Garcia Lorca’s Preciosa y el aire

Like the poem Ballad of the moon, moon the motif of kidnapping of a child by supernatural forces continues; however Garcia Lorca has introduced a now explicit erotic subversion. The poem takes place in another nocturnal setting, down by an un anfibio sendero, an "amphibious tidewater," the seashore, where Preciosa is playing with her "parchment moon," her tambourine.

There are three characters here, the wind as personified as an ancient hobgoblin bend on raping a gypsy girl and the English Consul the girl runs to. However, like the wind, the Consul's motivations are suspect as well, since he tries to ply Preciosa with alcohol. Where others have translated the term into the clunky "English," and "Englishman," I chose to keep the original Spanish; Ingleses and Inglés, which have a more contemptuous sound to my ear. Loughran (1994) notes:

1. Preciosa. The name of the virginal young heroine of Cervantes' exemplary novel La gitanilla (The Gypsy Maiden). It is significant that in Cervantes story the young heroine is not a gypsy by birth and is a model of moral restraint. As a paya (non-gypsy) abducted and brought up by the gypsies to adolescence, she is at once virtuous and measured in her awakening sexuality even as she captures her audience in the flamenco shows in which she dances and sings from village to village. The dichotomy of the gypsy — payo (spontaneity — control) is essential to the psyche of Lorca's Preciosa, as well, and to the ballad as a whole. 23. Saint Christopher. The patron saint and protector of travelers. Somewhat ironically, he was decanonized in 1975 for his unsaintly exploits and fame as a womanizer in his youth. Whether Lorca was aware of these traits in an otherwise paternal in an otherwise paternally benevolent Samaritan is a matter of conjecture. The traditional portrayal of him is that of a very large man well past his youth, with flowing beard and staff. 28 Blue The color blue in Lorca is often associated with innocence, immaturity and the possibility of becoming … 37. Green wind The Spanish is viento verde. In the context within which it is spoken, this reference to both the breeze through the leaves and to the lecherous St. Christopher is so close in rhyme and meaning to the Spanish figure of speech viejo verde (dirty old man) that the latter comes immediately to mind … (pages 7-9)

The only other cryptic note that needs explanation comes from the commentary of Havard (1990) who says of line: "36. The smooth gong of snow is probably the moon, but it also suggests the snow capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada visible from the … seashore" (page 128).

I recall first coming across this poem and the very blatant gynecological reference the wind makes to the girl and being amazed Garcia Lorca was being as lurid as he was. For his abre en mi dedos antiguos/ la rosa azul de tu vientre, I translated as "Let me open in my old fingers/ the blue rose below your belly." Others have translated it as: "Open your belly's blue rose/ where my old fingers sleep" (Havard); "Open in my old fingers/ the blue rose of your womb" (Maurer); and other anatomical combinations of the "blue rose" and Preciosa's "belly."1 However, this seems irritatingly cloy and dated on all the translators' part, not the poet's. In this day and age why is it alright to translate images of violence, but typically of our culture, any references to the female anatomy must be cloaked and hidden? Again, while la rosa azul de tu vientre literally translates as: "the blue rose of your belly," I do not think Garcia Lorca is talking about vivisection or some sort of lunar cesarean section.

Preciosa y el aire
Federico Garcia Lorca
Preciosa and the Wind
translated by ZJC

Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene
por un anfibio sendero
de cristales y laureles.
El silencio sin estrellas,
huyendo del sonsonete,
cae donde el mar bate y canta
su noche llena de peces.
En los picos de la sierra
los carabineros duermen
guardando las blancas torres
donde viven los ingleses.
Y los gitanos del agua
levantan por distraerse,
glorietas de caracolas
y ramas de pino verde.

*

Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene.
Al verla se ha levantado
el viento que nunca duerme.
San Cristobalón desnudo,
lleno de lenguas celestes,
mira a la niña tocando
una dulce gaita ausente.

– Niña, deja que levante
tu vestido para verte.
Abre en mi dedos antiguos
la rosa azul de tu vientre.

Preciosa tira el pandero
y corre sin detenerse.
El viento-hombrón la persigue
con una espada caliente.

Frunce su rumor el mar.
Los olivos palidecen.
Cantan las flautas de umbría
y el liso gong de la nieve.

¡Preciosa, corre, Preciosa,
que te coge el viento verde!
Preciosa, corre, Preciosa!
¡Míralo por donde viene!
Sátiro de estrellas bajas
con sus lenguas relucientes.

*

Preciosa, llena de miedo,
entra en la casa que tiene,
más arriba de los pinos,
el cónsul de los ingleses.

Asustados por los gritos
tres carabineros viene,
sus negras capas ceñidas
y los gorros en las sienes.

El inglés da a la gitana
un vaso de tibia leche,
y una copa de ginebra
que Preciosa no se bebe.

Y mientras cuenta, llorando
su aventura a aquella gente,
en las tejas de pizarra
el viento, furioso, muerde.

Dallying with her parchment moon
Preciosa meanders along
an amphibious tidewater
of laurel and glass.
Silence without stars
flees from her trembling noise,
falling to where it is the Night
of the Fish, to where the Ocean is singing.
The Civil Guards drowse
on mountain tops,
watching the white towers
where the Ingleses live.
And the river-gypsies raise
nurseries of water plants
and branches of green pine
trying to pass the time.

*

Dallying with her parchment moon
Preciosa meanders along.
The somnolent wind,
seeing her, starts to rise:
rude, naked Saint Christopher
awash with celestial tongues
watches the child play
a sweet, dreamy tune.

"Let me see you, girl-child:
let me lift up your frock.
Let me open in my old fingers
the blue rose below your belly."

Preciosa flees, flinging away
her tambourine. His hot
sword swinging, the wind-
ghast pursues her.

The Ocean strangles its sound.
The olive trees pale.
Dim flutes sing out
below the smooth gong of snow.

Hurry, Preciosa, hurry!
Or the dirty, green wind will get you.
Run, Preciosa, run!
The wind is close behind,
the satyr of the setting stars
with his shimmering tongues.

*

Distressed Preciosa
goes into the house
of the Ingleses consul
high above the pines.

Frightened by her cries,
the three Civil Guards arrive,
black capes wrapped tight,
their caps pulled low.

The Inglés gives the gypsy girl
a glass full of mild milk
and a tumbler full of gin
to which Preciosa refuses.

And while she tells her story
and cries to the Consul,
along the slate tiles of the roof,
the wind, furious, gnaws and bites.


  1. I could go into another paragraph as to why "where my old fingers sleep," on Havard's part implies the wind is already inside the girl and confuses the poem even more, but I won't. Not today, not now. [back]

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