Federico Garcia Lorca
Federico Garcia Lorca
Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca, known as Federico García Lorcawas a Spanish poet, playwright, and theatre director...
NationalitySpanish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth5 June 1898
CountrySpain
flower feet gold
The groom is like a flower of gold. When he walks, blossoms at his feet unfold.
beautiful butterfly beard
Not for a moment, beautiful aged Walt Whitman, have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies.
want wants-to-be-alone corners
What's the furthest corner? Because that's where I want to be, alone with the only thing that I love.
eye two shadow
In our eyes the roads are endless. Two are crossroads of the shadow.
book theatre despair
Theatre is poetry that rises from the book and becomes human enough to talk and shout, weep and despair
wind knives desire
I put my head out of my window and see how much the wind’s knife wants to slice it off. On this unseen guillotine, I’ve placed the eyeless head of all my desires.
love wind green
Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verde ramas. Green I love you green. Green Wind. Green branches.
shadow tears immense
...I am the immense shadow of my tears
seeds
My God, I have come with the seeds of questions. I planted them, and they never flowered.
dying want toes
I want to be a poet, from head to toe, living and dying by poetry.
spring first-love dark
Oh honey, there's nothing new on this earth when it comes to what men and women do in the dark. First love is when you learn. So you've learned that love can open you up like spring sun on a wee primrose. Good. Remember that. You know how to love.
confused mean men
At first glance, the rhythm may be confused with gaiety, but when you look more closely at the mechanism of social life and the painful slavery of both men and machines, you see that it is nothing but a kind of typical, empty anguish that makes even crime and gangs forgivable means of escape.
men world spain
A dead man in Spain is more alive than a dead man anywhere in the world.
morning heart color
Ditty of First Desire In the green morning I wanted to be a heart. A heart. And in the ripe evening I wanted to be a nightingale. A nightingale. (Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.) In the vivid morning I wanted to be myself. A heart. And at the evening's end I wanted to be my voice. A nightingale. Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.