Federico Garcia Lorca: Casida of the Clusters
The leaden dogs have come
through the groves of the Tamarit
waiting for the branches to fall,
waiting for them to break themselves apart.
The Tamarit has an apple-tree
with an apple of weeping.
A nightingale gathers sighs
a pheasant chases them through the dust.
But the branches are happy,
the branches are like us.
They are not thinking about rain.
Suddenly, as if they were trees, they are sleeping.
Sitting in water up to their knees,
two valleys wait for the Fall.
With an elephant’s tread, darkness comes
pushing aside the branches and the trunks.
There are many children with hidden faces
in the groves of the Tamarit
waiting for my branches to fall,
waiting for them to break themselves apart.
—- Carlos Amantea, Translator
Photo: Lorca in the bosom of his family…
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