Judge opens investigation into death of Spanish poet Federico García Lorca
Judge opens investigation into death of Spanish poet Federico García Lorca
García Lorca’s death, possibly in 1936, remains a mystery after the site where he was believed to be buried was excavated in 2009 without finding remains
Reuters in Buenos Aires
Wednesday 17 August 2016 17.48 EDT
An Argentinian judge has started an investigation into the death of Spanish poet and playwright Federico García Lorca, who is believed to have been executed in 1936 by forces loyal to General Francisco Franco.
García Lorca’s fate remains a mystery after the site near the Spanish city of Granada where he was believed to have been buried was excavated in 2009 without finding human remains.
With efforts by the Spanish justice system stalled, a Spanish human rights group called the Association for the Recuperation of Historic Memory asked Argentinian federal judge Maria Servini to take up the case. She has accepted, said a statement by the group on Facebook.
“The case has been incorporated into an ongoing investigation by Judge Maria Servini into crimes against humanity,” it said.
More:
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/aug/17/argentina-judge-investigation-federico-garcia-lorca-spain
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Federico García Lorca: (5 June 1898 – 19 August 1936) was a Spanish poet, dramatist and theater director. Lorca achieved international renown as an emblematic member of the Generation of '27. He was murdered at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War by persons likely affiliated with the Nationalist cause. He is thought to be one of the many victims who 'disappeared' and were executed by the Nationalists. In 2008, a Spanish judge opened an investigation of Garcia Lorca's death and his family dropped objections to the excavation of his possible grave.
Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shade around her waist
she dreams on her balcony,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green, how I want you green.
Under the gypsy moon,
all things are watching her
and she cannot see them.
Green, how I want you green.
Big hoarfrost stars
come with the fish of shadow
that opens the road of dawn.
The fig tree rubs its wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the forest, cunning cat,
bristles its brittle fibers.
But who will come? And from where?
She is still on her balcony
green flesh, her hair green,
dreaming in the bitter sea.
--My friend, I want to trade
my horse for her house,
my saddle for her mirror,
my knife for her blanket.
My friend, I come bleeding
from the gates of Cabra.
--If it were possible, my boy,
I'd help you fix that trade.
But now I am not I,
nor is my house now my house.
--My friend, I want to die
decently in my bed.
Of iron, if that's possible,
with blankets of fine chambray.
Don't you see the wound I have
from my chest up to my throat?
--Your white shirt has grown
Thirty dark brown roses.
Your blood oozes and flees a
round the corners of your sash.
But now I am not I,
nor is my house now my house.
--Let me climb up, at least,
up to the high balconies;
Let me climb up! Let me,
up to the green balconies.
Railings of the moon
through which the water rumbles.
Now the two friends climb up,
up to the high balconies.
Leaving a trail of blood.
Leaving a trail of teardrops.
Tin bell vines
were trembling on the roofs.
A thousand crystal tambourines
struck at the dawn light.
Green, how I want you green,
green wind, green branches.
The two friends climbed up.
The stiff wind left
in their mouths, a strange taste
of bile, of mint, and of basil
My friend, where is she--tell me--
where is your bitter girl?
How many times she waited for you!
How many times would she wait for you,
cool face, black hair,
on this green balcony!
Over the mouth of the cistern
the gypsy girl was swinging,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
An icicle of moon
holds her up above the water.
The night became intimate
like a little plaza.
Drunken "Guardias Civiles"
were pounding on the door.
Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea.
And the horse on the mountain.
Patxi Andion wrote this song to Lorca, based on this poem:
