#Federico García Lorca quotes

[mournfulroses]

Federico García Lorca, from a letter to María del Reposo Urquía, featured in The Selected Letters

[mosaicos-poeticos]

Federico García Lorca

Literatura 451

[ardent-reflections]

You have the blood of a poet. You have that and always will. You show, in the middle of savage things (that I like), the gentleness of your heart, that is so full of pain and light.

Federico Garcia Lorca

[babylon-crashing]

a pretty piece of flesh please

This is a scene from Federico Garcia Lorca’s 1933 surreal drama, Bodas de sangre (Blood Wedding). Set in rural Spain, the story concerns a doomed love triangle swirling around the nameless Bride, Groom and Leonardo Felix, who once was in love with the Bride but is now married to another. Driving the tragedy is the Groom’s bitter Mother, who has lost her husband and older son to an ancient feud with the Felix family. It is during the wedding itself that the Bride unexpectedly flees with Leonardo, leaving the Groom with no choice but to follow them. The two men kill each other and the rest of the play deals with the fallout for all the female characters.

Lorca loved his psychedelic Romanticism and this play does not disappoint. During the chase scene all manner of bizarreness happens, from a trio of otherworldly lumberjacks to the Moon making a walk-on appearance.

Perhaps the strangest, though, is Death herself, who takes the appearance of a curvaceous pauper; except for some stage directions, however, she is only referred to as the “Beggar Woman.” As the scene opens, two young women sit, spinning wool, while the Little Girl (who turns up in the play whenever a comedic line is needed) runs about being sassy. Soon Death shows up and asks, Yon bèl moso vyann, tanpri. [A pretty piece of flesh, please.]

LITTLE GIRL. Ale ale! [Go away!] BEGGAR WOMAN. Poukisa? [Why?] LITTLE GIRL. Paske w ap plenyen: ale. [Because you’re whining: go away.] BEGGAR WOMAN. Mwen te kapab mande pou je ou! Yon bann zwazo swiv mwen: ou vle youn? [I could ask for your eyes! A flock of birds is following me: do you want one?] LITTLE GIRL. Mwen vle ale lwen ou! [I want to get away from you!] YOUNG WOMAN I. [To the Beggar Woman.] Pa koute l! [Don’t listen to her!] YOUNG WOMAN II. Eske ou soti nan rivyè a? [Are you from the river?] BEGGAR WOMAN. Se konsa mwen te vini. [That’s how I got here.] YOUNG WOMAN I. [Timidly.] Èske mwen ka poze w yon kesyon? [Can I ask you a question?] BEGGAR WOMAN. Mwen te wè yo; yo pral byento la: de torrent lapè finalman ant gwo wòch yo, de gason nan pye chwal la. Mouri nan bote nan mitan lannwit lan. [Pauses.] Mouri, wi, mouri. [I saw them; they will be there soon: two river torrents at peace at last between the rocks, two men trampled between the horse’s feet. Dying in the beauty of the night. Dying, yes, dying.] LITTLE GIRL. Fèmen bouch, dam toutouni, fèmen bouch! [Shut up, naked lady, shut up!] BEGGAR WOMAN. Flè ranpli twou je yo, ak dan yo se de ti ponyen nèj difisil. Yo tou de tonbe, pandan lamarye a te rive, abiye ak cheve tache san. Anba dra san tache yo pral retounen, pote sou zepòl bèl ti gason. Se konsa, pa gen anyen ankò ka fè. Li jis. Tout sa ki rete yo se flè an lò sou sab sal. [Flowers fill their eye sockets, and their teeth are two handfuls of hard snow. They both fall, as the bride arrives, dressed in blood-stained hair. Under the blood-stained sheets they will return, carried on the shoulders of a handsome boy. So there is nothing more to be done. It is fair. All that remains are golden flowers on the dirty sand.][Vanishes.] YOUNG WOMAN I. Sal se sab la. [The sand is dirty.] YOUNG WOMAN II. Sou flè an lò. [On the golden flower.] LITTLE GIRL. Sou flè an lò a mò yo pote tounen soti nan kouran an. Brown se youn, mawon se lòt la. Ki rossinyol ki nan lonbraj vole ak fè jouda sou flè an lò! [Beneath the golden flower they carry them from the river. Dark-haired is one, dark-haired is the other. Let the shadow of the nightingale fly and call to the golden flower!]

[yoestuveaquiunavezfrases21]

2399-  Subió, subió, subió la voz que parecía un cántaro llenándose de agua poco a poco. ¡Claro es que al final dio un gallo, pero da gloria oírlo!

(Federico García Lorca)

[phraseoscarsan]

"Como no me he preocupado de nacer, no me preocupo de morir."

- Federico García Lorca

[arylleth]

̔⠀ federico garcía lorca, from a letter to miguel hernandez.

[contremineur]

Sein rouge du soleil et sein bleu de la lune. Torse moitié corail moitié argent obscur.

Federico García Lorca, from Arlequin

translation source unknown – any suggestions?

[thegirlinthebook04]

A mí ya no me podéis cambiar. Yo he nacido poeta y artista como el que nace cojo, como el que nace ciego, como el que nace guapo. Dejadme las alas en su sitio, que yo os respondo que volaré bien.

– Federico García Lorca

[aperint]

Crimen sin cadáver

Crimen sin cadáver #aperturaintelectual #palabrasbajollave @tmoralesgarcia1 Thelma Morales García

[hodrepaem]

To find a kiss of yours

what would I give

A kiss that strayed from your lips

dead to love

My lips taste

the dirt of shadows

— Federico García Lorca

[mournfulroses]

Federico García Lorca, from "3 Tragedies; Blood Wedding, Yerma, Bernarda Alta,"

[ellavei]

i always feel my soul become ✨bonita✨ when i quote a line of poetry in my fanfic

[ardent-reflections]

At the heart of all great art is an essential melancholy.

Federico Garcia Lorca

[rapha-reads]

"En este mundo yo siempre soy y seré partidario de los pobres. Yo siempre seré partidario de los que no tienen nada y hasta la tranquilidad de la nada se les niega."

["In this world I am and will always be a supporter of the poors. I will always be a supporter of those who have nothing, and even the tranquility of the nothingness is denied to them."]

"Yo, si tuviera hambre y estuviera desvalido en la calle no pediría un pan; sino que pediría medio pan y un libro."

["I, if I were hungry and I was helpless in the streets, wouldn't beg for a loaf of bread; rather I would ask for half a loaf of bread and a book."]

Federico García Lorca

[marydarkblacknoir]

To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.

Federico García Lorca, Blood Wedding and Yerma