Myth of Arrival

Garcia Lorca’s Romance de la luna, luna

"Ballad of moon, moon"¹ is a simple poem, though there is Garcia Lorca's preoccupation with the end of his childhood innocence, martyrdom, the world of myth and dream; in other words, it is a poem of the subconscious. Loughran (1994) notes:

1. Forge The trade of the farrier and metalworking in general are tradionally associated with the Spanish gypsy. Images using tin, copper, bronze, sheetmetal, lead, nickel, silver, steel and gold occur throught [Lorca's poems]; 2. Spikenards … Common Andalusian flowering plant growing in spikes of white blossoms with a heady perfume. (page 4)

Havard (1990) suggests the poem is a lullaby, the moon abducting a child into sleep. He quotes Garcia Lorca as saying: "I have tried to collect lullabies from all parts of Spain … I found that Spain uses its very saddest melodies and most melancholy texts to darken the first sleep of her children …" (page 127) If we examine that idea with the terrible melancholy of the poem, the sense of dread, the surreal imagery, we find a very odd lullaby, indeed.

Romance de la luna, luna	Ballad of the moon, moon
La luna vino a la fragua con su polisón de nardos. El niño la mira, mira. El niño la está mirando. En el aire conmovido mueve la luna sus brazos y enseña, lúbrica y pura, sus senos de duro estaño. Huye luna, luna, luna. Si vinieran los gitanos, harían con tu corazón collares y anillos blancos. Niño, déjame que baile. Cuando vengan los gitanos, te encontrarán sobre el yunque con los ojillos cerrados. Huye luna, luna, luna, que ya siento sus caballos. Niño, déjame, no pises mi blancor almidonado. El jinete se acercaba tocando el tambor del llano. Dentro de la fragua el niño, tiene los ojos cerrados. Por el olivar venían, bronce y sueño, los gitanos. Las cabezas levantadas y los ojos entornados. Cómo canta la zumaya, ¡ay, cómo canta en el árbol! Por el cielo va la luna con un niño de la mano. Dentro de la fragua lloran, dando gritos, los gitanos. El aire la vela, vela. El aire la está velando.	The moon came to the forge in her bustle of spikenard. The boy stares at her. The boy is staring hard. In the feverish air the moon sways her arms, showing, lewd and spotless, her cruel, tin breasts. "Run away, moon, moon, moon. If the gypsies find us, they would cut out your heart to make necklaces, silvery rings." "Child, let me dance. When the gypsies come, they will find you on the anvil with your tiny eyes shut tight." "Run away, moon, moon, moon. I can hear their horses." "Child, let me be, don't tread on my shiny, starched white." The rider was galloping closer beating upon the drum of the plain. Inside the forge the boy had his eyes shut tight. Across the olive grove, bronze and dreams, the gypsies arrived. Their heads held high, their eyes half shut. Ai, how the night owl sings! How she sings on the night tree! The moon goes through the sky leading a boy by the hand. In the forge the gypsies weep and sob aloud. The breeze is watching, watching. The breeze keeps watch all night long.

Romance de la luna, luna

Ballad of the moon, moon

La luna vino a la fragua
con su polisón de nardos.
El niño la mira, mira.
El niño la está mirando.

En el aire conmovido
mueve la luna sus brazos
y enseña, lúbrica y pura,
sus senos de duro estaño.

Huye luna, luna, luna.
Si vinieran los gitanos,
harían con tu corazón
collares y anillos blancos.

Niño, déjame que baile.
Cuando vengan los gitanos,
te encontrarán sobre el yunque
con los ojillos cerrados.

Huye luna, luna, luna,
que ya siento sus caballos.

Niño, déjame, no pises
mi blancor almidonado.

El jinete se acercaba
tocando el tambor del llano.
Dentro de la fragua el niño,
tiene los ojos cerrados.

Por el olivar venían,
bronce y sueño, los gitanos.
Las cabezas levantadas
y los ojos entornados.

Cómo canta la zumaya,
¡ay, cómo canta en el árbol!
Por el cielo va la luna
con un niño de la mano.

Dentro de la fragua lloran,
dando gritos, los gitanos.
El aire la vela, vela.
El aire la está velando.

The moon came to the forge
in her bustle of spikenard.
The boy stares at her.
The boy is staring hard.
In the feverish air
the moon sways her arms,
showing, lewd and spotless,
her cruel, tin breasts.
"Run away, moon, moon, moon.
If the gypsies find us,
they would cut out your heart
to make necklaces, silvery rings."
"Child, let me dance.
When the gypsies come,
they will find you on the anvil
with your tiny eyes shut tight."
"Run away, moon, moon, moon.
I can hear their horses."
"Child, let me be, don't tread
on my shiny, starched white."

The rider was galloping closer
beating upon the drum of the plain.
Inside the forge the boy
had his eyes shut tight.

Across the olive grove, bronze
and dreams, the gypsies arrived.
Their heads held high,
their eyes half shut.

Ai, how the night owl sings!
How she sings on the night tree!
The moon goes through the sky
leading a boy by the hand.

In the forge the gypsies
weep and sob aloud.
The breeze is watching, watching.
The breeze keeps watch all night long.

free moon clipart

I found the free clipart image of the moon at: http://www.webweaver.nu/clipart/moons.shtml [back]

This entry was posted on Friday, November 11th, 2005 at 11:10 am and is filed under Scantily Clad Info Dump, Translations, Spanish Translations. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

Garcia Lorca’s Romance de la luna, luna

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