I found myself in Federico Garcia Lorca’s homosexual bow tie and kind face, as he sat perched meaningfully in front of me, observing me casually as his New York City depressive brilliance bursts against my own gut and slaps me across my bewildered face, bruising and torturing my inadequacy.
I vomited in my own mouth, tasting the sour bitter of his sweetness- crocodiles and monkeys and unicorns, Oh my! Federico, you’d give Dorothy a run for her money.
I cry for Federico. Because he cried for wounded elephants, and denounced the chaotic assembly of trains and the diseased bustle of New York.
I ran from the bashing London rain that rains absurdly every minute of every day and instead ran into Federico’s arms. I cry for his untimely death, his bashed skull his pleasant demeanor, his crippling depression, his escape to Havana, his mountains and seas. You are the Poet in New York and I am the Envious Spectator in London, finding comfort in your Spanish tongue that blazes of heat and magic.
They buried you anonymously in a mound because you had all the answers.
una ola de naranja
lluvias de almas…
rolling up through lorca mounds
phantasmagorical es una duende.
Plague wasn’t it? hmm this was opium grand!
he was murdered by fascists. OPIUM GRAND! how lovely
My word… my words have left… you have stolen them or caused them to flee, I know not which! and I am left solitary with but a gasp, the only thing left in the wake of their absence to express a will to speak. My word… my words have left…
Is this a quotation or excerpt from somewhere or is this just you speaking?
Just me speaking…..
Ah thank you, that was very poetic. I hope the rest of my work leaves you just as speechless. I look forward to rummaging through your blog
This is one of the prettiest homages I have ever read; a writer reading about another writer is the most poetic and artistic and meaningful thing I can come to think of; you are drowning me in your sentences and your manic imagination. It’s funny how in my world of synesthesia, your name is orange, and your texts are shining just the same, they are hued in the colors of citrus fruits, and they taste like the peel of oranges. Thank you for this.
*a writer writing about a writer
Loved the flow of images and ideas.
This is just fantastic; you really embody his spirit and writing here. Very well done.
thank you!