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3.95 AVERAGE
3.95 AVERAGE
Debo de ser yo también "una inúltil y una tontita en la vida práctica", porque no he entendido absolutamente nada.
Bilingual edition (trans. Pablo Medina and Mark Statman). I enjoyed the original poems in Spanish. The translation? Not so much.
I wanted to love this because I do adore Lorca. My wanting swelled as I eagerly cross checked each poem's dramatic language in Spanish and English. Too often these moments left me wanting more from the translators. The sounds of the poems were totally lost. The translations were so faithful as to be literal and therefore unfaithful. Overall the translations had a life of their own: a word salad born from efforts to sound poetic and modern instead of carefully considering phrasing, sound and idiom.
incredible poems. unfortunately, some of them are supremely fucked up by the translation. dude translates bullshit into "cow-dung". are you serious? i ended up almost reading the spanish more than the english.
A book I keep going back to every so often. I love how the original Spanish is right across from the English translation. My Spanish is quite limited but at least I can "hear" it in my head.
vete para aprender celestiales palabras
que duermen en los troncos, en nubes, en tortugas,
en los perros dormidos, en el plomo, en el viento,
en lirios que no duermen, en aguas que no copian,
para que aprendas, hijo, lo que tu pueblo olvida."- El niño Staton, F. G. Lorca
The architectures of frost,
the lyres and moans that escape the tiny leaves
in autumn, soaking the final slopes,
died out in the blackness of felt hats.
Not wishing to exaggerate, I found this to be wonderful and perhaps my favorite book of verse in some time. Lorca, conversely, was prone to hyperbole or simple fantasy especially in his marvelous letters home from his North American endeavor.
His depiction of African-Americans might strike some as jarring. Such is foregrounded in both the poetry and the correspondence. It is interesting to consider how De Beauvoir in her letters to Sartre used similar language of wonder to describe such. FGL's Catholicism is also a penumbra, especially regarding Protestantism and his sojourns along Wall Street.
When you look more closely at the mechanism of social life and the painful slavery of both men and machines, you see that it is nothing but a kind of typical empty anguish that makes even crime and gangs forgivable means of escape.
The poet's arrogance is striking but forgivable. He claims everyone loves him. The annotations suggest otherwise. Everyone clamors for him to sing and to recite his verse. He comments on the cost of everything and notices minute conveniences which stir his amazement. He also recognizes the perils of the mass city and the unfortunate wage-earners who maintain its breakneck velocity. FGL deftly channels the Das Man of Heidegger. His sociological asides are interesting, especially when considering those of Stephen Spender who went to Spain a few years later: both appear intrigued and sometimes shaken by strange customs.
the lyres and moans that escape the tiny leaves
in autumn, soaking the final slopes,
died out in the blackness of felt hats.
Not wishing to exaggerate, I found this to be wonderful and perhaps my favorite book of verse in some time. Lorca, conversely, was prone to hyperbole or simple fantasy especially in his marvelous letters home from his North American endeavor.
His depiction of African-Americans might strike some as jarring. Such is foregrounded in both the poetry and the correspondence. It is interesting to consider how De Beauvoir in her letters to Sartre used similar language of wonder to describe such. FGL's Catholicism is also a penumbra, especially regarding Protestantism and his sojourns along Wall Street.
When you look more closely at the mechanism of social life and the painful slavery of both men and machines, you see that it is nothing but a kind of typical empty anguish that makes even crime and gangs forgivable means of escape.
The poet's arrogance is striking but forgivable. He claims everyone loves him. The annotations suggest otherwise. Everyone clamors for him to sing and to recite his verse. He comments on the cost of everything and notices minute conveniences which stir his amazement. He also recognizes the perils of the mass city and the unfortunate wage-earners who maintain its breakneck velocity. FGL deftly channels the Das Man of Heidegger. His sociological asides are interesting, especially when considering those of Stephen Spender who went to Spain a few years later: both appear intrigued and sometimes shaken by strange customs.
EPUB I read only had poems. As always interesting imagery but I recall being more impressed with Lorca…
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
Me encanta la poesía, pero prefiero la poesía moderna, pese a que el teatro lorquiano me encanta.