La Guitarra
Empieza el llanto
de la guitarra.
Se rompen las copas
de la madrugada.
Empieza el llanto
de la guitarra.
Es inútil
callarla.
Es imposible
callarla.
Llora monótona
como llora el agua,
como llora el viento
sobre la nevada.
Es imposible
callarla.
Llora por cosas
lejanas.
Arena del Sur caliente
que pide camelias blancas.
Llora flecha sin blanco,
la tarde sin mañana,
y el primer pájaro muerto
sobre la rama.
¡Oh guitarra!
Corazón malherido
por cinco espadas.
The Guitar
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
The goblets of the dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
It is useless
to silence it.
It is impossible
to silence it.
It weeps monotonously
As water weeps,
As wind weeps
over snowfields.
It is impossible
to silence it.
It weeps for things
far away.
Sand of the hot South
that begs for white camellias.
It weeps, arrow without a target,
Evening without a morning,
And the first bird dead
On the branch.
Oh, guitar!
A heart stabbed to death
by five swords.
Hello Friends,
This English version of Federico García Lorca‘s “La Guitarra,” from his collection El poema del cante jondo (1921), combines pieces of translations by Cola Franzen, Curt Hopkins, and Harper’s Magazine (July 2008). This poem can also be found in the 2007 bilingual edition of Lorca’s Selected Poems.
“La Guitarra” begs to be set to flamenco guitar, and several musicians over the years have answered that cry — here’s one interpretation by Cuban singer-songwriter Vicente Feliu, performing in Buenos Aires in September 2007.
April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.
Enjoy.
Ellen