Casida of the Clusters
Federico García LorcaThrough the groves of the Tamarit
the dogs of lead have come
waiting for the clusters to fall,
waiting for them to break on their own.The Tamarit has an apple-tree
with an apple of sobs.
A nightingale gathers sighs
that a pheasant chases through the dust.But the clusters are happy,
the clusters are like us.
They are not thinking of rain and have gone to sleep,
suddenly, as if they were trees.Sitting with the water up to their knees,
two valleys were waiting for autumn.
Dusk with elephantine tread
was pushing the branches and tree-trunks.Through the groves of the Tamarit
there are many children with veiled face
waiting for my clusters to fall,
waiting for them to break on their own.--- Translated by Michael Smith
Casida de los Ramos
Federico García LorcaPor las arboledas del Tamarit
han venido los perros de plomo
a esperar que se caigan los ramos
a esperar que se quiebren ellos solos.El Tamarit tiene un manzano
con una manzana de sollozos.
Un ruiseñor agrupa los suspiros
y un faisán los ahuyenta por el polvo.Pero los ramos son alegres,
los ramos son como nosotros:
no piensan en la lluvia y se han dormido
como si fueran árboles, de pronto.Sentados con el agua en las rodillas
dos valles aguardaban al Otoño.
La penumbra con piso de elefante
empujaba las ramas y los troncos.Por las arboledas del Tamarit
hay muchos niños de velado rostro
a esperar que se caigan mis ramos
a esperar que se quiebran ellos solos.
Casida of the Branches
Federico García LorcaThe leaden dogs have come
through the groves of the Tamarit
waiting for the branches to fall,
waiting for them to break themselves apart.The Tamarit has an apple-tree
with an apple of weeping.
A nightingale gathers sighs
a pheasant chases them through the dust.But the branches are happy,
the branches are like us.
They are not thinking about rain.
Suddenly, as if they were trees, they are sleeping.Sitting in water up to their knees,
two valleys wait for the Fall.
With an elephant's tread, darkness comes
pushing aside the branches and the trunks.There are many children with hidden faces
in the groves of the Tamarit
waiting for my branches to fall,
waiting for them to break themselves apart.--- Carlos Amantea,
Translator