Friday Poem - 'Tree, tree' by Federico García Lorca (Arbolé, arbolé)
I've loved Lorca ever since I picked up a copy of his collection Poet in New York when I was in my 20's. His work has a soul that directly speak to mine through its depth and beauty. If you allow it, you can almost feel the breath of a good writer as you read their words and know the pulse of their life-force expressing as they ignite your imagination with theirs. In my choice of this Friday's poem, Tree tree, or Arbolé, arbolé to give it its true Spanish title, I'm giving little hints of an exciting announcement that I shall be making over the coming weeks. Watch this space..!
Tree, Tree by Federico García Lorca
Tree, tree, dry and green.
The girl with the lovely face is out picking olives. The bold seducing wind grabs her round the waist.
Four riders passed by on Andalusian ponies, in azure and emerald suits and long shadowy cloaks.
'Come to Cordoba, young lady!' The girl ignores them.
Three young bullfighters passed by, slim and wasp-waisted, wearing suits of bright orange and swords of antique silver.
‘Come to Seville, young lady!’ The girl ignores them.
When the evening turned mauve and began to fade, a young man passed by clutching roses and the myrtle of moonlight.
‘Come to Granada, young lady!’ And the girl ignores him.
The girl with the lovely face goes on picking olives with the wind’s grey arms tight around her waist. Tree, tree, dry and green.
Tree, tree. English translation by Paul Archer of Lorca's Arbolé, arbolé.