Anthony
Refugee
I do think that most American posters here will not have heard of perhaps the most sublime poet ever to have graced this world, and that is not a criticism, its an observation, since I have conversed with some very well read American readers, and have, at best, found Federico Garcia Lorca as obscure.
Many Europeans, however, may be familiar with his work. Particularly if you're British or Spanish. I am both.
Federico Garcia Lorca was born in Granada, and is easily the most succesful and famous author ever to have come from Spain, with the exception of Miguel de Cervantes. He started off as a playwright, was best friends with Salvador Dali, and had his own theatre company. He wrote songs for Flamenco, toured all acorss Spain and South America, and wrote poetry as well as non-fictional writings.
He was a homosexual, and this is something that is relevant to his art, as well as his life. It is also, because of his homosexuality, that he was shot during the Spanish Civil War, at the hands of Fascist forces. Though he was not overtly political, he was a Leftist, purely against Franco's rise to power, and was very much in favour of the restoration of the Spanish Republic. His poetry began to influence many people, and was used as the collective 'voice of the people'; the more exposure he received, the more he endangered himself. He was arrested at his friend's home without charge, and shot in some back alley way in Granada.
Obviously, this made him a martyr, and in some ways epitomised the tyranny and evil of the Fascist regime. A regime, that ultimately won. His poetry was sublime as it was honest. It went through stages of surrealism, post-modernism, classic odes to forgotten structures, while completely creating new ones. The entire scope of his work is almost impossible to record here.
However, I will today give you a poem of his. As I intend to do everyday. Please do read his poetry, please do write any comments you have about it, and if there are any questions that come up, ask them here! Enjoy...
New Heart
Like a snake, my heart
has shed its skin.
I hold it here in my hand,
full of honey and wounds.
The thoughts that nested
in your folds, where are they now?
Where the roses that perfumed
both Jesus Christ and Satan?
Poor wrapper that damped
my fantastical star,
parchment gray and mournful
of what I loved once but love no more!
I see fetal sciences in you,
mummified poems, and bones
of my romantic secrets
and old innocence.
Shall I hang you on the wall
of my emotional museum,
beside my dark, chill,
sleeping irises of evil?
Or shall I spread you over the pines
-suffering book of my love-
so you can learn about the song
the nightingale offers the dawn?
Federico Garcia Lorca - (1898 - 1936)
Many Europeans, however, may be familiar with his work. Particularly if you're British or Spanish. I am both.
Federico Garcia Lorca was born in Granada, and is easily the most succesful and famous author ever to have come from Spain, with the exception of Miguel de Cervantes. He started off as a playwright, was best friends with Salvador Dali, and had his own theatre company. He wrote songs for Flamenco, toured all acorss Spain and South America, and wrote poetry as well as non-fictional writings.
He was a homosexual, and this is something that is relevant to his art, as well as his life. It is also, because of his homosexuality, that he was shot during the Spanish Civil War, at the hands of Fascist forces. Though he was not overtly political, he was a Leftist, purely against Franco's rise to power, and was very much in favour of the restoration of the Spanish Republic. His poetry began to influence many people, and was used as the collective 'voice of the people'; the more exposure he received, the more he endangered himself. He was arrested at his friend's home without charge, and shot in some back alley way in Granada.
Obviously, this made him a martyr, and in some ways epitomised the tyranny and evil of the Fascist regime. A regime, that ultimately won. His poetry was sublime as it was honest. It went through stages of surrealism, post-modernism, classic odes to forgotten structures, while completely creating new ones. The entire scope of his work is almost impossible to record here.
However, I will today give you a poem of his. As I intend to do everyday. Please do read his poetry, please do write any comments you have about it, and if there are any questions that come up, ask them here! Enjoy...
New Heart
Like a snake, my heart
has shed its skin.
I hold it here in my hand,
full of honey and wounds.
The thoughts that nested
in your folds, where are they now?
Where the roses that perfumed
both Jesus Christ and Satan?
Poor wrapper that damped
my fantastical star,
parchment gray and mournful
of what I loved once but love no more!
I see fetal sciences in you,
mummified poems, and bones
of my romantic secrets
and old innocence.
Shall I hang you on the wall
of my emotional museum,
beside my dark, chill,
sleeping irises of evil?
Or shall I spread you over the pines
-suffering book of my love-
so you can learn about the song
the nightingale offers the dawn?
Federico Garcia Lorca - (1898 - 1936)
