Federico García Lorca

(5 June 1898 – 19 August 1936 / Fuente Vaqueros)

Federico García Lorca Poems

1. Saturday Paseo: Adelina 1/3/2003
2. Piccolo Valzer Viennese 1/1/2004
3. Preciosa Y El Aire 1/1/2004
4. Adam 3/29/2010
5. Declaring 3/29/2010
6. Cantos Nuevos 3/29/2010
7. Muerte De AntoÑIto El Camborio 1/1/2004
8. The Old Lizard 3/26/2012
9. Sonnet 1/1/2004
10. The Little Mute Boy 1/3/2003
11. Nocturnos De La Ventana 1/1/2004
12. Peaceful Waters:Variation 3/29/2010
13. Balada Amarilla Iv 1/1/2004
14. Serenata 1/3/2003
15. The Song Of The Barren Orange Tree 3/29/2010
16. The Faithless Wife 1/3/2003
17. Sonnet Of The Sweet Complaint 1/3/2003
18. Debussy [with English Translation] 3/30/2010
19. Landscape Of A Vomiting Multitude 1/3/2003
20. Paisaje 1/1/2004
21. MuriÓ Al Amanecer 1/1/2004
22. Ode To Salvador Dali 3/29/2010
23. Ode To Walt Whitman 3/29/2010
24. The Gypsy And The Wind 1/3/2003
25. Gacela Of The Dead Child 1/3/2003
26. La Casada Infiel 1/1/2004
27. Adivinanza De La Guitarra 1/1/2004
28. The Guitar-La Guitarra 3/29/2010
29. Weeping 1/3/2003
30. Romance Sonámbulo 1/1/2004
31. Lament For Ignacio Sánchez Mejías 1/3/2003
32. Ditty Of First Desire 1/3/2003
33. El Balcón 1/3/2003
34. Gacela Of Unforseen Love 1/3/2003
35. Arbolé, Arbolé 1/1/2004
36. Las Seis Cuerdas 1/1/2004
37. Gacela Of The Dark Death 1/3/2003
38. Little Viennese Waltz 1/3/2003
39. Dawn 3/29/2010
40. Ballad Of The Moon 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Federico García Lorca

City That Does Not Sleep

In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the
street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the
stars.

Nobody is asleep on earth. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
In a graveyard far off there is a corpse
who has moaned for three years
because of a dry countryside on his knee;
and that boy they buried this ...

Read the full of City That Does Not Sleep

Ballad Of The Moon

translated by Will Kirkland

The moon came into the forge
in her bustle of flowering nard.
The little boy stares at her, stares.
The boy is staring hard.
In the shaken air
the moon moves her amrs,
and shows lubricious and pure,

[Hata Bildir]