Federico García Lorca

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

Federico García Lorca Poems

1. Train Ride 5/29/2015
2. The Old Lizard 3/26/2012
3. Peaceful Waters:Variation 3/29/2010
4. Ode To Walt Whitman 3/29/2010
5. Piccolo Valzer Viennese 1/1/2004
6. The Guitar-La Guitarra 3/29/2010
7. Ode To Salvador Dali 3/29/2010
8. Declaring 3/29/2010
9. Saturday Paseo: Adelina 1/3/2003
10. The Song Of The Barren Orange Tree 3/29/2010
11. Sonnet 1/1/2004
12. Paisaje 1/1/2004
13. Cantos Nuevos 3/29/2010
14. Preciosa Y El Aire 1/1/2004
15. Serenata 1/3/2003
16. The Little Mute Boy 1/3/2003
17. Adam 3/29/2010
18. Debussy [with English Translation] 3/30/2010
19. The Faithless Wife 1/3/2003
20. Sonnet Of The Sweet Complaint 1/3/2003
21. The Gypsy And The Wind 1/3/2003
22. Muerte De AntoÑIto El Camborio 1/1/2004
23. Nocturnos De La Ventana 1/1/2004
24. MuriÓ Al Amanecer 1/1/2004
25. Romance Sonámbulo 1/1/2004
26. Balada Amarilla Iv 1/1/2004
27. Landscape Of A Vomiting Multitude 1/3/2003
28. Adivinanza De La Guitarra 1/1/2004
29. Weeping 1/3/2003
30. La Casada Infiel 1/1/2004
31. Arbolé, Arbolé 1/1/2004
32. El Balcón 1/3/2003
33. Little Viennese Waltz 1/3/2003
34. Gacela Of The Dead Child 1/3/2003
35. Ditty Of First Desire 1/3/2003
36. Dawn 3/29/2010
37. Gacela Of Unforseen Love 1/3/2003
38. Las Seis Cuerdas 1/1/2004
39. Lament For Ignacio Sánchez Mejías 1/3/2003
40. Gacela Of The Dark Death 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

Las Seis Cuerdas

La guitarra,
hace llorar a los sueños.
El sollozo de las almas
perdidas,
se escapa por su boca
redonda.
Y como la tarántula
teje una gran estrella
para cazar suspiros,
que flotan en su negro
aljibe de madera.

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