Born in Fuente Vaqueros, Granada, Spain, June 5 1898; died near Granada, August 19 1936, García Lorca is one of Spain's most deeply appreciated and highly revered poets and dramatists. His murder by the Nationalists at the start of the Spanish civil war brought sudden international fame, accompanied by an excess of political rhetoric which led a later generation to question his merits; after the inevitable slump, his reputation has recovered (largely with a shift in interest to the less obvious works). He must now be bracketed with Machado as one of the two greatest poets Spain has produced in the 20th century, and he is certainly Spain's greatest dramatist since the Golden Age.
“Angel and Muse approach from without; the Angel sheds light and the Muse gives form (Hesiod learned of them). Gold leaf or chiton-folds: the poet finds his models in his laurel coppice. But the Duende, on the other hand, must come to life in the nethermost recesses of the blood.”
“Pero yo ire,aunque un sol de alacranes me coma la sien.”
“In Spain the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.”
“Pero yo ya no soy yoNi mi casa es ya mi casa.But now I am no longer I,nor is my house any longer my house.”
“Vendrán las iguanas vivas a morder a los hombres que no sueñan”
“Never let me lose the marvelof your statue-like eyes, or the accentthe solitary rose of your breathplaces on my cheek at night.I am afraid of being, on this shore,a branchless trunk, and what I most regretis having no flower, pulp, or clayfor the worm of my despair.If you are my hidden treasure,if you are my cross, my dampened pain,if I am a dog, and you alone my master,never let me lose what I have gained,and adorn the branches of your riverwith leaves of my estranged Autumn.”
“Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verdes ramas. El barco sobre la mar y el caballo en la montaña.”
“Only mystery allows us to live, only mystery.”