But two has never been a number--
because it's only an anguish and its shadow,
it's only a guitar where love feels how hopeless it is,
it's the proof of someone else's infinity,
and the walls around a dead man,
and the scourging of a new resurrection that will never end.
I want to sleep for half a second,
a second, a minute, a century,
but I want everyone to know that I'm still alive...
Set in place the lovers who will afterwards be photographs.
Federico García LorcaEn la tarde lluviosa
mi corazon aprende
la tragedia otonal
que los arboles lleuven.
The duende....Where is the duende? Through the empty archway a wind of the spirit enters, blowing insistently over the heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and unknown accents: a wind with the odour of a child's saliva, crushed grass, and medusa's veil, announcing the endless baptism of freshly created things.
Federico García Lorca« erste vorherige
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