I have gained,
and adorn the branches of your river
with leaves of my estranged Autumn.

Out in the sky, no one sleeps. No one, no one.
No one sleeps.
In a graveyard far off there is a corpse
who has moaned for three years
because of an arid landscape in his knee;
and that boy they buried this morning cried so much
it was necessary to call out the dogs to keep him quiet.

Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!
We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth
or we climb to the snow's edge with the voices of dead dahlias.
But there is no oblivion; no dream:
only flesh exists. Kisses tie our mouths
in a tangle of new veins,
and those who hurt will hurt without rest
and those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.

En la tarde lluviosa
mi corazon aprende
la tragedia otonal
que los arboles lleuven.

There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them. Snow, rain, and mist highlight, drench, or conceal the vast towers, but those towers, hostile to mystery and blind to any sort of play, shear off the rain's tresses and shine their three thousand swords through the soft swan of the fog.