Federico García Lorca

(5 June 1898 – 19 August 1936 / Fuente Vaqueros)

Federico García Lorca Poems

1. The Old Lizard 3/26/2012
2. Peaceful Waters:Variation 3/29/2010
3. The Guitar-La Guitarra 3/29/2010
4. Ode To Walt Whitman 3/29/2010
5. Declaring 3/29/2010
6. Piccolo Valzer Viennese 1/1/2004
7. Saturday Paseo: Adelina 1/3/2003
8. The Song Of The Barren Orange Tree 3/29/2010
9. Ode To Salvador Dali 3/29/2010
10. Serenata 1/3/2003
11. Sonnet 1/1/2004
12. Debussy [with English Translation] 3/30/2010
13. Cantos Nuevos 3/29/2010
14. Adam 3/29/2010
15. Preciosa Y El Aire 1/1/2004
16. The Little Mute Boy 1/3/2003
17. Paisaje 1/1/2004
18. The Faithless Wife 1/3/2003
19. Sonnet Of The Sweet Complaint 1/3/2003
20. The Gypsy And The Wind 1/3/2003
21. MuriÓ Al Amanecer 1/1/2004
22. Muerte De AntoÑIto El Camborio 1/1/2004
23. Nocturnos De La Ventana 1/1/2004
24. Romance Sonámbulo 1/1/2004
25. Landscape Of A Vomiting Multitude 1/3/2003
26. Balada Amarilla Iv 1/1/2004
27. Weeping 1/3/2003
28. Adivinanza De La Guitarra 1/1/2004
29. La Casada Infiel 1/1/2004
30. Gacela Of The Dead Child 1/3/2003
31. Arbolé, Arbolé 1/1/2004
32. Dawn 3/29/2010
33. Little Viennese Waltz 1/3/2003
34. Ditty Of First Desire 1/3/2003
35. El Balcón 1/3/2003
36. Gacela Of Unforseen Love 1/3/2003
37. Las Seis Cuerdas 1/1/2004
38. Lament For Ignacio Sánchez Mejías 1/3/2003
39. Gacela Of The Dark Death 1/3/2003
40. Ballad Of The Moon 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Federico García Lorca

City That Does Not Sleep

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 ...

Read the full of City That Does Not Sleep

Ballad Of The Moon

translated by Will Kirkland

The moon came into the forge
in her bustle of flowering nard.
The little boy stares at her, stares.
The boy is staring hard.
In the shaken air
the moon moves her amrs,
and shows lubricious and pure,

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