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Showing posts from March, 2014

Spring

City That Does Not Sleep
by Federico Garcia Lorca                                  translated by Robert Bly
In the sky there is nobody asleep.  Nobody, nobody. Nobody is asleep. The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins. The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream, and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the             street corner the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the             stars.
Nobody is asleep on earth.  Nobody, nobody. Nobody is asleep. In a graveyard far off there is a corpse who has moaned for three years because of a dry countryside on his knee; and that boy they buried this morning cried so much it was necessary to call out the dogs to keep him quiet.
Life is not a dream.  Careful!  Careful!  Careful! We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth or we climb to the knife edge of the snow with the voices of the dead             dahlias. But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams do not exist…