#lorca poems on Hello Poetry

n stiles carmona Jan 2021

Ginsberg, Lorca, Carmona on a Supermarket Pavement

Where'd you wander off to? I was one lonesome night-shift from writing another piece entirely – Allen y Federico, chasing Whitman as he climbs the paywall guarding Bohemia, ashen fog of beard left trailing in his wake. Ah, but here you are, my High Court of Muses! Lavender castoffs of two mechanical empires, camped outside on the supermarket pavement: awaiting a dawn delayed by the skyscrapers it hides behind. The Best Minds Left Standing... Lorca’s feet beating faraway Gitano rhythms; Ginsberg spouting love-letters re: the weeds’ anarchic growth from the concrete cracks... and one smaller sycophant.

I’ve offerings of oranges – Spanish nostalgia reduced to contraband – ‘stolen’, bruised, saved from dumpster fates. Wouldn't you have done the same? Isn’t food waste just state-sanctioned sacrilege? Naranjas, clementinas, full miniature moons split into crescents: I figured (halved) you'd (quartered) be starved (eighths). You savour each sacred drop of juice in ways I've yet to master. I’d always been preoccupied with expiry dates... Moloch who sets up shop inside my brain... yet time melts between my lips and I am with You under UV floodlights. I am with You where the overhead glow may not be starlight but it’s not the worst alternative. I am with You – until the checkout boy steps out for a cigarette and when Allen’s eyes follow in pursuit, I’ve lost him again. Holy, he mutters into his final segment of fruit; holy, I repeat, imagining Eve’s overeager sprint into the wide-open prisons of thought.
    I am a woman cloved in two, better half wrapped in citrus peel and tied with string – para tí, maestro Lorca. Does it bother you that these buildings stand closer to the Sun than you could have ever reached? Yet you were nothing short of an Icarus, and how close you came! Abstract wings borne from words and notoriety! Your mythology was written to fit a flamenco guitar – if they don’t know that, they don’t know you – through musical folklore, Franco tried to **** that which was immortal. His legacy is a nation of graves and a granddaughter in the gutter press.
    I begin to feel that history is a ripple-effect of looking over one’s shoulder and deciding “you’d hate it here.” There’s always the dawn. You wait for it with practised patience – pervasive optimism – the ability not to end an “always was” with “and always will be”. Is it all you’d waited for? Has time diminished its novelty? Will you write it down and tell me what I’d slept through?
    Out cold, you turn me onto my side so I don’t choke when Moloch finds his way out.

just a writing exercise rly lol. direct response to ginsberg's 'a supermarket in california' about his literary hero, walt whitman (i feel like it'd make even less sense without having read that beforehand). one day i'll write something that isn't too long for folks to bother reading - until then...

#ginsberg #lorca #experimental #freeverse

Lawrence Hall Mar 2019

"The F*g with the Bow Tie"

“The F_g with the Bow Tie” 1

            “Only in Russia is poetry respected – it gets people killed.
              Is there anywhere else where poetry is so common a
              motive  for ******?”

                                                -Osip Mandelstam 2

Spain. Poetry got people killed in Spain -
And still wherever tyrants of delicate nerves
And artistic sensitivities hear
Whispered rumors of whispered disapproval

And so an innocent, fearful and trembling
Must be motored away to a moonless death
Upon orders spoken, written, tweeted
Telephoned, telegraphed, or teletyped

One prays he has a moment to adjust his tie
Perfectly - as an honor to Poetry

1 The slur is attributed to Federico Garcia Lorca’s murderers:
https://lithub.com/dictators-****-poets-on-federico-garcia-lorcas-last-days/

2 Quoted by Yevgeny Yevtushenko in 20th Century Russian Poetry

Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree: The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.

#lorca #yevtushenko #mandelstam

Nis Jun 2018

Canto a Stanton/Song to Stanton

"Tu ignorancia es un monte de leones, Stanton"
                                                                                              -García Lorca

Juntos para morir,
separados para vivir.

Como un manantial de loros te canto, Stanton
no se quien eres pero nunca nos encontraremos
cual cima de hipopótamos, cual valle de elefantes.

Podría seguir, seguir con mi orografía animal, Stanton.
Sentirme una Lorca envalentonada,
envalentonada como un monte de leones.
Pero no lo soy.

Sólo soy un intento de física,
un intento de poetisa,
un intento de mujer,
un intento de persona.
Un intento.

Reímos juntos aquel día,
aún hoy lloramos separadas.

Y este poema se torna pensamientos no ligados.
nuca lo estuvieron.
Mi ignorancia siempre fue un monte de leones.
Y mis pensamientos se tornan contra mí una vez más.

Contra mi cuerpo: mi archienemigo,
tantas veces te he escrito para herirte,
tantas veces te he herido para herirte.
Mi odio hacia ti es una riada de cuervos.

Contra mi mente: falsa amiga,
tantas veces te he usado para servirme
tantas veces me has herido al servirme.
Mi rencor hacia ti es un acantilado de ratas.

Y sí, este poema es una excusa para alabar el citado verso,
pero entre verso y verso se cuela mi odio,
cual filtro de lemures, cual escurridero de serpientes.
Mi odio por todo, mi odio por nada.

Y aquí termina mi canto, diciéndote una vez más, Stanton.
Tu ignorancia es un monte de leones.

//

                                   "Your ignorance is a mountain of lions, Stanton"
                                                                                              -García Lorca

Together dying,
apart living.

Like a spring of parrots I sing to you, Stanton
I don't know who you are but we'll never meet
like peak of hippopotamus, like valley of elephants.

I could continue, continue with my animal orography, Stanton.
Feeling myself an encouraged Lorca,
encouraged like a mountain of lions.
But I'm not one.

I'm only an attempt of a physic,
an attempt of a poet,
an attempt of a woman,
an attempt of a person.
An attempt.

We laughed together that day,
even today we cry alone.

This poem turns itself thoughts not linked.
They never were.
My ignorance has always been a mountain of lions.
And my thoughts turn against me once again.

Against my body: my archenemy,
so many times I have written to harm you,
so many times I have harmed you tu harm you.
My hatred towards you is a stream of raven.

Against my mind: false friend,
so many times I have used you to serve me,
so many times you have harmed you to serve me.
Mi resentment towards you is a cliff of rats.

And yes, this poem is an excuse tu praise the mentioned verse,
but between verse and verse my hatred creeps in,
like filter of lemures, like sink of snakes.
My hatred towards everything, my hatred towards nothing.

And here my singing ends, telling you once again, Stanton.
Your ignorance is a mountain of lions.

Más que un poema, pensamientos poco relacionados inspirados por el verso de Lorca en "Poeta en New York"
More than a poem, thoughts with little connection inspired by the verse from "Pote in New York" by Lorca

#lorca #stanton #surrealismo #surrealism #hatred #odio

The Dedpoet Feb 2016

Stellar Soul

In that moment your soul sailed
Off into the profound unknowns,
With heavy eyes watching you go
And God's rain falling on those
You left behind;

There in the flint of the final star,
Becoming yourself once again
Into the ocean of stellar waves,
Your shoulders that burned before
Have found their wings once again.

You shall birth a Nova's light across
A stream of unknown universe,
Filling the empty space that was
And is now no more an oblivion;
You become a solar being.

You have vaulted the quiet reaches,
The timid space between stars you
Have birth a system that will grow
From your presence, and when the seed
Has grown to have it's own shores,

The first delicate breeze of your airs,
The birth a your new amorous Earth,
You will become a song without words,
An orchestrated living constellation.

And the long embrace we feel from
Your absence, the abyss left from
Your departing, it will be filled
And as we look to sky for Hope's
Sake, we will see a new place
In the night sky.

Your star will say, " I am here",
You're light will press against the
Eyes of those you left behind
And the arms of your light shall
Embrace everything we miss.

You will find yourself in new waters,
Know yourself in the sun,
As your soul catches the solar winds,
Make sure the star you birth
Winks for the eyes of those
Whom shed your tears.

For the loved ones we have all lost.

#haiku #cummings #haikus #whitman #neruda #paz #lorca #dedpoet #florit