The Grief of the Guitar (and Lorca's Duende)

The Guitar

The grief of the guitar
begins. The cups of dawn
are shattered, broken.
The grief of the guitar
begins. It is pointless
to pacify it. It is
impossible to pacify it.
Its cry is constant
like the cry of water,
like the cry of the wind
over the snowdrifts.
It is impossible to pacify it.
It weeps for far away things.
Sand of the warm South,
begging for white camelias.
It weeps arrow without target,
evening without morning,
and the first bird dead
upon the branch.
O, guitar!
Heart fatally wounded
by five blades.


From the Spanish of Garcia Lorca.

The link is to Carlos Montoya  playing with passion and duende