Dazzling in the sun, the city lay at my feet, its glare broken only by the tall bottle-green spikes of the cypresses and the violent purple and pink patches of bougainvillea tumbling over reflecting white walls. A beautiful city but also a very cruel city. What other city could claim to have murdered its own most famous son? It was in Granada at the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War that the rebellious right-wing Francoist forces slaughtered the greatest Spanish poet of the twentieth century, Federico García Lorca, the poet who, through the colour, rhythm and vision of his verse, had introduced me to Andalucía long before I had set foot on its soil.- Jane Hawking: Travelling to Infinity: My Life with Stephen (1999 / 2007): 37
The Independent Tourist: View of Granada from the Alhambra (2023)There are two ways to dislike modern poetry. One is to dislike it;
the other is to prefer Federico García Lorca.
- Oscar Wilde (paraphrased)
Of course that's not quite what Wilde said. His notorious (though possibly apocryphal) epigram contrasts disliking his own plays with preferring "The Importance of Being Earnest."
Jane Hawking may seem a curious person to quote on this topic, but I have to say that I found her memoir of life with crotchety wheelchair-bound physicist Stephen Hawking unexpectedly rich and interesting. For a start, I had no idea that she had a Doctorate in medieval Spanish, and is a pretty good Romance linguist generally.
The snippets of her thesis included in the book make a pretty convincing case for a series of parallels between the "three main periods and areas of popular love poetry in medieval Spain": the 11th-12th century CE kharjas ("poetic fragments incorporated as refrains in longer Hebrew and classical Arab odes and elegies"), the "Galician-Portuguese Cantigas de Amigo of the thirteenth century" and finally "the fifteenth century Castilian popular lyrics or villancicos":
These three areas of lyric flowering, disparate in time as well as in place, shared many common features: the love songs were all sung by a girl, either looking forward to meeting her lover at dawn or lamenting his absence or illness. [129]It doesn't seem like too big a stretch to attribute some of García Lorca's contemporary appeal to lovers of flamenco dancing and gypsy singing (Cante jondo) to this sense in his work of a direct tie to an equally long-lived tradition of passionate lyric poetry in Southern Spain.
Hence, too, the popularity of poems such as this:
La Guitarra Empieza el llanto de la guitarra. Se rompen las copas de la madrugada. Empieza el llanto de la guitarra. Es inútil callarla. Es imposible callarla. Llora monótona como llora el agua, como llora el viento sobre la nevada. Es imposible callarla. Llora por cosas lejanas. Arena del Sur caliente que pide camelias blancas. Llora flecha sin blanco, la tarde sin mañana, y el primer pájaro muerto sobre la rama. ¡Oh guitarra! Corazón malherido por cinco espadas. - Federico Garcia Lorca (1921 / 1931)• The weeping of the guitar begins. The goblets of dawn are smashed. The weeping of the guitar begins. Useless to silence it. Impossible to silence it. It weeps monotonously as water weeps as the wind weeps over snowfields. Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant things. Hot southern sands yearning for white camellias. Weeps arrow without target evening without morning and the first dead bird on the branch. Oh, guitar! Heart mortally wounded by five swords.
- trans. Cola Franzen (2022)
What are some of the other sources of Lorca's popularity? Why is it that he's seen as an exception to the (alleged) difficulty and elitism of modern poetry in general? I can think of at least three reasons for it:
- There's his tragic end ...
- There's his queer identity ...
- He's also the only poet among our set of twelve who was also a major dramatist.
He shares his homosexuality with Cavafy and - probably - Pessoa and Rimbaud; the tragic ending also applies to Osip Mandelstam and Paul Celan. But it's the combination of all these factors, along with the potent mixture of Moorish and Andalusian cultural influences from his birthplace in Southern Spain, which might seem enough in themselves to produce a great poet.
One more thing was needed to make that poet Lorca, though: genius.
Ciudad sin sueño (Nocturno del Brooklyn Bridge) No duerme nadie por el cielo. Nadie, nadie. No duerme nadie. Las criaturas de la luna huelen y rondan sus cabañas. Vendrán las iguanas vivas a morder a los hombres que no sueñan y el que huye con el corazón roto encontrará por las esquinas al increíble cocodrilo quieto bajo la tierna protesta de los astros. No duerme nadie por el mundo. Nadie, nadie. No duerme nadie. Hay un muerto en el cementerio más lejano que se queja tres años porque tiene un paisaje seco en la rodilla; y el niño que enterraron esta mañana lloraba tanto que hubo necesidad de llamar a los perros para que callase. No es sueño la vida. ¡Alerta! ¡Alerta! ¡Alerta! Nos caemos por las escaleras para comer la tierra húmeda o subimos al filo de la nieve con el coro de las dalias muertas. Pero no hay olvido, ni sueño: carne viva. Los besos atan las bocas en una maraña de venas recientes y al que le duele su dolor le dolerá sin descanso y al que teme la muerte la llevará sobre sus hombros. Un día los caballos vivirán en las tabernas y las hormigas furiosas atacarán los cielos amarillos que se refugian en los ojos de las vacas. Otro día veremos la resurrección de las mariposas disecadas y aún andando por un paisaje de esponjas grises y barcos mudos veremos brillar nuestro anillo y manar rosas de nuestra lengua. ¡Alerta! ¡Alerta! ¡Alerta! A los que guardan todavía huellas de zarpa y aguacero, a aquel muchacho que llora porque no sabe la invención del puente o a aquel muerto que ya no tiene más que la cabeza y un zapato, hay que llevarlos al muro donde iguanas y sierpes esperan, donde espera la dentadura del oso, donde espera la mano momificada del niño y la piel del camello se eriza con un violento escalofrío azul. No duerme nadie por el cielo. Nadie, nadie. No duerme nadie. Pero si alguien cierra los ojos, ¡azotadlo, hijos míos, azotadlo! Haya un panorama de ojos abiertos y amargas llagas encendidas. No duerme nadie por el mundo. Nadie, nadie. Ya lo he dicho. No duerme nadie. Pero si alguien tiene por la noche exceso de musgo en las sienes, abrid los escotillones para que vea bajo la luna las copas falsas, el veneno y la calavera de los teatros. - Federico Garcia Lorca (1930 / 1940)• In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody. Nobody is asleep. The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins. The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream, and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the street corner the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the stars. Nobody is asleep on earth. Nobody, nobody. Nobody is asleep. In a graveyard far off there is a corpse who has moaned for three years because of a dry countryside on 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 knife edge of the snow with the voices of the dead dahlias. But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams do not exist; flesh exists. Kisses tie our mouths in a thicket of new veins, and whoever his pain pains will feel that pain forever and whoever is afraid of death will carry it on his shoulders. One day the horses will live in the saloons and the enraged ants will throw themselves on the yellow skies that take refuge in the eyes of cows. Another day we will watch the preserved butterflies rise from the dead and still walking through a country of gray sponges and silent boats we will watch our ring flash and roses spring from our tongue. Careful! Be careful! Be careful! The men who still have marks of the claw and the thunderstorm, and that boy who cries because he has never heard of the invention of the bridge, or that dead man who possesses now only his head and a shoe, we must carry them to the wall where the iguanas and the snakes are waiting, where the bear's teeth are waiting, where the mummified hand of the boy is waiting, and the hair of the camel stands on end with a violent blue shudder. Nobody is sleeping in the sky. Nobody, nobody. Nobody is sleeping. If someone does close his eyes, a whip, boys, a whip! Let there be a landscape of open eyes and bitter wounds on fire. No one is sleeping in this world. No one, no one. I have said it before. No one is sleeping. But if someone grows too much moss on his temples during the night, open the stage trapdoors so he can see in the moonlight the lying goblets, and the poison, and the skull of the theaters.
- trans. Robert Bly (1973)
•
If you think you can hear the influence of Hart Crane's 1930 poem The Bridge in there, you're probably right. The two poets met - briefly - in Brooklyn in 1929: an incident recorded in Philip Levine's 1992 poem "On the Meeting of Garcia Lorca and Hart Crane". But there's a restless intensity to Lorca's response to the city which surely owes more to George Gershwin and the architect of the Art Deco Chrysler Building than to Hart Crane.
Modernism, Surrealism - even proto-Magic Realism ... they're all there in the Poeta en Nueva York. And yet no-one was even able to read these remarkable poems until 1940. Like so much of his work, they were left in limbo by the turmoil of the war and the fascist oppression in Spain, leaving the full extent of his achievement to appear gradually, piece by piece, in the decades since then.
Even his homosexual identity remains a controversial issue in Spain. The recent publication of a graphic novel about his life (and death) brought the issue to the surface. “He’s gay and it’s taken a long time to get the Spanish to accept that – including his own family,” says its author, Lorca biographer Ian Gibson. “His relationship with Salvador Dalí and other people is quite explicit, as is his homosexuality." But then, as Lorca himself once put it: “a dead man in Spain is more alive than a dead man anywhere else in the world”.
___________________________________________________________It may not be the subtlest way to introduce the subject, but at least it gets it all out in the open.
Male Spectator: Fantastic!
Female Spectator: What great work!
Federico: Thanks so much, friends!
The reading, combined with Federico's charisma, moved the spectators so much that Dalí's father exclaimed that he was the greatest poet of the century because his creations actually worked!
___________________________________________________________
Federico: What a gloomy place this Cap de Creus is, Salvador.
Salvador: Yes, but the shapes are very inspiring, don't you think? I see it as a grand geographical delirium.
___________________________________________________________
Federico: Last night, talking with your friends, I thought that Catalonia seems very lively. It has its own literary, political and social life.
But Spain under Primo de Rivera is dead. And now the retrograde centralism of Madrid wants to limit even the use of your language!
___________________________________________________________
Anna María: Last night I practiced my Catalan a bit.
Federico: Catalan enchants me, Anna María.
___________________________________________________________
Salvador: And doesn't my little sister enchant you? Look at the living geology standing right there. Anna María, why don't you let Federico touch your tits?
Anna María: Yes, yes, have a feel, Federico. It feels to me as if we'd known each other all our lives.
___________________________________________________________
Federico: No thanks, stay where you are. Other kinds of shapes please me more.
___________________________________________________________
There's one unquestionably great poem by Lorca which I would confidently claim bowls over everyone who encounters it for the first time. It's the lament for his friend, the great bullfighter Ignacio Sánchez Mejías. Hemingway did his best to valorise bullfighting in his 1932 book Death in the Afternoon. I'm not sure how successful he was in this endeavour, though it's an interesting enough book to read.
The thing about Lorca's poem is that it has nothing whatever to say about the rights and wrongs of bullfighting. His friend died in the ring, but it's the tragedy of that death and the macabre intensity of the events surrounding that preoccupy Lorca. There've been numerous attempts to do justice to it in English ever since it was first issued as a chapbook in 1934.
It's quite a long poem, so I've only included translations of the first, most famous section here. The rest of it is equally worth reading, however. If you're curious, any of the following links will take you to complete versions of the whole piece by (respectively) Stephen Spender & J. L. Gili, Sarah Arvio, or A. S. Kline.
-
Llanto por Ignacio Sánchez Mejías
- Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías
- The Goring and Death
- Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías
- Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías (for the death of a bullfighter)
- In the Afternoon at Five
- Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías
- Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías
- Federico García Lorca (November, 1933)
La cogida y la muerte A las cinco de la tarde. Eran las cinco en punto de la tarde. Un niño trajo la blanca sábana a las cinco de la tarde. Una espuerta de cal ya prevenida a las cinco de la tarde. Lo demás era muerte y sólo muerte a las cinco de la tarde. El viento se llevó los algodones a las cinco de la tarde. Y el óxido sembró cristal y níquel a las cinco de la tarde. Ya luchan la paloma y el leopardo a las cinco de la tarde. Y un muslo con un asta desolada a las cinco de la tarde. Comenzaron los sones de bordón a las cinco de la tarde. Las campanas de arsénico y el humo a las cinco de la tarde. En las esquinas grupos de silencio a las cinco de la tarde. ¡Y el toro solo corazón arriba! a las cinco de la tarde. Cuando el sudor de nieve fue llegando a las cinco de la tarde, cuando la plaza se cubrió de yodo a las cinco de la tarde, la muerte puso huevos en la herida a las cinco de la tarde. A las cinco de la tarde. A las cinco en punto de la tarde. Un ataúd con ruedas es la cama a las cinco de la tarde. Huesos y flautas suenan en su oído a las cinco de la tarde. El toro ya mugía por su frente a las cinco de la tarde. El cuarto se irisaba de agonía a las cinco de la tarde. A lo lejos ya viene la gangrena a las cinco de la tarde. Trompa de lirio por las verdes ingles a las cinco de la tarde. Las heridas quemaban como soles a las cinco de la tarde, y el gentío rompía las ventanas a las cinco de la tarde. A las cinco de la tarde. ¡Ay qué terribles cinco de la tarde! ¡Eran las cinco en todos los relojes! ¡Eran las cinco en sombra de la tarde!
- trans. Stephen Spender & J. L. Gili (1943)
"Cogida" and Death At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the white sheet at five in the afternoon. A trail of lime ready prepared at five in the afternoon. The rest was death, and death alone at five in the afternoon. The wind carried away the cottonwool at five in the afternoon. And the oxide scattered crystal and nickel at five in the afternoon. Now the dove and the leopard wrestle at five in the afternoon. And a thigh with a desolate horn at five in the afternoon. The bass-string struck up at five in the afternoon. Arsenic bells and smoke at five in the afternoon. Groups of silence in the corners at five in the afternoon. And the bull alone with a high heart! at five in the afternoon. When the sweat of snow was coming at five in the afternoon, when the bull-ring was covered in iodine at five in the afternoon, death laid eggs in the wound at five in the afternoon. At five in the afternoon. Exactly at five o'clock in the afternoon. A coffin on wheels is his bed at five in the afternoon. Bones and flutes resound in his ears at five in the afternoon. Now the bull was bellowing inside his forehead at five in the afternoon. The room was iridescent with agony at five in the afternoon. From far off the gangrene is now coming at five in the afternoon. Lily-trumpet around his green groins at five in the afternoon. His wounds were burning like suns at five in the afternoon, and the crowd was breaking the windows at five in the afternoon. At five in the afternoon. Ah, that terrible five in the afternoon! It was five by all the clocks! It was five in the shade of the afternoon!
- trans. David Loughrin (1980)
At five in the afternoon. it was exactly five in the afternoon. A child had fetched the stark white sheet at five in the afternoon. A basket of lime already at hand at five in the afternoon The rest was death and only death at five in the afternoon. The wind ran away with the cotton-gauze and the oxide left splinters of tin and crystal at five in the afternoon. The leopard and the dove are struggling now at five in the afternoon. And a thigh with a ravaging horn at five in the afternoon. The resounding of the bass string began at five in the afternoon, and the bells of arsenic and the smoke at five in the afternoon. On the corners there were groups of silence at five in the afternoon. Horns held high, the bull alone at five in the afternoon. Just as the sweat of snow broke out at five in the afternoon, when the ring was covered with iodine at five in the afternoon, death laid her eggs in his wound at five in the afternoon. at five in the afternoon. At five in the afternoon. At five exactly in the afternoon A coffin on wheels is his bed at five in the afternoon. Flutes and bones sound in his ears at five in the afternoon. Even now the bull roars near his head at five in the afternoon. The chamber was pulsing with agony at five in the afternoon. In the distance the gangrene is coming at five in the afternoon. His wounds were blazing like suns at five in the afternoon, and the milling mass smashed the windows at five in the afternoon. At five in the afternoon. Ay, how bitter the hour of five! It was five by all men’s clocks. It was five in the shadow of the afternoon.
- trans. Galway Kinnell (2001)
The Goring and the Death At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the linen sheet at five in the afternoon. A basket of lime standing ready at five in the afternoon. Everything else was death, only death at five in the afternoon. Wind scattered bits of gauze at five in the afternoon. Oxide sowed glass and nickel at five in the afternoon. Now the dove battles with the leopard at five in the afternoon. And a thigh with a desolate horn at five in the afternoon. Now began the drums of a dirge at five in the afternoon. And the bells of arsenic and smoke at five in the afternoon. Silence gathered on every corner at five in the afternoon. And the bull alone with lifted heart! at five in the afternoon. When sweat of snow began at five in the afternoon, and the bull-ring was drenched in iodine at five in the afternoon, death laid its eggs in the wound at five in the afternoon. At five in the afternoon. At exactly five in the afternoon. The bed is a coffin on wheels at five in the afternoon. Bones and flutes play in his ear at five in the afternoon. The bull's bellowings stay at his forehead at five in the afternoon. The room turned iridescent in his agony at five in the afternoon. Now in the distance gangrene appears at five in the afternoon. A white lily in the green groins at five in the afternoon. The wounds burned like suns at five in the afternoon. And the crowd breaking the windows at five in the afternoon. At five in the afternoon. Ah, that terrible five in the afternoon! It was five by all the clocks! It was five in the shade of the afternoon!
•
Inari Kiuru: A las cinco de la tarde, a series of brooches (2010)mild steel, pva, paint, resin, crystal, salt
- trans. Inari Kiuru (2010)
Cogida and death / fragment 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 at five in the afternoon. The wind carried away the cottonwool at five in the afternoon. And the oxide scattered crystal and nickel at five in the afternoon. Now the dove and the leopard wrestle at five in the afternoon. And a thigh with a desolate horn at five in the afternoon. The bass-string struck up at five in the afternoon. Arsenic bells and smoke at five in the afternoon. Groups of silence in the corners at five in the afternoon. And the bull alone with a high heart! At five in the afternoon. When the sweat of snow was coming at five in the afternoon, when the bull ring was covered in iodine at five in the afternoon. Death laid eggs in the wound at five in the afternoon. At five in the afternoon. Exactly at five o’clock in the afternoon. A coffin on wheels in his bed at five in the afternoon. Bones and flutes resound in his ears at five in the afternoon. Now the bull was bellowing through his forehead at five in the afternoon. The room was iridescent with agony at five in the afternoon. In the distance the gangrene now comes at five in the afternoon. Horn of the lily through green groins at five in the afternoon. The wounds were burning like suns at five in the afternoon, and the crowd was breaking the windows at five in the afternoon. At five in the afternoon. Ah, that fatal five in the afternoon! It was five by all the clocks! It was five in the shade of the afternoon!
- trans. Brian Cole (2015)
In the afternoon at five. It was afternoon, exactly at five. A boy brought in the white sheet in the afternoon at five. A basket of lime was standing ready in the afternoon at five. The rest was death and only death in the afternoon at five. The wind carried off the balls of lint in the afternoon at five. And the chloride glittered nickel and crystal in the afternoon at five. Now the dove struggles and the leopard in the afternoon at five. And a gored thigh with the bull's horn in the afternoon at five. There began the sound of a bass string in the afternoon at five. The bells of arsenic and the smoke in the afternoon at five. In the corner groups of silence in the afternoon at five. And the bull stood alone with head held high in the afternoon at five. When the snowy sweat was starting in the afternoon at five. when the sand was covered with iodine in the afternoon at five. Death laid her eggs in the wound in the afternoon at five. In the afternoon at five. In the afternoon exactly at five. A coffin on wheels is the bed in the afternoon at five. Bones and flutes sound in his ears in the afternoon at five. The bull was bellowing in his face in the afternoon at five. The room was rainbowed with agony in the afternoon at five. Already gangrene comes from afar in the afternoon at five. A lily trumpet through his green loins in the afternoon at five. The wounds were burnng like suns in the afternoon at five. and the crowd broke the windows in the afternoon at five. In the afternoon at five. How terrible this afternoon at five! It was five o'clock by all the watches! The afternoon was in shadow at five!
- trans. Sarah Arvio (2017)
The Goring and the Death At five in the afternoon At the stroke of five The boy brought the white sheet at five o’clock A basket of lime all ready at five o’clock The rest was death and only death at five o’clock Wind carried off the cotton balls at five o’clock Rust scattered chrome and glass at five o’clock The dove and the leopard fought at five o’clock And a thigh with a desolate horn in it at five o’clock The bass strings began to thrum at five o’clock The bells of arsenic and smoke at five o’clock On the corners crowds of silence at five o’clock The bull alone with lifted heart at five o’clock When the icy sweat began to flow at five o’clock when iodine filled the bullring at five o’clock and death laid eggs in the wound at five o’clock At five o’clock At the stroke of five The bed is a coffin on wheels at five o’clock Bones and flutes sing in his ear at five o’clock The bull roared from his brow at five o’clock The room was a death rainbow at five o’clock The gangrene began from afar at five o’clock Trumpet of a lily in his green groin at five o’clock The wounds burned like suns at five o’clock and the mob broke the windows at five o’clock At five o’clock Ay what terrible fives It was five on all the clocks In the afternoon shadows
- trans. A. S. Kline (2023)
The Goring and the Death At five in the afternoon. It was just five in the afternoon. A boy brought the white sheet at five in the afternoon. A basket of lime made ready at five in the afternoon. The rest was death and only death at five in the afternoon. The wind blew the cotton wool away at five in the afternoon. And oxide scattered nickel and glass at five in the afternoon. Now the dove and the leopard fight at five in the afternoon. And a thigh with a desolate horn at five in the afternoon. The bass-pipe sound began at five in the afternoon. The bells of arsenic, the smoke at five in the afternoon. Silent crowds on corners at five in the afternoon. And only the bull with risen heart! at five in the afternoon. When the snow-sweat appeared at five in the afternoon. when the arena was splashed with iodine at five in the afternoon. death laid its eggs in the wound at five in the afternoon. At five in the afternoon. At just five in the afternoon. A coffin on wheels for his bed at five in the afternoon. Bones and flutes sound in his ear at five in the afternoon. Now the bull bellows on his brow at five in the afternoon. The room glows with agony at five in the afternoon. Now out of distance gangrene comes at five in the afternoon. Trumpets of lilies for the green groin at five in the afternoon. Wounds burning like suns at five in the afternoon, and the people smashing windows at five in the afternoon. At five in the afternoon. Ay, what a fearful five in the afternoon! It was five on every clock! It was five of a dark afternoon!
Oh my God! "A las cinco de la tarde" - at five in the afternoon - all those things that went down simultaneously as the clock struck five on that fateful afternoon ...
But how do you get that across in English? The rhythm of the Spanish phrase is so inexorable, the placement of it so perfect: "incremental repetition," as they call it in traditional English and Scots ballads.
Here's what Lorca originally wrote:
And this is what our various translators do with it:A las cinco de la tarde. Eran las cinco en punto de la tarde. Un niño trajo la blanca sábana a las cinco de la tarde.
Stephen Spender & J. L. Gili:
David Loughrin:At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the white sheet at five in the afternoon.
Galway Kinnell:At five in the afternoon. it was exactly five in the afternoon. A child had fetched the stark white sheet at five in the afternoon.
Inari Kiuru:At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the linen sheet at five in the afternoon.
Brian Cole:At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the white sheet at five in the afternoon.
Sarah Arvio:In the afternoon at five. It was afternoon, exactly at five. A boy brought in the white sheet in the afternoon at five.
A. S. Kline:At five in the afternoon At the stroke of five The boy brought the white sheet at five o’clock
The question is, has anyone really improved on Stephen Spender & J. L. Gili's original solution to the problem? They keep the italics for the repeated "a las cinco de la tarde" refrain, as do Galway Kinnell and A. S. Kline. Their suggestion of "at five in the afternoon" also seems like a good rhythmic simulacrum for the Spanish. It must be, because only Brian Cole and Sarah Arvio try anything different for that phrase: respectively, "in the afternoon at five" and "at five o'clock". Neither seems like a significant improvement to me.At five in the afternoon. It was just five in the afternoon. A boy brought the white sheet at five in the afternoon.
All the translators are aware of the need to reproduce the almost liturgical intensity with which the phrase is intoned, punctuating the increasingly baroque litany of things that happened at that moment. Most use Lorca's repeated full-stops and other punctuation. Actually, only Arvio omits them.
There are further minor variations in the interpretation of certain lines: "Trompa de lirio por las verdes ingles, for instance. Versions of this vary from "Lily-trumpet around his green groins" (Spender & Gili) to "Horn of the lily through green groins" (Inari Kiuru) to "Trumpet of a lily in his green groin" (Sarah Arvio). God knows what it's supposed to mean! David Loughrin appears to have omitted it altogether.
The other major point of dispute, though, is the best title for this subsection of the larger poem. "La cogida y la muerte" has a certain ring to it: almost like Stendhal's "Le Rouge et le noir" [The Red and the Black] or Tolstoy's "Война и мир" [War and Peace]". Perhaps for that reason, it's particularly difficult to reproduce in English:
Stephen Spender & J. L. Gili:
"Cogida" and DeathDavid Loughrin:
The Goring and DeathGalway Kinnell:
The Goring and the DeathInari Kiuru:
Cogida and death / fragmentBrian Cole:
In the Afternoon at FiveSarah Arvio:
The Goring and the DeathA. S. Kline:
The Goring and the Death
The concensus here is clearly for "The Goring and the Death", variations on which have been used by over half of the translators. Brian Cole chose to avoid the subject entirely by calling his version of this part of the poem "In the Afternoon at Five." My own preference would be for Inari Kiuru's "Cogida and death" (with the omission of the following "/ fragment"). Spender & Gili wrecked their own choice by putting inverted commas around the then (perhaps), in 1943, rather esoteric term "cogida", but otherwise it seems sound enough.
As I said above, it's not a hard poem to understand, but it's surprisingly difficult to translate it into anything as powerful and inevitable as Lorca's Spanish. I'm not sure that any of the versions above quite achieve that, but neither would I say that any of them have definitively failed in the task. Taken one by one, I'd say that each of the seven gives a pretty satisfactory snapshot of Lorca's overall design.
There is, of course, much more to be said about Lorca's work as a whole. I haven't even touched on his plays, but for me the experience of seeing "The House of Bernarda Alba" on stage was an overwhelming one. It's hard to think of a more successful fusion of drama and poetry in all of twentieth century theatre. You'd have to go back to the Elizabethans and Jacobeans to find anything comparable - in English, at least.
There's a lot more to explore in his poetry, too. Christopher Maurer's dual-text edition gives the bulk of his poetry, and all of the major collections, in convenient form with well-chosen translations. It's hard to imagine how it could ever be superseded, in fact - though no doubt more recent discoveries may be incorporated in future editions. That would certainly be my recommendation as the best springboard for a deeper dive into his verse.
•
Monument to Federico García Lorca (Plaza de Santa Ana, Madrid)Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca
[Federico García Lorca]
(1898-1936)
Books I own are marked in bold:
-
Prose:
- Impresiones y paisajes [Impressions and Landscapes] (1918)
- Libro de poemas (1921)
- Poema del cante jondo [written 1921] (1931)
- Poem of the Deep Song – Poema del Cante Jondo. [bilingual edition]. Trans. Carlos Bauer (1987)
- Poem of the Deep Song. Trans. Ralph Angel (2006)
- Suites [written 1920-1923] (1983)
- Canciones [written 1921-1924] (1927)
- Romancero gitano (1928)
- Gypsy Ballads: A Version of the Romancero Gitano of Federico García Lorca. Trans. Michael Hartnett (1973)
- Gypsy Ballads. [bilingual edition]. Trans. Jane Duran & Gloria García Lorca (2016)
- Odes (1928)
- Poeta en Nueva York [written 1930] (1940)
- Poet in New York. [bilingual edition]. Trans. Greg Simon & Steven F. White. Ed Christopher Maurer. 1988. The Noonday Press. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1991.
- Poet in New York - Poeta en Nueva York. [bilingual edition]. Trans. Pablo Medina & Mark Statman. Preface by Edward Hirsch (2008)
- Llanto por Ignacio Sánchez Mejías (1935)
- Seis poemas galegos (1935)
- Sonetos del amor oscuro [written 1936] (1983)
- Included in: Sonnets of Dark Love - The Tamarit Divan. [bilingual edition]. Trans. Jane Duran & Gloria García Lorca, with essays by Christopher Maurer & Andrés Soria Olmedo (2016)
- Lament for the Death of a Bullfighter and Other Poems (1937)
- Primeras canciones [First Songs] (1936)
- Diván del Tamarit [written 1931–34] (1940)
- Included in: Sonnets of Dark Love - The Tamarit Divan. [bilingual edition]. Trans. Jane Duran & Gloria García Lorca, with essays by Christopher Maurer & Andrés Soria Olmedo (2016)
- The Collected Poems: A Bilingual Edition. Ed. Christopher Maurer (2001)
- The Collected Poems: A Bilingual Edition. Ed. Christopher Maurer. 2001. Rev. ed. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2002.
- Tragedia religiosa [Christ: A Religious Tragedy] [unfinished] (1917)
- El maleficio de la mariposa [The Butterfly's Evil Spell] (1919–20 / 1927)
- Included in: Five Plays: Comedies and Tragicomedies. 1919-1935. Trans. James Graham-Luján & Richard L. O’Connell. 1963. Penguin Plays. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1970.
- Las Titerres de Cachiporra [The Billy-Club Puppets] (1922–5 / 1937)
- Included in: Five Plays: Comedies and Tragicomedies. 1919-1935. Trans. James Graham-Luján & Richard L. O’Connell. 1963. Penguin Plays. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1970.
- Retablillo de Don Cristóbal [The Puppet Play of Don Cristóbal] (1923 / 1935)
- Mariana Pineda (1923–25 / 1927)
- La zapatera prodigiosa [The Shoemaker's Prodigious Wife] (1926–30 / 1933)
- Included in: Five Plays: Comedies and Tragicomedies. 1919-1935. Trans. James Graham-Luján & Richard L. O’Connell. 1963. Penguin Plays. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1970.
- Amor de don Perlimplín con Belisa en su jardín [The Love of Don Perlimplín and Belisa in the Garden] (1928 / 1933)
- Included in: Five Plays: Comedies and Tragicomedies. 1919-1935. Trans. James Graham-Luján & Richard L. O’Connell. 1963. Penguin Plays. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1970.
- El público [The Public] [incomplete] (1929–30 / 1972)
- Así que pasen cinco años [When Five Years Pass] (1931 / 1945)
- Included in: Once Five Years Pass and Other Dramatic Works. Trans. William Bryant Logan & Angel Gil Orrios. Foreword by Christopher Maurer. New York: Station Hill Press, 1989.
- Bodas de sangre [Blood Wedding] [1932 / 1933)
- Included in: Three Tragedies. Trans. James Graham-Luján & Richard L. O’Connell. Introduction by Francisco García Lorca. 1947. Penguin Plays. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1961.
- Yerma (1934 / 1934)
- Included in: Three Tragedies. Trans. James Graham-Luján & Richard L. O’Connell. Introduction by Francisco García Lorca. 1947. Penguin Plays. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1961.
- Yerma. Trans. Kathryn Phillips-Miles & Simon Deefholts (2020)
- Doña Rosita la soltera o el lenguaje de las flores [Doña Rosita the Spinster] (1935 / 1935)
- Included in: Five Plays: Comedies and Tragicomedies. 1919-1935. Trans. James Graham-Luján & Richard L. O’Connell. 1963. Penguin Plays. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1970.
- Comedia sin título [Play Without a Title] [only one act] (1936 / 1986)
- La casa de Bernarda Alba [The House of Bernarda Alba] (1936 / 1945)
- Included in: Three Tragedies. Trans. James Graham-Luján & Richard L. O’Connell. Introduction by Francisco García Lorca. 1947. Penguin Plays. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1961.
- Los sueños de mi prima Aurelia [Dreams of my Cousin Aurelia] [unfinished] (1936 / -)
- El paseo de Buster Keaton [Buster Keaton goes for a stroll] (1928)
- Included in: Once Five Years Pass and Other Dramatic Works. Trans. William Bryant Logan & Angel Gil Orrios. Foreword by Christopher Maurer. New York: Station Hill Press, 1989.
- La doncella, el marinero y el estudiante [The Maiden, the Sailor and the Student] (1928)
- Included in: Once Five Years Pass and Other Dramatic Works. Trans. William Bryant Logan & Angel Gil Orrios. Foreword by Christopher Maurer. New York: Station Hill Press, 1989.
- Quimera [Dream] (1928)
- Included in: Once Five Years Pass and Other Dramatic Works. Trans. William Bryant Logan & Angel Gil Orrios. Foreword by Christopher Maurer. New York: Station Hill Press, 1989.
- Viaje a la luna [Trip to the Moon] (1929)
- Included in: Once Five Years Pass and Other Dramatic Works. Trans. William Bryant Logan & Angel Gil Orrios. Foreword by Christopher Maurer. New York: Station Hill Press, 1989.
- [with Manuel de Falla] Lola, la Comedianta [unfinished] (1923)
- Selected Poems of Federico García Lorca (1943)
- Selected Poems of Federico García Lorca. Trans. J. L. Gili & Stephen Spender. The New Hogarth Library, XI. London: The Hogarth Press, 1943.
- Three Tragedies (1947)
- Three Tragedies: Blood Wedding; Yerma; The House of Bernarda Alba. 1933, 1935, 1940. Trans. James Graham-Luján & Richard L. O’Connell. 1947. Introduction by Francisco García Lorca. 1947. Penguin Plays. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1961.
- The Selected Poems of Federico García Lorca (1955)
- The Selected Poems of Federico García Lorca. Ed. Francisco García Lorca & Donald M. Allen. 1955. New York: New Directions, 1961.
- Lorca: With Plain Prose Translations of Each Poem (1960)
- Lorca: With Plain Prose Translations of Each Poem. Trans. J. L. Gili. 1960. The Penguin Poets. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1967.
- Five Plays: Comedies and Tragicomedies (1963)
- Five Plays: Comedies and Tragicomedies. The Billy-Club Puppets; The Shoemaker's Prodigious Wife; The Love of Don Perlimplín and Belisa in the Garden; Doña Rosita, the Spinster; The Butterfly's Evil Spell. 1919-1935. Trans. James Graham-Luján & Richard L. O’Connell. 1963. Penguin Plays. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1970.
- Once Five Years Pass and Other Dramatic Works (1989)
- Once Five Years Pass and Other Dramatic Works. [Así que pasen cinco años (Leyenda del Tiempo) / Once Five Years Pass (Legend of Time) (1931); El paseo de Buster Keaton / Buster Keaton's Outing (1928); La Doncella, el marinero y el Estudiante / The Maiden, the Sailor and the Student (1925-28); Quimera / Chimera (1935); Viaje a la luna / Trip to the Moon (1929)]. Trans. William Bryant Logan & Angel Gil Orrios. Foreword by Christopher Maurer. New York: Station Hill Press, 1989.
- The Dream of Apples: Selected Poems of Federico García Lorca. [bilingual edition]. Trans. Rebecca Seiferle (2024)
- Gibson, Ian. The Death of Lorca. 1973. Paladin. Frogmore, St Albans, Herts: Granada Publishing Limited, 1974.
- Gibson, Ian. Federico García Lorca: A Life. 1985 & 1987. London: Faber, 1990.
- Gibson, Ian. Vida y muerte de Federico García Lorca. Illustrated by Quique Palomo (2018)
Poetry:
Plays:
(date when written / date of first production)
Short Plays:
Filmscript:
Opera libretto:
Translations:
Secondary:
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William Roberts: The Vorticists at the Restaurant de la Tour Eiffel (1961-62)Modern Poets in English
- C. P. Cavafy (1863-1933)
- Anna Akhmatova (1889-1966)
- Osip Mandelstam (1891-1938)
- Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891)
- Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918)
- Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)
- Paul Celan (1920-1970)
- Eugenio Montale (1896-1981)
- Salvatore Quasimodo (1901-1968)
- Federico García Lorca (1898-1936)
- Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)
- Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935)
