Monday, November 30, 2009

Alma ausente by Federico Garcia Lorca

Alma ausente

No te conoce el toro ni la higuera,
ni caballos ni hormigas de tu casa.
No te conoce el niño ni la tarde
porque te has muerto para siempre.

No te conoce el lomo de la piedra,
ni el raso negro donde te destrozas.
No te conoce tu recuerdo mudo
porque te has muerto para siempre.

El otoño vendrá con caracolas,
uva de niebla y montes agrupados,
pero nadie querrá mirar tus ojos
porque te has muerto para siempre.

Porque te has muerto para siempre,
como todos los muertos de la Tierra,
como todos los muertos que se olvidan
en un montón de perros apagados.

No te conoce nadie. No. Pero yo te canto.
Yo canto para luego tu perfil y tu gracia.
La madurez insigne de tu conocimiento.
Tu apetencia de muerte y el gusto de su boca.
La tristeza que tuvo tu valiente alegría.

Tardará mucho tiempo en nacer, si es que nace,
un andaluz tan claro, tan rico de aventura.
Yo canto su elegancia con palabras que gimen
y recuerdo una brisa triste por los olivos.

by Federico Garcia Lorca (1898 - 1936)

Absent Soul

The bull doesn't know you, nor the fig tree,
nor horses, nor ants of your house.
The boy doesn't know you, nor the afternoon
because you have died forever.

The surface of the stone doesn't know you,
nor the black satin where you are shattered.
Your dumb memory doesn't know you,
because you have died forever.

The Autum will come with seashells,
grape of fog and grouping mountains,
but nobody will want to look your eyes,
because you have died forever.

Because you have died forever,
like all the dead of the world,
like all the dead that are forgotten,
in a heap of dull dogs.

No one knows you. No, but I sing for you,
I sing for later your profile and your grace,
The distinguished maturity of your knowledge,
Your apetite for dead and the taste of its mouth.
The sadness that had your brave joy.

It will take a long time to born, if there is ever born,
An andalusian so clear, so rich of adventure,
I sing its elegance with words that groan,
and I remember a sad breeze for the olives.

This poem is from the spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca, I thinks it's a very beautiful poem it matchs my actual feelings and the resent events on my life.
I try my best translating this poem, by no means it's a good transaltion, but you can have an idea of what is about, isn't?. Also I think my english is very bad...sorry

Saturday, November 28, 2009


One week ago, November 20 my grandfather died, i't was a kill you slowly, take your money and run away kind of story, you know that kind of thing that we see on tv about people that you know very well friends, or family doing horrible things for a few coins? it's totally truee!!!! OMG!!!

This "thing" went for almost 4 months and on the last month things just keep geting worst and worst and my family and I basically stop living trying to figured out how to fix this living hell, it doesn't matter anymore, my grandfather didn't make it; in the end he could not speak, eat or breath and he had this look in his face like saying: do something!!

I wish I could say he died fast and painless but he did not.

I still don't get it, this is just! I can't even tell what this is! how is that things like this happen just like that, no justice, no witness no nothing!

Yesterday I start painting again, between that and other problems in my life, I didn't work on my art at all.

Mi abuelo murio el 20 de noviembre del 2009.
My grandfather past away, november 20 of 2009.
11 gatsu nijyu youka Watashi no ojiisan ga shindeshimaimashita.