Life and death in Federico Garcia Lorca by José Niño

Federico's death we know little. We are confident the murderous hands. We know the authors of this political crime occurred for over 50 years. On what day, what time, what site was apprehended? Conjectures. Possibly died on August 19, according to connoisseurs. But how were his last moments? What was the body of Frederick? In the final moments of dark death, almost nothing remains, except Federico:

"Civil Guard roadside / brought him alongside." "Voices sounded death / near the Guadalquivir. / Voices ancient hedges / Carnation manly voice."

Frederick came from the bowels of the earth, the first voice, the first cry. Fabric anemones and dahlias, salvias and petunias, oleanders and chrysanthemums, the ancient epic poet sang of his people. Authentic Andaluz up in the marrow, active and clear militant republican ideas, Frederick was seized with fascist nonsense hated anything that smacked of time. Frederick knew. He knew more than anyone else's reaction on the budding fascist Spain of wines and dancing and fighting bulls. Remember how the poet mythologizes the "Guardia Civil" in Spanish "Gypsy Ballads." 'The "Guardia Civil", loses its substantive connotation armed force for the custody or defense. The noun is adjective referring acquires the quality of death:

"The horses are black. The shoes are black. Glisten on the layers of ink stains and wax. They have, so do not cry, lead the skulls."

The poet of grace transforms all at the touch of your hands. Federico clutched the stone and the material was exchanged helpless in life. They wanted to silence him, but Frederick was used to win over death. And, the creator par excellence, does not die. The rack calendar gives you more life. We have formed a harrowing mystery to not finding the Wizard of the word and felt, or at least know the place where it lies (allegedly) his body. Federico, immersive in the historical context of Spain in the 30's, was known conqueror of death:

"In all countries, death is an end. He comes in and the curtains are drawn. In Spain, no. In Spain, the dead rise. Many people living there between walls until the day they die and take the sun. A died in Spain is more alive and dead than anywhere else in the world. It hurts their profile as the edge of a razor. "

So Federico remains among us:

"When I die, bury me with my guitar in the sand. When I die, among the orange and peppermint."

("Memento". "Poema del Cante Jondo").

For Frederick's life and death run parallel. Death feeds on life, life is in recognition of death. Death does not come, we grow. The poet discovers in life reflects death. Life and death, antagonistic forces whose link is the man. The findings of this inherent dialectic, the tragic poet perceives our condition: we are as we struggle with death:

"Men and fish in me under floating things, / waiting in the alga or chair your night / I want to forget".

There is a certain space and time and their own. There is an existence to achieve. The fact commits us to live. The plot is resolved with the position we take. We become aware of life on this site where the maker has put man. We assume the responsibility of preparing our death:

"I. just me! / Carving tray / where my head will not go. / I Just me ".

The poet is a constant dying. The creation arises only from the presence of death. The word is the time to peak, peak, final act of life and for life. The poet does not narrate and transcribe an emotion, a trip. It is owned by a dark force ("Duende," to use the terminology of the poet), who bursts tearing the innermost fibers of being perpetually wounding him. The creation of this struggle comes "Duende" in the poet threatened. The word is completion, transformation of "Duende". Pain is not as necessary for poetic creation. The pain is intrinsic to human nature. We are transfixed by death. The creator faces superimposed on it. All external reality emerges from this painful and bloody struggle. An environment of blood (symbol par excellence of the poetry of Lorca) around us, even from your own home:

? "Wet blood tree in the morning where the new mother groans. His voice leaves glass in the wound and a bone graph in the window"

("Adam").

Birth is the triumph of life. The word is life that is born to the poet and the rest of men. The creator is force the child to birth new sensations. The poet and the child reunite the world. They experience the joy of a new sun on the earth. Child and poet are the same. The first of its sincerity. The second in the stubborn pursuit of primal joy. Childhood, no pain, ignorance of the limits and the passage of time, lack of a sensitive destiny. Meanwhile, the man knows the pain, feel embracing death, hopeless struggle against it:

"Ignacio climbs the tiers with all his death on his back. I was looking for the dawn, and dawn was not"

("Lament for Ignacio Sanchez Mejias").

Childhood is the beginning and end of life of the poet ("In April my childhood I used to sing?). Childhood is not a happy age lost forever. Nor is the romantic nostalgia of a return impossible. Childhood has a characteristic: rediscover the place where it was life imprison your reality, make it their own and communicate it to others through language. This attribute is also the poet's own: announcement of new sensations.

E1 child has a constant wonder, because in it the elements without a specific function. The child is able to transform into a dog or cat to decipher the song of the lark. The child's unlimited imagination, a paper cup can be a vessel or boat, the stars, bulbs of the night, the wind comes from the breath of a giant, or Frederick, speaks to the whisper of the trees. For the poet, "the caste star hive is a" wind, "dark, hot," the late "shadow thirsty," the cicada dies happy, "drunk with light." Oleander guitar sobs and cries, "the sea dancing on the beach," the owl "clean your glasses / and meditate," "the water touches his silver drum", a "quiet bell / crucified in pace / define a the morning. "

But death is going to grow and become aware of her life. The child is thrown from his natural state. Is lost, is lost: "I lost the ring my happiness / by passing the stream imaginary." In the trough of the river-life "Narcissus", entranced and absorbed, the interview:

"In the depths there is a pink rose in 1st and another river." ..... ... "And I am the rose itself."

In the "Romance of the moon, moon," death appears in the feminine. Leads into the abyss as the sirens of Ulysses. Bella and barren (the moon is barren breasts) seduces and drag to the orgy of the night:

"In the air the moon moves touched their brazosy teaches, lubricates and pure, her breasts of hard tin." . . . "By the sky is the moon with a child's hand."

Death round. Caress his presence of air. In "Malaguena," "death / in and out / of the tavern." In another, "Lady Death, wrinkled / walk through the willow / with his absurd courtship / remote illusions" Cities have smell and taste of death. Cordoba and Granada ("O city of gypsies! / Who you saw and did not remind you of? ") are" land of death, mourning solea. " "Seville is a tower / full of fine archers." Spain all live under the spell of death. With great precision Frederick has told us in his immortal lecture on "Theory and Elf Game":

"The blade and the wheel of the car, the knife, and beards pinchonsas of the shepherds, and the moon bare, and the fly, and damp cupboards, and demolitions, and the saints covered with lace, and lime, and the line of eaves and balconies hurtful in Spain have tiny herbs of death, allusions and voices perceptible to a mind alert, memory calls us to air our own traffic stiff. "

In the poet's work, the simplest objects bear witness to the death:

"I shook the lantern. / Mother. / How shook the lantern of the street."

The death is announced in the ominous bird song:

"How sings zumaya i, / oh, how he sings in the tree."

The same architecture is the death watch:

"Death is watching me / from the towers of Cordoba."

Antonito, the Camborio, his face takes on the traits of her violent death premonition:

"Moreno green moon / walk slow and graceful."

"Green Moon", the hope of death. The Camborio accepts the challenge with restraint, like a gypsy legitimate: "slow and graceful." Absorbed in his own being, performs acts that would outlive him. Antonito paves the way regardless of the time in which life and death look face to face, the moment they both run forever. Affirmation and negation. Man survives thanks to the knowledge of these two opposing forces, an effort that put to save his wild condition.

In contrast, "Poet in New York," writes Frederick annihilation of mankind. New York, populated by people coming from all corners of the world, is a city without roots. The man filled his void with unbridled satisfaction of their primal instincts. New York is the city of sex and greed, of affluence and hunger. City in which death produces forgetfulness, real death. City where life and death are equivalent to a beheading of "a million cows," which screams, "filled with grief the valley / where the Hudson gets drunk on oil." "The dawn of New York has / four columns of silt / and a hurricane of black pigeons / water sloshing rotten." The poet, "killed by the sky," his anger lashes out with the "when things dry / the pin in the eye and the cat laminate / iron oxide of the great bridges / and the final silence of cork ". In New York, "the light is buried under chains and noises / en impudent challenge of rootless science."

"In the neighborhoods there are people who hesitate insomniacs / as fresh from a shipwreck of blood." With all the love and all the rage the poet predicts the fall of Babylon the Great, in "Dance of Death":

"That hiss and cobras by the top floors, which nettles shake patios and terraces, which the Exchange is a pyramid of moss, and vines come after fusilesy very soon, very soon, very soon. Oh, Wall Street ".- Death, in order, and positions taken. As in the art of bullfighting (eg frequently attended by Federico) "is worshiped and sacrificed to a god." Prepare the bull to win over his death. Life - death: man, and a moment that arrived stays in the memory of others forever:

"At five in the afternoon.

It was five o'clock in the afternoon.

A boy brought the white sábanaa five in the afternoon.

A basket of lime prevenidaa and five in the afternoon.

The rest was death, and only five in the muertea afternoon.

The wind took the algodonesa five in the afternoon.

And the nickel oxide glass and planted five in the afternoon.

Already struggling leopardoa the dove and the five in the afternoon.

And a thigh with a spear desoladaa five in the afternoon.

The sound of the drone began at five in the afternoon.

Arsenic bells and smoke at five in the afternoon.

In the corners silencioa groups five in the afternoon.

And the bull, one heart up! At five in the afternoon.

When the sweat of snow was cleave five in the afternoon,

when the square was covered with iodine at five in the afternoon,

Death laid eggs in the wound at five in the afternoon.

At five in the afternoon.

At five o'clock in the afternoon.

A coffin on wheels is his bed at five in the afternoon.

Bones and flutes resound in his ears at five in the afternoon.

The bull bellowed and frentea by five in the afternoon.

The fourth agoníaa iridescent five in the afternoon.

Far away and comes gangrenaa five in the afternoon.

Trunk by green lily English five o'clock.

The wounds were burning like suns at five in the afternoon,

and the crowd broke the ventanasa five in the afternoon.

At five in the afternoon.

Oh, what a terrible five in the afternoon! Was five on all watches! Shadow was five in the afternoon!

("Lament for Ignacio Sanchez Mejias")

Article written by Joseph Child: pseudonym of José Jesús Jiménez Barona, poet, born in Cali, Colombia.Obra poetry published, "Palabrala? , "Dreaming the man", "Colloquium in love." Www.joseninopoeta.com

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