A-Z Challenge: Federico Garcia Lorca

Published 07th April 2014 by viewsofpreethib

The Gypsy and the Wind

Playing her parchment moon

Precosia comes

along a watery path of laurels and crystal lights.

The starless silence, fleeing

from her rhythmic tambourine,

falls where the sea whips and sings,

his night filled with silvery swarms.

High atop the mountain peaks

the sentinels are weeping;

they guard the tall white towers

of the English consulate.

And gypsies of the water

for their pleasure erect

little castles of conch shells

and arbors of greening pine.

Playing her parchment moon

Precosia comes.

The wind sees her and rises,

the wind that never slumbers.

Naked Saint Christopher swells,

watching the girl as he plays

with tongues of celestial bells

on an invisible bagpipe.

Gypsy, let me lift your skirt

and have a look at you.

Open in my ancient fingers

the blue rose of your womb.

Precosia throws the tambourine

and runs away in terror.

But the virile wind pursues her

with his breathing and burning sword.

The sea darkens and roars,

while the olive trees turn pale.

The flutes of darkness sound,

and a muted gong of the snow.

Precosia, run, Precosia!

Or the green wind will catch you!

Precosia, run, Precosia!

And look how fast he comes!

A satyr of low-born stars

with their long and glistening tongues.

Precosia, filled with fear,

now makes her way to that house

beyond the tall green pines

where the English consul lives.

Alarmed by the anguished cries,

three riflemen come running,

their black capes tightly drawn,

and berets down over their brow.

The Englishman gives the gypsy

a glass of tepid milk

and a shot of Holland gin

which Precosia does not drink.

And while she tells them, weeping,

of her strange adventure,

the wind furiously gnashes

against the slate roof tiles.

  by Federico García Lorca

 

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6 comments on “A-Z Challenge: Federico Garcia Lorca

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