Federico García Lorca Quotes

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.

Amor de mis entrañas, viva muerte,
en vano espero tu palabra escrita
y pienso, con la flor que se marchita,
que si vivo sin mí quiero perderte.

El aire es inmortal. La piedra inerte
ni conoce la sombra ni la evita.
Corazón interior no necesita
la miel helada que la luna vierte.

Pero yo te sufrí. Rasgué mis venas,
tigre y paloma, sobre tu cintura
en duelo de mordiscos y azucenas.

Llena pues de palabras mi locura
o déjame vivir en mi serena
noche del alma para siempre oscura.

I sing your restless longing for the statue,
your fear of the feelings that await you in the street.
I sing the small sea siren who sings to you,
riding her bicycle of corals and conches.

But above all I sing a common thought
that joins us in the dark and golden hours.
The light that blinds our eyes is not art.
Rather it is love, friendship, crossed swords.

Death laid its eggs in the wound

Set in place the lovers who will afterwards be photographs.

"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"

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

Si yo tuviera hambre, no pediría un pan. Pediría medio pan y un libro.

A confused labyrinth
of smoky stars
entangles my hopes,
which are nearly faded

I'll go to Santiago.
And the banana tree a jellyfish.

Here I want to see those men of hard voice.
Those that break horses and dominate rivers;
those men of sonorous skeleton who sing
with a mouth full of sun and flint.

Hay cosas que no se pueden decir porque no hay palabras para decirlas; y si las hubiera, nadie entendería su significado.

"The Poet Asks His Love to Write"

Visceral love, living death,
in vain, I wait your written word,
and consider, with the flower that withers,
I wish to lose you, if I have to live without self.

The air is undying: the inert rock
neither knows shadow, nor evades it.
And the heart, inside, has no use
for the honeyed frost the moon pours.

But I endured you: ripped open my veins,
a tiger, a dove, over your waist,
in a duel of teeth and lilies.

So fill my madness with speech,
or let me live in my calm
night of the soul, darkened for ever.

The river Guadalquivir
Flows between oranges and olives
The two rivers of Granada
Descend from the snow to the wheat

Oh my love!
Who went and never returned

The river Guadalquivir
Has beards of maroon
The two rivers of Granada
One a cry the other blood

Oh my love!
Who vanished into thin air

The duende....Where is the duende? Through the empty archway a wind of the spirit enters, blowing insistently over the heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and unknown accents: a wind with the odour of a child's saliva, crushed grass, and medusa's veil, announcing the endless baptism of freshly created things.