Lorca poems

Lorca poems - Cockerels beaks dig in search of the dawn,...

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Cockerels’ beaks dig in search of the dawn, when Soledad Montoya descends the dark mountain. Her Flesh like brass, smells of horse and shadow. Her breasts like smoky anvils, wail round songs. ‘Soledad, who do you ask for, unaccompanied, at this hour?’ ‘Whoever I ask for, tell me: what business of it is yours? I come in search of what I am seeking, my joy And my own self.’ ‘Soledad of my sorrow, a horse that darts away Ultimately meets the sea, and is swallowed up by the waves.’ ‘Do not remind me of the sea, for the black sorrow rises in the land of olives From under the murmur of leaves.’ ‘Soledad, how sorrowful you are! What a pitiful sorrow! You weep drops of lemon sour with Wanting and sour to the mouth.’ ‘How great my sorrow! I pace my house like a madwoman, my two tresses trailing the floor, from the Kitchen to the bedroom. What sorrow! My flesh and clothes are turning black like jet. Ah, my linen shifts! Ah, my thighs of red poppy!’ ‘Soledad: cleanse your body with water fresh as skylarks, and leave Your heart in peace, Soledad Montoya.’ Down belos the river sings: flounce of sky and leaves. With pumpkin flowers the new light crowns itself. Oh, sorrow of the gipsies! Pure Sorrow and always solitary. Oh, sorrow of hidden course and distant Daybreak! MUERTE DE ANTOÑITO EL CAMBORIO
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Voices of death echoed all about the Guadalquivir. Primitive voices closed in on the voice with the virile carnation. He slashed at their boots with a tusk of a wild boar. Ducking left, right, he was slippery as a dolphin. He drowned his necktie crimson in his enemies’ blood, but there were four knives against his and finally he had to give way. When veronicas of gillyflowers are in the dreams of yearling bulls, when stars thrust their lances deep into the leaden waters, voices of death echoed all about the Guadalquivir. “Antonio Torres Heredia, Camborio of the rugged-mane, dusky, green with the moon’s glow voice of the virile carnation: who has taken your life down by the Guadalquivir?” “My four Heredia cousins, children of Benamejí. What they didn’t envy in others they found to envy in me. Cherry-colored shoes, my locket of ivory and this smooth skin kneaded with olive, with jasmine.” “Ai, Antonio Camborio, deserving of an Empress! Take strength in the Virgin for you are about to die.” “Ai, Federico Garcia, summon up the Civil Guard! My slender body, snapped, like a stalk of maize.” Three deep stab wounds found his blood, he died in silhouette. A manly coin whose like will never be seen again.
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A swaggering angel resting his head upon a sham. Others, flushed from toils,
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Lorca poems - Cockerels beaks dig in search of the dawn,...

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