In Alfacar under the melancholy shade of a cypress tree, the guns are resting.
The poet is dead.
Breathless in an empty coffin he laments Ignacio.
At five in the afternoon
two twisted ravens daughters of a lurid moon took his soul away.
The crowds mourn the hero but who will mourn the bard?
And will anyone give his poems shelter?
Cordoba will give his poems shelter
echo the Andalusian valleys.
The moon tires of Granada, its crowds, their laments and tears and now she sails for Cordoba.
She climbs to the sky devouring
all the weeping voices in her darkness.
From his empty grave, the bard begins to recite his poem:
“Once so long ago, when lust was the same as love,
a Gypsy woman took the devil for her lover.
To them, a girl was born;
by fifteen, her wild black curls
her playful lips and fledgling breasts
were driving men insane
When I saw the unsullied child
I was struck by madness.
Seven nuns clasped their shrivelled hands
and twelve obedient goblins found me guilty.
But I was inflamed by her purity
and the lust for sin she promised in her eyes.
Now I'm back in Cordoba
looking in her narrow-cobbled streets
for the girl with the wild black curls.
Gypsy rhythms flamenco on the river
and there are five brothels
and a church on every corner.
Priests and whores and those asunder
all walking hand in hand
pay their dues to God and mammon
don Quijote:
'My good lady Dulcinea leaning on the lamp post,
have you seen my girl
with the wild black curls?
She has slender limbs
and shy young breasts
and lips made for sinning.'
The whore:
'My esteemed hidalgo don Quijote,
for a doubloon, I can be that shy young girl
and for two, I can even be her younger sister.'
and she grins me a toothless smile.
I take her to a cheap hotel room.
We heave, we pant and scream all night and day
and the girl with the wild black curls, at last, is mine.
But the time for a doubloon is almost up.
Her mask comes off and the curls fall off.
With a toothless grin, she takes the money
and then walks into the night looking for a lamp post.
In the room next door, twice as cheap
at twice the cost, the padre weeps.
The padre:
'Forgive me, Lord, since she was a child
I watched her from the pulpit
and I sinned in thought and when alone I sinned and sinned in deed.'
Aroused beyond all measure he brings the scourge down
until drained of his pious lust
the padre collapses on his knees.
Prostrated and spent on the faded marble floor with fresh and old stains he begs the Lord's forgiveness.”
The end of the poem,
the curtain comes down.
Thunderous applause.
The audience in an onanistic frenzy shouts for more.
But the guns under the melancholy shade of the cypress tree are on the move again; they kill the Don;
they kill the girl;
they kill the padre; they kill the applauding audience.
Then they kill each other
and everyone in the town is dead.
All drowned in a putrid heap
of torn words and broken hopes.
The bard in his empty grave
with a Delphic smile
and a flourish of his pen
scribbles down the final line:
THE END
Read A Short Biography of Federico García Lorca Spain's greatest poet and playwright
A few words about the poem…
Notes from Andalusia – A Tribute to Federico Garcia Lorca
A poem that explores the themes of death, rebellion, and social boundaries. It captures the essence of the human experience and its relationship to power structures and societal norms. This poetic tribute to Federico Garcia Lorca speaks of how different groups within society hold sway and exert control over those deemed to be outside of their sphere of influence.
It draws the reader in with vivid and striking imagery, conjuring up a sense of place that is both haunting and beautiful. By exploring the complex relationships between different groups in society, the poem invites readers to reflect on their own experiences of power, grief, and loss. It challenges us to question the boundaries that we set for ourselves and how we are shaped by the forces around us.
“Notes from Andalusia” is a meditation on what it means to be human in a world that is shaped by forces beyond our control. Its apocalyptic ending questions the value of friction when even the victors of conflict may ultimately face a broken society.
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