Federico Garcia Lorca
(Translator: Thomas P. Feeny)
Garcia Lorca/Feeny Page 1
The young man had forgotten.
It was ten in the morning.

   His heart was filling up
with broken wings and rag flowers.

He noticed that now there was left in
his mouth only a single word.

And upon removing his gloves, fine
ash fell from his hands

From the balcony a tower was visible.
He felt himself become both tower and balcony.

On the sofa of white silk, he
saw his shadow, languid and still.
And the young man, rigid, geometrical,
smashed the mirror with a hatchet.

As it shattered, a great spurt of shadow
flooded the imaginary bedroom.


El jovencillo se olvidaba.
Eran las diez de la mañana.

   Su corazón se iba llenando
de alas rotas y flores de trapo.

   Notó que ya no le quedaba
en lo boca más que una palabra.