Balada triste

¡Mi corazón es una mariposa,
niños buenos del prado!,
que presa por la araña gris del tiempo
tiene el polen fatal del desengaño

(My heart’s a butterfly,
good children of the field,
pinned by time’s grey spider,
filled with disillusionment’s deadly pollen.)

Federico Garcia Lorca

sesamo

The reflection is
what’s real.
The river
and sky
are doors to take us
to the Eternal.
Down beds of frogs
or beds of bright stars
our love will go off, singing
the morning of the great flight.
The reflection is
what’s real.
Only a heart remains,
only one wind.
Don’t weep!
Near or far,
it’s the same.
Eternal Narcissus,*
Nature’s way.

Federico Garcia Lorca

song with reflection

In the meadow
my heart danced

(a cypress shadow
on the wind)

and a tree unplaited
the dew breeze.
Breeze, silver to the touch!

I said: do you remember?

(The star
the rose
do not concern me.)

Remember?

Lost language!
Language
without horizons!

Remember?

In the meadow
my heart danced

(a cypress shadow
on the wind).

Federico Garcia Lorca

nocturnal air

I’m petrified
by dead leaves,
by meadows
full of dew.
I’ll sleep.
If you don’t wake me,
I’ll leave beside you my cold heart.

‘What’s that sound
so far away?’
‘Love.
The wind on the panes,
my love!’

Round your neck I placed
the gems of dawn.
Why do you desert me
on this road?
If you go off so far
my bird sobs,
and the green vineyard
won’t give its wine.

‘What’s that sound
so far away?’
‘Love.
The wind on the panes,
my love!’

You’ll never know
how much I’d
have loved you,
snow-sphinx,
in those dawns
when it rains so hard
and the nest comes apart
on the dry branch.

‘What’s that sound
so far away?’
‘Love.
The wind on the panes,
my love!’

Federico Garcia Lorca