Federico Garcia-Lorca (1898 – 1936) is probably the most admired Spanish playwright of the 20th century and one of the most distinguished representatives of the ‘generation of 27’. In Lorca’s poems we find references to his beloved land Andalusia, the scene in which many of his writings are situated, which normally deal with love and its complications, the chores of life in the villages or the inexorability of death. 15 poems by Garcia Lorca to familiarize yourself with his work
From him This literary genius, who cruelly left us too soon, bequeathed some of the most important verses of the Spanish poetic anthology . We have selected a few of his prolific work, whose meaning we have tried to decipher.1. The poet asks his love to write
Love from my entrails, long live death,
in vain I wait for your written word
and I think, with the flower that withers,
that if I live without me I want to lose you.
The air is immortal. The inert stone
neither knows the shadow nor avoids it.
Inner heart does not need
the frozen honey that the moon pours.
But I suffered you. Tear my veins,
tiger and dove, on your waist
in a duel of bites and lilies.
So fill my madness with words
or let me live in my serene
night of the soul forever dark If there is a recurring theme in Lorca’s poems, that is love; more specifically, unrequited love. On this occasion, the narrator longs to have news of his beloved, although he agonizes at the silence she receives in her place. Having poured himself out for a love that will never be returned, he writhes needlessly in pain, overcome by the memory of what he never was. 2. Alba
My oppressed heart
Feels next to the dawn
The pain of her loves
Of her And the dream of distances.
The light of the dawn carries
Seedbeds of nostalgia
And sadness without eyes
From the marrow of the soul.
The great tomb of the night
The black veil of it lifts
To hide with the day
The immense starry summit.
What will I do on these fields
Catching nests and branches
Surrounded by the dawn
And filled with night the soul!
What will I do if you have your eyes
Dead in the bright lights
And my flesh will not feel
The heat of your gaze!
Why did I lose you forever
On that clear afternoon
Today my chest is parched
Like an extinguished star.
A composition with which the poet tries to express the emptiness that he feels during the night and until the sunrise , a spectacle that captivates the soul of the author. 3. Remansillo
I looked into your eyes
thinking of your soul.
white oleander.
I looked into your eyes
thinking of your mouth.
red oleander.
I looked into your eyes.
But you were dead!
black oleander.
Through the chromatic progression of a bush (the oleander), Remansillo is one of Lorca’s short poems that best illustrate the passage from life to death . 4. Lucia Martinez
Umbria in red silk.
Your thighs, like the afternoon,
go from light to shadow.
The reconditos jets
darken your magnolias.
Here I am, Lucia Martinez.
I come to consume your mouth
and drag you by the hair
at dawn of shells.
Because I want and because I can.
Red Silk Umbria. The writer identifies the body of a woman with certain images (light, shadow, jets and magnolias). The protagonist who gives name to this brief composition is the object of the author’s desire and awakens his carnal passions. 5. Romance Sonambulo
Verde I love you green.
wind green. Green branches.
The ship on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shadow on her waist
she sounds on her railing,
green flesh of hers, green hair,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green I want you green.
Under the gypsy moon,
things are looking at
her and she can’t look at them.
Green I want you green.
Great stars of frost,
they come with the shadow fish
that opens the path of dawn.
The fig tree rubs its wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the mountain, garduno cat,
bristles its sour pitas.
But who will come
? And from where
She is still on her railing,
green flesh, green hair,
sounding in the bitter sea.
–Compadre, I want to trade
my horse for his house,
my saddle for his mirror,
my knife for his blanket.
Compadre, I come bleeding,
from the ports of Cabra.
-If I could, young man,
this deal would be closed.
But I am no longer me,
nor is my house my house.
-Compadre, I want to die,
decently in my bed.
Of steel, if possible,
with the sheets of Holland.
Don’t you see the wound I have
from my chest to my throat
–Three hundred brown roses
wear your white breastplate.
Your blood oozes and smells
around your girdle.
But I am no longer me,
nor is my house my house.
–Let me climb at least
up to the high railings,
let me climb! Let me up
to the green railings.
Railings of the moon
where the water resounds.
The two compadres are already climbing
towards the high railings.
Leaving a trail of blood.
Leaving a trail of tears.
Tin lanterns
trembled on the rooftops .
A thousand glass tambourines
hurt the dawn.
Green I love you green,
green wind, green branches.
The two compadres went up.
The long wind left
a strange taste
of gall, mint and basil in the mouth.
-Buddy! Where is she, tell me
? Where is your bitter girl
? How many times do I wait for you!
How many times will I wait for you,
fresh face, black hair,
on this green railing!
The gypsy rocked
on the face of the cistern .
Flesh green, green hair,
with cold silver eyes.
An icicle of the moon
holds her above the water.
The night became intimate
like a small square.
Civil guards drunk
at the door knocking.
Green I love you green,
green wind, green branches.
The boat over the sea.
And the horse on the mountain.
Surely we are facing one of the most famous poems of all his work. It is an ode to the loved one, separated in the distance , who does nothing but contemplate the horizon waiting for a reunion that seems imminent.
Lorca, great writer of the generation of 27. | Image from: Wikimedia Commons. 6. Bee -eater Bee-
In your dark trees.
Night of stuttering sky
and stuttering air.
Three drunks perpetuate
their gestures of wine and mourning.
The lead stars rotate
on one foot.
In your dark trees.
Oppressed temple pain
with minute garland.
And your silence?
The three
drunks sing naked.
Virgin silk stitching
your song.
Uco uco uco uco.
The night, another of the recurring elements in her work. During the twilight, a bee-eater flaps its wings, parallel to three drunks who make a fuss with their arms . Noticing the bird, they begin to imitate its characteristic way of chirping. 7. The solea
Dressed in black cloaks,
she thinks that the world is small
and the heart is immense.
Dressed in black cloaks.
Think that the tender sigh
and the cry, disappear
in the current of the wind.
Dressed in black cloaks.
She left the balcony open
and the dawn
flowed through the balcony all over the sky.
Oh yayayayay,
dressed in black cloaks!
The playwright details the breaking of dawn, which sneaks through a window when it is opened to say good morning. After a dark night, the sun’s rays flood the entire room . 8. Song of the Ladybug
The ladybug combs her hair
in her silk comb.
The neighbors smile at each other
in their back windows.
The ladybug arranges
the loops on his head.
jets and planets scream through the patios.
The ladybug is adorned
with a scoundrel jasmine.
The afternoon becomes strange
with combs and vines.
Scandal trembled
striped like a zebra.
The sissies of the South,
they sing on the rooftops!
Without any kind of pretense, in this poem by Federico Garcia Lorca, the playwright speaks openly about homosexuality. In these lines, a gay neighbor lives his life without being embarrassed by the comments of his local neighbors, simply being who he is. A form of self-reference, perhaps ? Or a way of lamenting that Lorca could not live freely , as the main character does ?9. Long specter of shaken silver
Long specter of shaken silver…
Long specter of shaken silver
the night wind, sighing,
opened my old wound with a gray hand
and walked away: I was longing.
Wound of love that will give me
perpetual life, blood and pure light sprouting.
Crack in which silent Philomela
will have forest, pain and soft nest.
Oh what a sweet noise in my head!
I will lay next to the simple flower
where your beauty floats without a soul.
And the wandering water will turn yellow,
while my blood runs in the
wet and fragrant undergrowth of the shore.
As on previous occasions, much of his poems take place at night. When darkness falls and the moon is at its zenith, the poet sinks into sorrow . The “long spectrum of moved silver” is nothing more than the silvery reflection of the moon, which makes its way through the never-healed wound of an impossible love. 10. Chinese song in Europe
The lady
with the fan
goes over the bridge
of the cool river.
The gentlemen
in their frock coats
look at the bridge
without railings.
The lady
with the fan
and the ruffles
is looking for a husband.
The gentlemen
are married
to tall blondes
of white language.
Crickets sing
for the West.
(The lady,
goes for the green).
Crickets sing
under the flowers.
(The gentlemen,
go North)
Gallantly, some gentlemen, who seem not to mind the fact that they have already passed through the vicarage, try to woo a refined lady, who prefers to ignore the flattery they dedicate to her (or perhaps is alien to them) and stroll through the countryside.
Statue to Garcia Lorca in Rosario. | Image from: Wikimedia Commons. 11. Serenade
On the banks of the river
the night is getting wet
and in Lolita’s breasts
the bouquets are dying of love.
The branches die of love.
The night sings naked
on the bridges of March.
Lolita washes her body
of hers with brackish water and spikenards.
The branches die of love.
The night of anise and silver
shines through the roofs.
Silver streams and mirrors.
Anis of your white thighs.
The branches die of love. Two typical images of Lorca’s short poems (the night and a young woman) join hands in one of his most beautiful compositions. At nightfall, a lady bathes on the banks of a river, with the moonlight reflecting on the water, while the girl splashes. 12. The Silence
Hey, my son, the silence.
It is an undulating silence,
a silence,
where valleys and echoes slide
and that inclines foreheads
towards the ground.
The author introduces religious references in this short poem. Specifically, he is telling us how God shows Jesus the world that he has created for humanity. The men and women who inhabit it (the poet among them), faced with such a prodigy of creation, cannot do anything but remain silent and bow their heads. 13. Town
On the bald mount
a Calvary.
Clear water
and ancient olive trees.
Through the alleys
, muffled men,
and in the towers ,
weather vanes turning.
O lost town,
in the Andalusia of tears!
Rural Andalusia at the beginning of the century has dedicated many of Garcia Lorca’s short poems. In the twelve verses of Pueblo , we are described as village life, making use of the typical elements in small towns . 14. Romance of the moon
The moon came to the forge
with her polison of nards.
The boy looks at her.
The boy is looking at her.
In the moved air
the moon moves her arms
and shows, lubricates and pure,
her breasts of hard tin.
Run away moon, moon, moon.
If the gypsies came, they would make
necklaces and white rings
with your heart .
Boy, let me dance.
When the gypsies come, they
will find you on the anvil
with your eyes closed.
Run away moon, moon, moon,
I already feel your horses.
Nino leave me, don’t step
on my starched white.
The horseman approached
playing the drum of the plain.
Inside the forge, the boy
has his eyes closed.
Through the olive grove came,
bronze and dream, the gypsies.
Heads up
and eyes narrowed.
How the zumaya sings,
oh how it sings in the tree!
Through the sky goes the moon
with the child by the hand.
Inside the forge
the gypsies cry, screaming.
The air watches over her, watches over her.
the air is veiling her. A little boy is captivated by the white glare of the moon, who feels pity and comes down to take care of him. However, the gypsy family to which the boy belongs intends to go after her for having taken him away. However, the moon reassures him to rest while he waits for them to arrive. 15. If my hands could remove the leaves
I would pronounce your name
In the dark nights
When the stars come
To drink in the moon And the branches
of the hidden fronds
sleep .
And I feel hollow
Of passion and music.
Crazy clock that sings
Dead old hours.
I pronounce your name,
in this dark night,
And your name sounds
more distant than ever.
More distant than all the stars
And more painful than the gentle rain.
Will I love you like then
? What
is my heart to blame
If the fog vanishes
? What other passion awaits me
? Will it be calm and pure
? If my fingers could
Defoliate the moon!
The melancholy for the absence of the loved one is the basis of this poem by Lorca. When night comes, the poet cannot avoid pronouncing his name in his sleep , proof of the emptiness that he feels inside each time that passes and that they are not together. Far from diminishing, this sensation seems to increase.

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