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Romancero Gitano
El Romancero Gitano es una de las creaciones líricas más significativas del siglo XX. Punto culminante de la primera etapa estética de Lorca, el propio poeta lo define como el poema de Andalucía, y lo llamo gitano porque el gitano es lo más elevado, lo más profundo, más aristocrático de mi país, lo más representativo de su modo y el que guarda la sangre y el alfabeto de la verdad andaluza y universal. Es, sin embargo, un libro donde apenas sí está expresada la Andalucía que se ve, pero donde está temblando la que no se ve: un libro antipintoresco, antifolclórico, antiflamenco..., donde las figuras sirven a fondos milenarios y donde no hay más que un personaje grande y oscuro como un cielo de estío... la pena.
Paperback
First published January 1, 1928
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About the author
Federico García Lorca
1,581 books3,096 followersBorn in Fuente Vaqueros, Granada, Spain, June 5 1898; died near Granada, August 19 1936, García Lorca is one of Spain's most deeply appreciated and highly revered poets and dramatists. His murder by the Nationalists at the start of the Spanish civil war brought sudden international fame, accompanied by an excess of political rhetoric which led a later generation to question his merits; after the inevitable slump, his reputation has recovered (largely with a shift in interest to the less obvious works). He must now be bracketed with Machado as one of the two greatest poets Spain has produced in the 20th century, and he is certainly Spain's greatest dramatist since the Golden Age.
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September 24, 2017
Over the course of 2017, I have read a number of poetry collections both by American born and foreign poets. While I find myself preferring contemporary poetry, I do respect classic collections and have some favorite poets who I prefer. As this is Hispanic Heritage Month, I decided to step out of my comfort zone and read the work of noted poet laureate Federico García Lorca. I had read his play Blood Wedding and Yerma in a Spanish literature course while in college and came to realize the depth of his work; yet, I had never been exposed to his brilliant poetry. While my Hispanic Heritage Month selections are primarily centered on the Latin American experience, I decided upon Garcia Lorca's Gypsy Ballads to show appreciation to the Spanish origins of Hispanic culture.
Frederico Garcia Lorca is regarded as the most popular of Spanish poets and playwrights. Gypsy Ballads is considered his best selling work, and many feel it is one of the top poetry collections of all time. Many of his poems focus on the depth of the human experience, which is a main reason I read poetry-- to feel the gamut of emotions over the course of a few moving stanzas. Themes experienced in Garcia Lorca's work include desire, death, as well as human longing and social repression. The latter theme propelled Franco's supporters to kill the poet at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War as a figurehead of the repressed people. I admit, that any pseudo-analysis I give on these ballads will not do justice to the laureate's work. For this reason, I chose to read a translated version by Jane Duran and Gloria Garcia Lorca, the poet's niece, which also includes commentary by noted translator Christopher Maurer as well as an essay by Garcia Lorca himself. Because of the depth of the poems and my love of history, I was actually more intrigued by the essays at the end than some of the harder to grasp albeit beautiful poetry.
The Gypsy Ballads speak to the myth of the people of Andalusia in the south of Spain. In addition to the death already permeating Spain leading up to the Guerra Civil, the ballads feature the patchwork of people that make up Spain's southern province, including the shared history of Christians, Muslims, and Jews. The poetry contains many biblical images which speak to each of these people. In "The Unfaithful Wife," we see, according to Lorca, Soledad Montoya whose pain is emblematic of the Andalusian people. This poem, as much as any in the collection, speaks of the gypsies, as Lorca writes so eloquently, "As a true gypsy. I gave her a large sewing basket of straw-yellow satin, and I did not want to fall in love because, having a husband, she told me she was a maiden when I took her to the river." Other poems include biblical references to archangels Michael, Rafael, and Gabriel. Reading these ballads over the new year gave them an added layer of religiosity that added to the prestige and beauty of these works.
The final poem in the collection Thamar and Amnon reflects on the Jewish and gypsy history of the region. Garcia Lorca notes that Andalusians refer to Tamar as "altas mares" (high seas). The wording in this ballad appears almost mystical in proportion as it speaks of the gypsy culture of Cordoba and Granada. While reading it through, I felt as though the history of hidden Jewish people flowed from the pages. Some highlights include Tamar's dream with imagery of birds, palm trees, and doves, all evoking biblical references. Another stanza alludes to King David's harp as the poet writes, "Furious violator, Amnon flees on his horse. Black men point arrows at him from the walls and watchtowers. And when the four hooves were four echoes, David, with his scissors, cut the strings of his harp." As the conclusion of this moving collection, I thought this ballad summarized the shared religious history of southern Spain, where three religions lived in relative harmony for seven centuries. Unfortunately, with the rise of fascism, minority people were oppressed, with Garcia Lorca's becoming a symbol for gypsies and the other human suffering which he wrote so eloquently about.
Reading the Gypsy Ballads only as poetry collection does not do justice to the brilliance of Spanish poet laureate Federico García Lorca. Reading it combined as art and a history of the Andalusian region of Spain speaks to the beauty of Garcia Lorca's work. In some cases it took me many times to begin to grasp the meaning of the words written on these pages. I did appreciate the essay by the poet at the end of the collection which assisted in bringing meaning to the words which he so beautifully wrote during his brief life. I can see why Gypsy Ballads is one of the top selling poetry collections of all time as I feel the beauty of long, shared multicultural history flow from its pages.
4.5 stars
Frederico Garcia Lorca is regarded as the most popular of Spanish poets and playwrights. Gypsy Ballads is considered his best selling work, and many feel it is one of the top poetry collections of all time. Many of his poems focus on the depth of the human experience, which is a main reason I read poetry-- to feel the gamut of emotions over the course of a few moving stanzas. Themes experienced in Garcia Lorca's work include desire, death, as well as human longing and social repression. The latter theme propelled Franco's supporters to kill the poet at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War as a figurehead of the repressed people. I admit, that any pseudo-analysis I give on these ballads will not do justice to the laureate's work. For this reason, I chose to read a translated version by Jane Duran and Gloria Garcia Lorca, the poet's niece, which also includes commentary by noted translator Christopher Maurer as well as an essay by Garcia Lorca himself. Because of the depth of the poems and my love of history, I was actually more intrigued by the essays at the end than some of the harder to grasp albeit beautiful poetry.
The Gypsy Ballads speak to the myth of the people of Andalusia in the south of Spain. In addition to the death already permeating Spain leading up to the Guerra Civil, the ballads feature the patchwork of people that make up Spain's southern province, including the shared history of Christians, Muslims, and Jews. The poetry contains many biblical images which speak to each of these people. In "The Unfaithful Wife," we see, according to Lorca, Soledad Montoya whose pain is emblematic of the Andalusian people. This poem, as much as any in the collection, speaks of the gypsies, as Lorca writes so eloquently, "As a true gypsy. I gave her a large sewing basket of straw-yellow satin, and I did not want to fall in love because, having a husband, she told me she was a maiden when I took her to the river." Other poems include biblical references to archangels Michael, Rafael, and Gabriel. Reading these ballads over the new year gave them an added layer of religiosity that added to the prestige and beauty of these works.
The final poem in the collection Thamar and Amnon reflects on the Jewish and gypsy history of the region. Garcia Lorca notes that Andalusians refer to Tamar as "altas mares" (high seas). The wording in this ballad appears almost mystical in proportion as it speaks of the gypsy culture of Cordoba and Granada. While reading it through, I felt as though the history of hidden Jewish people flowed from the pages. Some highlights include Tamar's dream with imagery of birds, palm trees, and doves, all evoking biblical references. Another stanza alludes to King David's harp as the poet writes, "Furious violator, Amnon flees on his horse. Black men point arrows at him from the walls and watchtowers. And when the four hooves were four echoes, David, with his scissors, cut the strings of his harp." As the conclusion of this moving collection, I thought this ballad summarized the shared religious history of southern Spain, where three religions lived in relative harmony for seven centuries. Unfortunately, with the rise of fascism, minority people were oppressed, with Garcia Lorca's becoming a symbol for gypsies and the other human suffering which he wrote so eloquently about.
Reading the Gypsy Ballads only as poetry collection does not do justice to the brilliance of Spanish poet laureate Federico García Lorca. Reading it combined as art and a history of the Andalusian region of Spain speaks to the beauty of Garcia Lorca's work. In some cases it took me many times to begin to grasp the meaning of the words written on these pages. I did appreciate the essay by the poet at the end of the collection which assisted in bringing meaning to the words which he so beautifully wrote during his brief life. I can see why Gypsy Ballads is one of the top selling poetry collections of all time as I feel the beauty of long, shared multicultural history flow from its pages.
4.5 stars
Read
August 17, 2021My friend read a poem from this book for me, and I had to pick it up – of course, he read it in the original Spanish. “Verde que te quiero verde”, and so the story began.
There is a very sharp divide between the air and spirit of these lovely poems and their English counterparts. Now, perhaps more than ever, I feel the depth of the language barrier in poetry. This may be due to the fact that I have been poking at Spanish, learning a bit every day. I would read the poems in their original Spanish, understanding one or two words here and there, but hearing the sing-song rhythm of my voice. Robert Pinsky mentions that poetry is an art that heavily involves the body, not just the mind and the words on the page. There is a performative aspect to reading and enjoying poetry. This came out with the Spanish – flowed out. It was beautiful. The English did the job, don’t get me wrong, but it cannot hold a candle to the original, despite all the notes on translation and all the context.
That being said, my two favourite poems were Romance sonámbulo (Sleepwalking Ballad) and La casada infiel (The Unfaithful Wife). The beauty of the second will remain with me for a while.
There is a very sharp divide between the air and spirit of these lovely poems and their English counterparts. Now, perhaps more than ever, I feel the depth of the language barrier in poetry. This may be due to the fact that I have been poking at Spanish, learning a bit every day. I would read the poems in their original Spanish, understanding one or two words here and there, but hearing the sing-song rhythm of my voice. Robert Pinsky mentions that poetry is an art that heavily involves the body, not just the mind and the words on the page. There is a performative aspect to reading and enjoying poetry. This came out with the Spanish – flowed out. It was beautiful. The English did the job, don’t get me wrong, but it cannot hold a candle to the original, despite all the notes on translation and all the context.
That being said, my two favourite poems were Romance sonámbulo (Sleepwalking Ballad) and La casada infiel (The Unfaithful Wife). The beauty of the second will remain with me for a while.
"Y que yo me le llevé al río
creyendo que era mozuela,
pero tenía marido."
(And so I took her to the river
thinking she was a maiden,
but she had a husband.)
February 4, 2017
Sex, violence, rape and death. This is stuff poems are made of. It is supposed to be deeply routed in Spanish culture. Lorca used to sing them when he was still in process of writing them in front of audience, and they left such a deep impact on people that they were quoted by other writers and inspired other works even before they were published. I guess they wells on the habbit people had world over (before Guttenberg) of making songs on the events that leave deep impact on imagination of people to help remembering events in future. Except in this case they are fictional events.
These poems are often about battle between opposities - desire and purity, life and death. Some of them take form of conversations between characters - and some of the characters are gods (creating new mythic tales) There is lots of symbolism too - which you start being able to understand as you read on. A third reason to want to learn Spanish after Neruda and Marquez.
These poems are often about battle between opposities - desire and purity, life and death. Some of them take form of conversations between characters - and some of the characters are gods (creating new mythic tales) There is lots of symbolism too - which you start being able to understand as you read on. A third reason to want to learn Spanish after Neruda and Marquez.
March 4, 2021
Lo leí en la escuela, pero ayer, con una copa de vino tinto en la mano, volví a caminar sobre el empedrado de letras de Lorca, mientras se me hacía un nudo en la garganta y el vino se transformaba en poesía.
Un experiencia grata.
Un experiencia grata.
October 30, 2025
سبز، تو را من سبز میخواهم...
January 11, 2023
2023/03
My dear friends, this year I'm planning to read more poetry, and it would be nice if you could share with me some of your all-time favorite poetry books so that I can give them a go in the next months. In the meantime, I'll be reading three ones written originally in Spanish that I believe I might thoroughly enjoy, and Romancero Gitano, that had been on my TBR list for a while, happened to be my first pick.
One of my favorite poems of all time is in this collection—I remember the first time I read it I was in middle school, and after that I just fell head over heels for it. It is called Romance sonámbulo, a poem that makes me feel alive every time I get the chance to read it, with lots of possible interpretations, but where the only one that matter is eventually yours.
The rest of the poems, other 17 gems, are also incredibly captivating and beautifully written; perhaps there were two or three that were not 'gems' after all, but in the end this is what poetry is all about, right? It is so symbolic, so unique, so personal, that your opinion will be based almost only on your feelings, your mood, or heaven knows what else when you are reading it.
All in all, Romancero Gitano as well as other Lorca's works, such as his Rural Trilogy, are totally worth reading— actually, I truly believe this book was the best option to kick off my poetry journey with. I'll be waiting for more to come.
Favorite poems:
- Romance sonámbulo
- La casada infiel
- Romance de la Guardia Civil española
¡Compadre! ¿Dónde está, dime?
¿Dónde está tu niña amarga?
¡Cuántas veces te esperó!
¡Cuántas veces te esperara,
cara fresca, negro pelo,
en esta verde baranda!
(My friend, where is she—tell me—
where is your bitter girl?
How many times she waited for you!
How many times would she wait for you,
cool face, black hair,
on this green balcony!)
My rating on a scale of 1 to 5:
Quality of writing [5/5]
Pace [4/5]
Plot development [N/A]
Characters [N/A]
Enjoyability [4.5/5]
Insightfulness [4.5/5]
Easy of reading [4/5]
Photos/Illustrations [N/A]
Total [22/5] = 4.4
My dear friends, this year I'm planning to read more poetry, and it would be nice if you could share with me some of your all-time favorite poetry books so that I can give them a go in the next months. In the meantime, I'll be reading three ones written originally in Spanish that I believe I might thoroughly enjoy, and Romancero Gitano, that had been on my TBR list for a while, happened to be my first pick.
One of my favorite poems of all time is in this collection—I remember the first time I read it I was in middle school, and after that I just fell head over heels for it. It is called Romance sonámbulo, a poem that makes me feel alive every time I get the chance to read it, with lots of possible interpretations, but where the only one that matter is eventually yours.
The rest of the poems, other 17 gems, are also incredibly captivating and beautifully written; perhaps there were two or three that were not 'gems' after all, but in the end this is what poetry is all about, right? It is so symbolic, so unique, so personal, that your opinion will be based almost only on your feelings, your mood, or heaven knows what else when you are reading it.
All in all, Romancero Gitano as well as other Lorca's works, such as his Rural Trilogy, are totally worth reading— actually, I truly believe this book was the best option to kick off my poetry journey with. I'll be waiting for more to come.
Favorite poems:
- Romance sonámbulo
- La casada infiel
- Romance de la Guardia Civil española
¡Compadre! ¿Dónde está, dime?
¿Dónde está tu niña amarga?
¡Cuántas veces te esperó!
¡Cuántas veces te esperara,
cara fresca, negro pelo,
en esta verde baranda!
(My friend, where is she—tell me—
where is your bitter girl?
How many times she waited for you!
How many times would she wait for you,
cool face, black hair,
on this green balcony!)
My rating on a scale of 1 to 5:
Quality of writing [5/5]
Pace [4/5]
Plot development [N/A]
Characters [N/A]
Enjoyability [4.5/5]
Insightfulness [4.5/5]
Easy of reading [4/5]
Photos/Illustrations [N/A]
Total [22/5] = 4.4
June 20, 2024
Un libro lleno de imágenes, de hitos poéticos, de Luna y de gitanos. Un libro de muchas lecturas y muchas vidas.
July 24, 2022
Oh, sorrow of the gypsies!
Sorrow clean and always lonely
Sorrow of the hidden river
And the far-off dawn.
Written during the 1920s, Gypsy Ballads is a collection of symbolic poems with themes of religion, love, sex, beauty, brutality, violence and death or according to him, 'black pain'.
An excerpt from The Ballad of the Sleepwalker (Sleepwalking Ballad)
“Friend, I would love to die
so decently in my bed.
Steel-framed it would be
with sheets of fine linen.
But you see this wound
running from chest to chin?”
“Three hundred dark roses
spatter your white shirt.
All round your belt
the blood reeks and oozes.
But I am no more as I am,
nor is my home my home”.
“At least then let me climb
to the high balustrades.
Let me climb! Oh, let me
reach the green balustrades,
the handrails of the moon,
where the water’s echoing.”
So two friends climb
toward the high balustrades,
leaving a trail of blood,
leaving a trail of tears.
A quivering of the roof-tiles’
tiny tin-plate lanterns.
A thousand crystal tambourines
to wound the break of day.
Green how I love you green,
green wind, green branches.
Two friends, now they climb,
with the slow wind leaving
a strange taste in the mouth
of bile, mint and basil.
“My friend! Where is she, say?
Where is your bitter girl?
How often she’d wait for you!
How often she’d wait for you,
fresh-faced, her black hair,
on the green balustrade!”
Over the face of the cistern,
the gypsy girl was swaying.
Green flesh, hair of green,
with eyes of chilly silver.
A slip of ice-frosted moon
holds her above the water.
The dark night grew intimate
as a cramped little square.
Drunken Civil Guards
were hammering at the door.
Green how I love you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea.
And the horse on the mountain.
Sorrow clean and always lonely
Sorrow of the hidden river
And the far-off dawn.
Written during the 1920s, Gypsy Ballads is a collection of symbolic poems with themes of religion, love, sex, beauty, brutality, violence and death or according to him, 'black pain'.
An excerpt from The Ballad of the Sleepwalker (Sleepwalking Ballad)
“Friend, I would love to die
so decently in my bed.
Steel-framed it would be
with sheets of fine linen.
But you see this wound
running from chest to chin?”
“Three hundred dark roses
spatter your white shirt.
All round your belt
the blood reeks and oozes.
But I am no more as I am,
nor is my home my home”.
“At least then let me climb
to the high balustrades.
Let me climb! Oh, let me
reach the green balustrades,
the handrails of the moon,
where the water’s echoing.”
So two friends climb
toward the high balustrades,
leaving a trail of blood,
leaving a trail of tears.
A quivering of the roof-tiles’
tiny tin-plate lanterns.
A thousand crystal tambourines
to wound the break of day.
Green how I love you green,
green wind, green branches.
Two friends, now they climb,
with the slow wind leaving
a strange taste in the mouth
of bile, mint and basil.
“My friend! Where is she, say?
Where is your bitter girl?
How often she’d wait for you!
How often she’d wait for you,
fresh-faced, her black hair,
on the green balustrade!”
Over the face of the cistern,
the gypsy girl was swaying.
Green flesh, hair of green,
with eyes of chilly silver.
A slip of ice-frosted moon
holds her above the water.
The dark night grew intimate
as a cramped little square.
Drunken Civil Guards
were hammering at the door.
Green how I love you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea.
And the horse on the mountain.
December 22, 2023
De Lorca me quedo con sus obras de teatro. Es lo que más me gusta de él. Pero su poesía también es fuerte, con pocas palabras cuenta y transmite mucho. Es intensa, potente, apasionada. En este romancero hay historias que giran alrededor de la cultura gitana y que están llenas de pasión, traición, venganza y muerte.
A través de sus versos nos adentramos en los montes de Granada, entre sus pueblos y sus gentes, y entrevemos su forma de vivir, sus costumbres y tradiciones, sus reglas y normas morales, su fuerza y carácter. Lorca sabía retratar a la perfección su época y entorno, lo que le rodeaba, y creo que, especialmente, la posición de la mujer en la sociedad.
Creo que fue un adelantado a su tiempo, sensible, preceptivo y observador. Un genio del que podemos disfrutar ahora en esta impresionante edición ilustrada que me parece que concuerda totalmente con su imaginario y su mundo interior. Unas ilustraciones tan intensas y apasionadas como su obra, con esa luna siempre tan presente, con la sangre que lo impregna todo... son brutales.
A través de sus versos nos adentramos en los montes de Granada, entre sus pueblos y sus gentes, y entrevemos su forma de vivir, sus costumbres y tradiciones, sus reglas y normas morales, su fuerza y carácter. Lorca sabía retratar a la perfección su época y entorno, lo que le rodeaba, y creo que, especialmente, la posición de la mujer en la sociedad.
Creo que fue un adelantado a su tiempo, sensible, preceptivo y observador. Un genio del que podemos disfrutar ahora en esta impresionante edición ilustrada que me parece que concuerda totalmente con su imaginario y su mundo interior. Unas ilustraciones tan intensas y apasionadas como su obra, con esa luna siempre tan presente, con la sangre que lo impregna todo... son brutales.
January 1, 2016
2016 Reading Challenge #31: A book of poetry.
“Con la sombra en la cintura
ella sueña en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fría plata.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Bajo la luna gitana,
las cosas la están mirando
y ella no puede mirarlas.”
May 17, 2020
How the owl sings,
ay, how it sings in the tree!
The moon crosses the sky
with a child by the hand.
*
Far below the river sings:
a ruffle of sky and leaves.
The new light is crowned
with pumpkin flowers.
Oh sorrow of the gypsies!
Clean sorrow, always alone.
Oh sorrow of secret riverbed
and remote daybreak!
*
The half-moon dreamed
an ecstasy of stork.
ay, how it sings in the tree!
The moon crosses the sky
with a child by the hand.
*
Far below the river sings:
a ruffle of sky and leaves.
The new light is crowned
with pumpkin flowers.
Oh sorrow of the gypsies!
Clean sorrow, always alone.
Oh sorrow of secret riverbed
and remote daybreak!
*
The half-moon dreamed
an ecstasy of stork.
September 2, 2012
Lorca is THE reason to learn Spanish and keep up with it. Great in translation but perfection in the original
September 20, 2015
Este libro es la razón por la que me gusta tanto García Lorca. Publicado en 1928.
ROMANCE DE LA LUNA, LUNA
La luna vino a la fragua
con su polisón de nardos.
El niño la mira, mira.
El niño la está mirando.
En el aire conmovido
mueve la luna sus brazos
y enseña, lúbrica y pura,
sus senos de duro estaño.
Huye luna, luna, luna.
Si vinieran los gitanos,
harían con tu corazón
collares y anillos blancos.
Niño, déjame que baile.
Cuando vengan los gitanos,
te encontrarán sobre el yunque
con los ojillos cerrados.
Huye luna, luna, luna,
que ya siento sus caballos.
Niño, déjame, no pises
mi blancor almidonado.
El jinete se acercaba
tocando el tambor del llano.
Dentro de la fragua el niño,
tiene los ojos cerrados.
Por el olivar venían,
bronce y sueño, los gitanos.
Las cabezas levantadas
y los ojos entornados.
Cómo canta la zumaya,
¡ay, cómo canta en el árbol!
Por el cielo va la luna
con un niño de la mano.
Dentro de la fragua lloran,
dando gritos, los gitanos.
El aire la vela, vela.
El aire la está velando.
****************************
ROMANCE SONÁMBULO
Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montaña.
Con la sombra en la cintura
ella sueña en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fría plata.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Bajo la luna gitana,
las cosas la están mirando
y ella no puede mirarlas.
*
Verde que te quiero verde.
Grandes estrellas de escarcha,
vienen con el pez de sombra
que abre el camino del alba.
La higuera frota su viento
con la lija de sus ramas,
y el monte, gato garduño,
eriza sus pitas agrias.
¿Pero quién vendrá? ¿Y por dónde...?
Ella sigue en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
soñando en la mar amarga.
*
Compadre, quiero cambiar
mi caballo por su casa,
mi montura por su espejo,
mi cuchillo por su manta.
Compadre, vengo sangrando,
desde los montes de Cabra.
Si yo pudiera, mocito,
ese trato se cerraba.
Pero yo ya no soy yo,
ni mi casa es ya mi casa.
Compadre, quiero morir
decentemente en mi cama.
De acero, si puede ser,
con las sábanas de holanda.
¿No ves la herida que tengo
desde el pecho a la garganta?
Trescientas rosas morenas
lleva tu pechera blanca.
Tu sangre rezuma y huele
alrededor de tu faja.
Pero yo ya no soy yo,
ni mi casa es ya mi casa.
Dejadme subir al menos
hasta las altas barandas,
dejadme subir, dejadme,
hasta las verdes barandas.
Barandales de la luna
por donde retumba el agua.
*
Ya suben los dos compadres
hacia las altas barandas.
Dejando un rastro de sangre.
Dejando un rastro de lágrimas.
Temblaban en los tejados
farolillos de hojalata.
Mil panderos de cristal,
herían la madrugada.
*
Verde que te quiero verde,
verde viento, verdes ramas.
Los dos compadres subieron.
El largo viento, dejaba
en la boca un raro gusto
de hiel, de menta y de albahaca.
¡Compadre! ¿Dónde está, dime?
¿Dónde está mi niña amarga?
¡Cuántas veces te esperó!
¡Cuántas veces te esperara,
cara fresca, negro pelo,
en esta verde baranda!
*
Sobre el rostro del aljibe
se mecía la gitana.
Verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fría plata.
Un carámbano de luna
la sostiene sobre el agua.
La noche se puso íntima
como una pequeña plaza.
Guardias civiles borrachos,
en la puerta golpeaban.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar.
Y el caballo en la montaña.
****************************
LA CASADA INFIEL
(Este poema siempre me hace gracia porque García Lorca era homosexual).
Y que yo me la llevé al río
creyendo que era mozuela,
pero tenía marido.
Fue la noche de Santiago
y casi por compromiso.
Se apagaron los faroles
y se encendieron los grillos.
En las últimas esquinas
toqué sus pechos dormidos,
y se me abrieron de pronto
como ramos de jacintos.
El almidón de su enagua
me sonaba en el oído,
como una pieza de seda
rasgada por diez cuchillos.
Sin luz de plata en sus copas
los árboles han crecido,
y un horizonte de perros
ladra muy lejos del río.
*
Pasadas las zarzamoras,
los juncos y los espinos,
bajo su mata de pelo
hice un hoyo sobre el limo.
Yo me quité la corbata.
Ella se quitó el vestido.
Yo el cinturón con revólver.
Ella sus cuatro corpiños.
Ni nardos ni caracolas
tienen el cutis tan fino,
ni los cristales con luna
relumbran con ese brillo.
Sus muslos se me escapaban
como peces sorprendidos,
la mitad llenos de lumbre,
la mitad llenos de frío.
Aquella noche corrí
el mejor de los caminos,
montado en potra de nácar
sin bridas y sin estribos.
No quiero decir, por hombre,
las cosas que ella me dijo.
La luz del entendimiento
me hace ser muy comedido.
Sucia de besos y arena
yo me la llevé del río.
Con el aire se batían
las espadas de los lirios.
Me porté como quien soy.
Como un gitano legítimo.
Le regalé un costurero
grande de raso pajizo,
y no quise enamorarme
porque teniendo marido
me dijo que era mozuela
cuando la llevaba al río.
****************************
MUERTE DE ANTOÑITO EL CAMBORIO
Voces de muerte sonaron
cerca del Guadalquivir.
Voces antiguas que cercan
voz de clavel varonil.
Les clavó sobre las botas
mordiscos de jabalí.
En la lucha daba saltos
jabonados de delfín.
Bañó con sangre enemiga
su corbata carmesí,
pero eran cuatro puñales
y tuvo que sucumbir.
Cuando las estrellas clavan
rejones al agua gris,
cuando los erales sueñan
verónicas de alhelí,
voces de muerte sonaron
cerca del Guadalquivir.
Antonio Torres Heredia.
Camborio de dura crin,
moreno de verde luna,
voz de clavel varonil:
¿Quién te ha quitado la vida
cerca del Guadalquivir?
Mis cuatro primos Heredias
Hijos de Benamejí.
Lo que en otros no envidiaban,
ya lo envidiaban en mí.
Zapatos color corinto,
medallones de marfil,
y este cutis amasado
con aceituna y jazmín.
¡Ay, Antoñito el Camborio,
digno de una Emperatriz!
Acuérdate de la Virgen
porque te vas a morir.
¡Ay Federico García,
llama a la guardia civil!
Ya mi talle se ha quebrado
como caña de maíz.
Tres golpes de sangre tuvo
y se murió de perfil.
Viva moneda que nunca
se volverá a repetir.
Un ángel marchoso pone
su cabeza en un cojín.
Otros de rubor cansado
encendieron un candil.
Y cuando los cuatro primos
llegan a Benamejí,
voces de muerte cesaron
cerca del Guadalquivir.
ROMANCE DE LA LUNA, LUNA
La luna vino a la fragua
con su polisón de nardos.
El niño la mira, mira.
El niño la está mirando.
En el aire conmovido
mueve la luna sus brazos
y enseña, lúbrica y pura,
sus senos de duro estaño.
Huye luna, luna, luna.
Si vinieran los gitanos,
harían con tu corazón
collares y anillos blancos.
Niño, déjame que baile.
Cuando vengan los gitanos,
te encontrarán sobre el yunque
con los ojillos cerrados.
Huye luna, luna, luna,
que ya siento sus caballos.
Niño, déjame, no pises
mi blancor almidonado.
El jinete se acercaba
tocando el tambor del llano.
Dentro de la fragua el niño,
tiene los ojos cerrados.
Por el olivar venían,
bronce y sueño, los gitanos.
Las cabezas levantadas
y los ojos entornados.
Cómo canta la zumaya,
¡ay, cómo canta en el árbol!
Por el cielo va la luna
con un niño de la mano.
Dentro de la fragua lloran,
dando gritos, los gitanos.
El aire la vela, vela.
El aire la está velando.
****************************
ROMANCE SONÁMBULO
Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montaña.
Con la sombra en la cintura
ella sueña en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fría plata.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Bajo la luna gitana,
las cosas la están mirando
y ella no puede mirarlas.
*
Verde que te quiero verde.
Grandes estrellas de escarcha,
vienen con el pez de sombra
que abre el camino del alba.
La higuera frota su viento
con la lija de sus ramas,
y el monte, gato garduño,
eriza sus pitas agrias.
¿Pero quién vendrá? ¿Y por dónde...?
Ella sigue en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
soñando en la mar amarga.
*
Compadre, quiero cambiar
mi caballo por su casa,
mi montura por su espejo,
mi cuchillo por su manta.
Compadre, vengo sangrando,
desde los montes de Cabra.
Si yo pudiera, mocito,
ese trato se cerraba.
Pero yo ya no soy yo,
ni mi casa es ya mi casa.
Compadre, quiero morir
decentemente en mi cama.
De acero, si puede ser,
con las sábanas de holanda.
¿No ves la herida que tengo
desde el pecho a la garganta?
Trescientas rosas morenas
lleva tu pechera blanca.
Tu sangre rezuma y huele
alrededor de tu faja.
Pero yo ya no soy yo,
ni mi casa es ya mi casa.
Dejadme subir al menos
hasta las altas barandas,
dejadme subir, dejadme,
hasta las verdes barandas.
Barandales de la luna
por donde retumba el agua.
*
Ya suben los dos compadres
hacia las altas barandas.
Dejando un rastro de sangre.
Dejando un rastro de lágrimas.
Temblaban en los tejados
farolillos de hojalata.
Mil panderos de cristal,
herían la madrugada.
*
Verde que te quiero verde,
verde viento, verdes ramas.
Los dos compadres subieron.
El largo viento, dejaba
en la boca un raro gusto
de hiel, de menta y de albahaca.
¡Compadre! ¿Dónde está, dime?
¿Dónde está mi niña amarga?
¡Cuántas veces te esperó!
¡Cuántas veces te esperara,
cara fresca, negro pelo,
en esta verde baranda!
*
Sobre el rostro del aljibe
se mecía la gitana.
Verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fría plata.
Un carámbano de luna
la sostiene sobre el agua.
La noche se puso íntima
como una pequeña plaza.
Guardias civiles borrachos,
en la puerta golpeaban.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar.
Y el caballo en la montaña.
****************************
LA CASADA INFIEL
(Este poema siempre me hace gracia porque García Lorca era homosexual).
Y que yo me la llevé al río
creyendo que era mozuela,
pero tenía marido.
Fue la noche de Santiago
y casi por compromiso.
Se apagaron los faroles
y se encendieron los grillos.
En las últimas esquinas
toqué sus pechos dormidos,
y se me abrieron de pronto
como ramos de jacintos.
El almidón de su enagua
me sonaba en el oído,
como una pieza de seda
rasgada por diez cuchillos.
Sin luz de plata en sus copas
los árboles han crecido,
y un horizonte de perros
ladra muy lejos del río.
*
Pasadas las zarzamoras,
los juncos y los espinos,
bajo su mata de pelo
hice un hoyo sobre el limo.
Yo me quité la corbata.
Ella se quitó el vestido.
Yo el cinturón con revólver.
Ella sus cuatro corpiños.
Ni nardos ni caracolas
tienen el cutis tan fino,
ni los cristales con luna
relumbran con ese brillo.
Sus muslos se me escapaban
como peces sorprendidos,
la mitad llenos de lumbre,
la mitad llenos de frío.
Aquella noche corrí
el mejor de los caminos,
montado en potra de nácar
sin bridas y sin estribos.
No quiero decir, por hombre,
las cosas que ella me dijo.
La luz del entendimiento
me hace ser muy comedido.
Sucia de besos y arena
yo me la llevé del río.
Con el aire se batían
las espadas de los lirios.
Me porté como quien soy.
Como un gitano legítimo.
Le regalé un costurero
grande de raso pajizo,
y no quise enamorarme
porque teniendo marido
me dijo que era mozuela
cuando la llevaba al río.
****************************
MUERTE DE ANTOÑITO EL CAMBORIO
Voces de muerte sonaron
cerca del Guadalquivir.
Voces antiguas que cercan
voz de clavel varonil.
Les clavó sobre las botas
mordiscos de jabalí.
En la lucha daba saltos
jabonados de delfín.
Bañó con sangre enemiga
su corbata carmesí,
pero eran cuatro puñales
y tuvo que sucumbir.
Cuando las estrellas clavan
rejones al agua gris,
cuando los erales sueñan
verónicas de alhelí,
voces de muerte sonaron
cerca del Guadalquivir.
Antonio Torres Heredia.
Camborio de dura crin,
moreno de verde luna,
voz de clavel varonil:
¿Quién te ha quitado la vida
cerca del Guadalquivir?
Mis cuatro primos Heredias
Hijos de Benamejí.
Lo que en otros no envidiaban,
ya lo envidiaban en mí.
Zapatos color corinto,
medallones de marfil,
y este cutis amasado
con aceituna y jazmín.
¡Ay, Antoñito el Camborio,
digno de una Emperatriz!
Acuérdate de la Virgen
porque te vas a morir.
¡Ay Federico García,
llama a la guardia civil!
Ya mi talle se ha quebrado
como caña de maíz.
Tres golpes de sangre tuvo
y se murió de perfil.
Viva moneda que nunca
se volverá a repetir.
Un ángel marchoso pone
su cabeza en un cojín.
Otros de rubor cansado
encendieron un candil.
Y cuando los cuatro primos
llegan a Benamejí,
voces de muerte cesaron
cerca del Guadalquivir.
September 13, 2017
Salvador Dalí, Jorge Luis Borges y Francisco Umbral:
1) Para Dalí, mucho peor que «Poeta en Nueva York» (véase la correspondencia entre él y lorquito). Si bien odió poemas costumbristas como «La casada infiel», le encantaron otros más modernos como «Romance sonámbulo» («No trata sobre nada», dijo [apreciaba su poeticidad]) y «Thamar y Amnón» (por la temática incestuosa [interés de Dalí en Freud, la incorreción política, etc.] y el genial verso «rumor de rosa encerrada»).
Comparto el sentimiento.
2) Para Borges y Umbral, sin embargo, mucho mejor que «Poeta en Nueva York», aunque por razones contrarias: a Borges le gustaba el costumbrismo y la tradicionalidad de metro y temas, y pensaba que Lorca no era tan bueno en poesía surrealista y moderna (consideraba «Poeta en Nueva York» una boutade por su parte); a Umbral le parecía más orgánicamenete surrealista «Romancero gitano» («Poeta en Nueva York» era para él un «Residencia en la Tierra» [Neruda] de segunda fila).
1) Para Dalí, mucho peor que «Poeta en Nueva York» (véase la correspondencia entre él y lorquito). Si bien odió poemas costumbristas como «La casada infiel», le encantaron otros más modernos como «Romance sonámbulo» («No trata sobre nada», dijo [apreciaba su poeticidad]) y «Thamar y Amnón» (por la temática incestuosa [interés de Dalí en Freud, la incorreción política, etc.] y el genial verso «rumor de rosa encerrada»).
Comparto el sentimiento.
2) Para Borges y Umbral, sin embargo, mucho mejor que «Poeta en Nueva York», aunque por razones contrarias: a Borges le gustaba el costumbrismo y la tradicionalidad de metro y temas, y pensaba que Lorca no era tan bueno en poesía surrealista y moderna (consideraba «Poeta en Nueva York» una boutade por su parte); a Umbral le parecía más orgánicamenete surrealista «Romancero gitano» («Poeta en Nueva York» era para él un «Residencia en la Tierra» [Neruda] de segunda fila).
February 15, 2016
No quiero regresar este libro a la biblioteca, deberían dejar quedármelo.
Es impresionante como en 84 páginas, puede un poeta lograr algo así, es conmovedor.
Romance sonámbulo es mi favorito. Repito es impresionante.
"Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar.
Y el caballo sobre la montaña."
Es impresionante como en 84 páginas, puede un poeta lograr algo así, es conmovedor.
Romance sonámbulo es mi favorito. Repito es impresionante.
"Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar.
Y el caballo sobre la montaña."
July 6, 2017
Les coquelicots, les navajas d'Albacetes, le sang des ennemis mais aussi les belles gitanes le jasmin et les oranges ! Lorca nous fait voyager chez lui, en Andalousie tout en rendant hommage à la culture gitane dans de sublimes poèmes mariant la culture chrétienne, musulmane, tzigane et séfarade :)
Ô la ville des gitans !
Aux coins des rues, des bannières.
La lune et la calebasse
et la cerise en conserve
Ô la ville des gitans,
qui jamais peut t'oublier ?
Ville de douleur musquée
avec tes tours de cannelle.
April 10, 2025
Lorca intreccia la tradizione popolare andalusa con una voce modernissima, visionaria. Ogni poema è un piccolo universo incantato, spesso doloroso, in cui la figura del gitano diventa emblema di libertà e condanna, bellezza e tragedia.
Read
March 25, 2021No tengo ni idea de como sentirme, no se si me gustó o no. Espero volver a visitarlo en un futuro pero por el momento no tengo nada que decir la verdad.
November 21, 2020
las 256 páginas más bonitas del mundo
April 20, 2023
"-რაში სდებთ ლორკას ბრალს?
-მას უფრო მეტი ვნება მოაქვს თავისი კალმით, ვიდრე სხვებს- თავიანთი პისტოლეტით."
ყველაზე დახვეწილი, ყველაზე ეროვნული კრებულია, რაც კი წამიკითხავს. მთელი ესპანური კულტურა, ესპანური ვნება და ნაღველი ჩაატია ამ პატარა კრებულში ლორკამ. როგორც გალაკტიონმა მიაღწია ქართულ ენაში მიუწვდომელ შრეებს, ისევე მიუახლოვდა ლორკა თავისი, ერთი შეხედვით, არაფრით გამორჩეული და ყოფითი სიტყვებით ესპანელ ხალხს. ლირიკული გმირი არ ჰყავს კრებულს, ბოშებიც უბრალოდ მეტაფორაა და სხვა არაფერი, აშკარად ჩანს, რომ ულამაზესი ოდაა თავისი ხალხისადმი, სამშობლოსადმი.
წერედიანის თარგმანზე აღარაფერს ვამბობ, როგორც ყოველთვის, იდეალურია.
"ლორკა გადმოქართულდა და ლამის ამ მეტაფორული ნერვის ფეთქვით ორიგინალს გაასწრო".
-მას უფრო მეტი ვნება მოაქვს თავისი კალმით, ვიდრე სხვებს- თავიანთი პისტოლეტით."
ყველაზე დახვეწილი, ყველაზე ეროვნული კრებულია, რაც კი წამიკითხავს. მთელი ესპანური კულტურა, ესპანური ვნება და ნაღველი ჩაატია ამ პატარა კრებულში ლორკამ. როგორც გალაკტიონმა მიაღწია ქართულ ენაში მიუწვდომელ შრეებს, ისევე მიუახლოვდა ლორკა თავისი, ერთი შეხედვით, არაფრით გამორჩეული და ყოფითი სიტყვებით ესპანელ ხალხს. ლირიკული გმირი არ ჰყავს კრებულს, ბოშებიც უბრალოდ მეტაფორაა და სხვა არაფერი, აშკარად ჩანს, რომ ულამაზესი ოდაა თავისი ხალხისადმი, სამშობლოსადმი.
წერედიანის თარგმანზე აღარაფერს ვამბობ, როგორც ყოველთვის, იდეალურია.
"ლორკა გადმოქართულდა და ლამის ამ მეტაფორული ნერვის ფეთქვით ორიგინალს გაასწრო".
February 23, 2022
Un poemario bastante denso con muchas metáforas, caracterización y referencias propias de la cultura e historia de Andalucía.
Cuesta un poco seguirle el hilo por la semántica tan compleja y las palabras de la época, pero, se transmiten muchas emociones.
Mis poemas favoritos fueron:
- Romance Sonámbulo
- La casada infiel
- Romance de la pena negra
- Burla de Don Pedro a Caballo
"¿Poesía?: es la unión de dos palabras que uno nunca supuso que pudieran juntarse, y que forman algo así como un misterio; y cuanto más las pronuncias, más sugestiones acuerda..." - Federico García Lorca.
Cuesta un poco seguirle el hilo por la semántica tan compleja y las palabras de la época, pero, se transmiten muchas emociones.
Mis poemas favoritos fueron:
- Romance Sonámbulo
- La casada infiel
- Romance de la pena negra
- Burla de Don Pedro a Caballo
"¿Poesía?: es la unión de dos palabras que uno nunca supuso que pudieran juntarse, y que forman algo así como un misterio; y cuanto más las pronuncias, más sugestiones acuerda..." - Federico García Lorca.
April 7, 2025
el libro como objeto y como contenido más bello que poseo 🥹
April 18, 2023
წინასიტყვაობაში წერია, თვითონ პოეტის სიტყვით, კრებულის მთავარი პერსონაჟი ანდალუზიური ნაღველიაო. მართლა ეგრეა. წარმოუდგენლად ლამაზი ენით ეფერება ლორკა ესპანეთს და წარმოუდგენლად ერწყმის ამ ქვეყნის მისტიკურობას და შარმს ამ კაცის ენა. დავით წერედიანის თარგმანი რომაა, ეს მგონი ყველაფერზე მეტყველებს. რომ არ მცოდნოდა ვინ იყო ლორკა და რომ ეს კრებულიც ესპანურ ენაზეა დაწერილი, ვიფიქრებდი, რომ ქართველი პოეტის ლექსებს ვკითხულობდი.
January 26, 2025
Maravilla de maravillas.
Nunca había leído a Lorca en su faceta de poeta y me ha puesto los pelos como escarpias.
Qué manera de hacer que sus estrofas entren por los ojos, por los oídos, por la nariz, por la piel... Maravilloso.
Nunca había leído a Lorca en su faceta de poeta y me ha puesto los pelos como escarpias.
Qué manera de hacer que sus estrofas entren por los ojos, por los oídos, por la nariz, por la piel... Maravilloso.
November 11, 2024
Tenía tantas ganas de leer a Lorca.
No estoy acostumbrada a leer poesía y siento que a veces no la disfruto del todo, pero él escribe tan bonito ❤️🩹
No estoy acostumbrada a leer poesía y siento que a veces no la disfruto del todo, pero él escribe tan bonito ❤️🩹
March 23, 2020
რამდენიმე ლექსმა აღმაფრთოვანა. იმდენი ვნება, სიმწვანე და მეტაფორა დაჰქროდა სიტყვებს შორის, რომ ესპანური ენის სილამაზე მოჰქონდა. ამ უკანასკნელში დიდი დამსახურება დავით წერედიანს ეკუთვნის, რამდენიმე სტროფს ეტყობოდა, რომ როგორც ავტორმა, ასევე მთარგმნელმა მთელი სული და გული ჩააქსოვა.
მიუხედავად ამისა იყო ლექსებიც, რომლებზეც გონება გამექცა და ვერაფრით ჩამიტყუა.
და იყო ლექსებიც, რომლებიც არასდროს გამახსენდება.
მიუხედავად ამისა იყო ლექსებიც, რომლებზეც გონება გამექცა და ვერაფრით ჩამიტყუა.
და იყო ლექსებიც, რომლებიც არასდროს გამახსენდება.
September 13, 2020
ლორკას შეფასებისგან თავს შევიკავებ, ხუთივე ვარსკვლავს დავით წერედიანს ვუწერ. ხშირად ამბობენ, რომ ტემპერამენტით და გარკვეული თვისებებით ესპანელები და ქართველები ერთნაირები არიან (პრინცპიში ყველა ხალხზე ეგრე ამბობენ), არ ვიცი, თავს ვერ დავდებ ამაზე, მაგრამ ფაქტი ის არის, რომ წერედიანის თარგმანში შუამავალი ბოშური ბალადების დახმარებით გეჩვენება, რომ ანდალუზიური და ქართული სევდა იდენტურია.
September 12, 2018
🌜”Cuando sale la luna
se pierden las campanas
y aparecen las sendas
impenetrables.
Cuando sale la luna,
el mar cubre la tierra
y el corazón se siente
isla en el infinito .(...)
🌜Lorca es para leer y releer ,mágico .
se pierden las campanas
y aparecen las sendas
impenetrables.
Cuando sale la luna,
el mar cubre la tierra
y el corazón se siente
isla en el infinito .(...)
🌜Lorca es para leer y releer ,mágico .
May 2, 2016
اكتشفت أنّ الشّعر هو منقذي الآن.
سأستمرُّ في قراءة هذا الديوان إلى حين تنبُت كلّ أذرعة خيالي، وأستطيع إمساك كل الصّور.
سأستمرُّ في قراءة هذا الديوان إلى حين تنبُت كلّ أذرعة خيالي، وأستطيع إمساك كل الصّور.
April 10, 2024
su luna de pergamino / preciosa tocando viene. / al verla se ha levantado / el viento, que nunca duerme 🌙
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