Tree, Tree – Andalusian Songs (1921-1924)
Tree, tree
dry and green.
The best girl, the beautiful one
is gathering olives.
The wind, that seducer to towers,
takes her by the waist,
Four riders
on Andalusian ponies passed
with sky blue, green suits,
and enveloping dark cloaks.
“Come to Córdoba, muchacha.”
She doesn’t pay them any mind.
Three little bullfighters scarcely
wide around the waist passed by,
with orange jackets
and silver antique swords.
“Come to Sevilla, muchacha.”
The girl doesn’t listen, she.
And when afternoon broke,
and day split with night’s purple light,
a youth passed that carried
roses and myrtles of the moon.
“Come to Granada, muchacha.”
And the girl did not listen to him.
The girl of fine face
continues gathering olives,
with the flannel arm of the wind
rounding the curve of her waist.
Tree, tree
dry and green.
Author: Federico García Lorca
Translator: Manny Grimaldi
16 thoughts on "Tree, Tree – Andalusian Songs (1921-1924)"
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Such an intriguing poem. And all the colors! I’m with the “girl of the fine face.” Manny, we are in synch (sort of). I wrote a poem about an independent woman today.
Manny……with this one
You have really held onto
The poem.
The life, the passion.
It’s funny in a way you are showing lorca as translated to be as vibrant
In a foreign language…even if he didn’t like translation..awesome !!!!
La traducción destroza el espíritu del idioma.
Translation destroys the spirit of the language.
Federico García Lorca
But I take comfort in Samuel Johnson who said the mark of a good translation is that it is a good English poem.
I probably toot my own horn too much though, I like it, that’s enough for me. 🥰
“the flannel arm of the wind
rounding the curve of her waist.” <love that!
that is my favorite line Chelsie
If you ask Lorca, poets are creatures of the moon.
You and I had an interesting discussion about color in Lorca. He uses green, blue, and white primarily – but favors green. He plays with sound and image too. He is always going for the inexpressible – that which you see out of the corner of your eye, then is gone with only a feeling of either a satisfaction you can’t chase, or even a kind of pain. Jazz artists call it playing in the pocket. Flamenco artists say something has duende when that special something is felt or heard. Michelangelo stopped finishing his statues off and on during his career to avoid ruining the truth. Finally, Andalucía is a land of vast color, smells, sounds, ok, what place on Earth is not, but they are so unabashed about it. They flaunt it. Parades, religious parades with incense, horse shit is ubiquitous, gypsies crying out loudly for money in the streets, flamenco tapping and guitar, clapping, singing, the smells of dry sherry, salted pork, the list goes on, cars nearly running you over in the street, children squealing in the tide in the port, the moon coming through the tent tops at fair time. Wanna come Linda?
Lovely. I like your choice to vary the translation of “La niña del bello rostro” — particularly in the way they affect the sound and rhythm of the reading of that line at various points.
I love what Lorca did with it, creating internal/external rhymes at different times. But thank you for noticing. Tune in tomorrow – it is bizarre! ☺️
Rich characters, lush colors, love the spring of this poem!
The lilt or the season? Thank you!
I thought that felt familiar and then I saw at the end it’s a translation of one of my favorite poets. Thank you for that!
Thank you for reading Mr. Mike!
Sometimes a basket of olives and the wind around the waist is all a girl needs. Really enjoying your translations!
what a summary!