Federico García Lorca in Cuba
On the 4th of March, 1930 Federico García Lorca left New York, the city that inspired his darkest poems full of horror, death, disenfranchisement, disgust, and denunciation. His destination was Cuba, where the scholar Fernando Ortiz, then president of the Hispanic-American Institute of Culture invited him to give a series of lectures. The invitation had come about in New York the year before when Lorca met Ortiz there.
Lorca travelled by train to Tampa, then caught a boat to Havana. The relief of leaving behind “shameless, savage North America” was immense. In a talk Lorca gave in 1932, he remembered his arrival on March 7, 1930:
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El barco se aleja y comienzan a llegar, palma y canela, los perfumes de la América con raíces, la América de Dios, la América española. ¿Pero qué es esto? ¿Otra vez España? ¿Otra vez la Andalucía mundial? Es el amarillo de Cádiz con un grado más, el rosa de Sevilla tirando a carmín y el verde de Granada con una leve fosforescencia de pez.
La Habana surge entre cañaverales y ruido de maracas, cornetas chinas y marimbas. Y en el puerto, ¿quién sale a recibirme? Sale la morena Trinidad de mi niñez, aquella que se paseaba por el muelle de La Habana, por el muelle de La Habana paseaba una mañana.*. Y salen los negros con sus ritmos que yo descubro típicos del gran pueblo andaluz, negritos sin drama que ponen los ojos en blanco y dicen: «Nosotros somos latinos». |
The boat got closer and the smell of palm and cinnamon arrived, the perfumes of the Americas with their roots, the America of God, the Spanish America. But what’s this? Again Spain? Again Universal Andalusia? It’s a bit stronger than Cadiz’s yellow, Seville’s pink turning rose and Granada’s green with a phosphorescence somewhat reminiscent of fish.
Among the groves of bamboo Havana emerges as does the sound of maracas, Chinese horns and marimbas. And who comes to welcome me at the port? The dark Trinidad of my childhood, ‘the one who went strolling one morning along the quay in Havana, along the quay in Havana one morning went strolling.’ * And here come the Blacks with their rhythms which I have suddenly come to realize come from our great Andalusia—friendly Blacks without anguish, who reveal the whites of their eyes and say: ‘We are Latinos.’ |
*Quotation from an habanera Lorca had learned to sing as a child.
This first, rhapsodic impression of Cuba never dissipated. The Cuban poet Juan Marinello, who befriended Lorca, recalled in his memoir García Lorca en Cuba that the Spanish poet told him more than once that his stay in Cuba was pure joy. “There were reasons for this, “wrote Marinello. “It was a beautiful time for Federico who delighted in the acclaim accorded him, in the knowledge he possessed of [Cuba’s] authentic depth.”
Unlike in New York, where Lorca felt distanced from the culture and the people, Cuba was warm and welcoming. The lectures he gave on “The mechanics of poetry,” Luis de Gongora and the cante jondo were all very well received. He was feted nightly; the press reported assiduously on his talks and his daily doings; he was, in short, a star.
By all accounts, Cuba delighted him from the moment he arrived until the day he left for Spain. Not only did he give important talks and hobnob with writers and intellectuals, he loved wandering the streets where he was greeted warmly by everyone from the baker to the flower seller to the street musicians. The music, that streamed from every café and open window, completely overwhelmed and enchanted him. Indeed, the music of the island was so powerful that the only known poem Lorca wrote in Cuba was a tribute to Afro-Cuban music. The particular musical form he was most taken with was the Afro-Latin-American ‘son.” Within days of his arrival he became acquainted with the very best soneros who happily allowed him to play their instruments, mostly of African origin.
Nearly every night the poet took in the music in the Marianao district of Havana. At the end of April 1930, just before going to Santiago, he wrote this poem, simply entitled “Son de Santiago de Cuba.” It was first published simply as “Son” in April/May 1930 in the Cuban magazine Musicalia.
Unlike in New York, where Lorca felt distanced from the culture and the people, Cuba was warm and welcoming. The lectures he gave on “The mechanics of poetry,” Luis de Gongora and the cante jondo were all very well received. He was feted nightly; the press reported assiduously on his talks and his daily doings; he was, in short, a star.
By all accounts, Cuba delighted him from the moment he arrived until the day he left for Spain. Not only did he give important talks and hobnob with writers and intellectuals, he loved wandering the streets where he was greeted warmly by everyone from the baker to the flower seller to the street musicians. The music, that streamed from every café and open window, completely overwhelmed and enchanted him. Indeed, the music of the island was so powerful that the only known poem Lorca wrote in Cuba was a tribute to Afro-Cuban music. The particular musical form he was most taken with was the Afro-Latin-American ‘son.” Within days of his arrival he became acquainted with the very best soneros who happily allowed him to play their instruments, mostly of African origin.
Nearly every night the poet took in the music in the Marianao district of Havana. At the end of April 1930, just before going to Santiago, he wrote this poem, simply entitled “Son de Santiago de Cuba.” It was first published simply as “Son” in April/May 1930 in the Cuban magazine Musicalia.
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Son
(A Don Fernando Ortiz) Cuando llegue la luna llena iré a Santiago de Cuba, iré a Santiago, en un coche de agua negra. Iré a Santiago. Cantarán los techos de palmera. Iré a Santiago. Cuando la palma quiere ser cigüefla, iré a Santiago. Y cuando quiere ser medusa el plátano, iré a Santiago. Iré a Santiago con la rubia cabeza de Fonseca. Iré a Santiago. Y con la rosa de Romeo y Julieta iré a Santiago. ¡Oh Cuba! ¡Oh ritmo de semillas secas! Iré a Santiago. ¡Oh cintura caliente y gota de madera! Iré a Santiago. ¡Arpa de troncos vivos, caimán, flor de tabaco! Iré a Santiago. Siempre he dicho que yo iría a Santiago en un coche de agua negra. Iré a Santiago. Brisa y alcohol en las ruedas, iré a Santiago. Mi coral en la tiniebla, iré a Santiago. El mar ahogado en la arena, iré a Santiago, calor blanco, fruta muerta, iré a Santiago. ¡Oh bovino frescor de cañaveras calaveras! ¡Oh Cuba! ¡Oh curva de suspiro y barro! Iré a Santiago. |
Son
(To Don Fernando Ortiz) When the full moon rises I’ll go to Santiago de Cuba, I’ll go to Santiago In a coach of black water. I’ll go to Santiago. The palm roofs will sing. I’ll go to Santiago When the palm tree wants to be a stork, I’ll go to Santiago. And when the banana wants to be a jellyfish, I will go to Santiago. I will go to Santiago with the lionine head of Fonseca. I will go to Santiago. And with the rose of Romeo y Julieta * I will go to Santiago. Oh Cuba! Oh rhythm of dry seeds! I will go to Santiago. Oh hot waist and chip of wood! I will go to Santiago. Harp of living trunks, alligators, tobacco flowers! I will go to Santiago. I've always said that I would go to Santiago in a coach of black water. I will go to Santiago. Alcohol breeze in the wheels, I will go to Santiago. My coral in the penumbra, I will go to Santiago. The ocean drowned in the sand, I will go to Santiago, White heat, dead fruit, I will go to Santiago. Oh the bovine freshness of reed rows! Oh Cuba! Oh curve of sighs and clay! I will go to Santiago. |
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*Fonseca and Romeo y Julieta are references to the famous Cuban cigars, particularly their boxes and cigar wrappers that Lorca’s father smoked.
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While this appears to be the only poem that Lorca actually wrote in Cuba, he likely also worked on revising some of the poems that would later appear in Poeta en Nueva York. Juan Marinello has reproduced what seems to be a first draft of Lorca’s famous poem Poema Doble del Lago Eden. It is notable for its more personal tone, in which Lorca’s anguish is not nearly as disguised as in the version later printed in the posthumously published volume. In the draft Lorca gave to Marinello , we can see that entire stanzas were removed from the published poem, and a fair amount of phrasing was changed. Whether Lorca made these changes subsequently to writing the poem, or whether the alterations were done by the first editor of Poeta en Nueva York, José Bergamín, is unknown. Below we give the version entrusted to Marinello. Italics indicate lines and phrases that were stricken from the version published in book form.
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Poema Doble del Lago Edem
Nuestro Ganado pace. El Viento espira. —Garcilaso Era mi voz antigua ignorante de los densos jugos amargos la que vino lamiendo mis pies sobre los frágiles helechos mojados. ¡Ay voz antigua de mi amor! ¡Ay voz de mi verdad! Voz de mi abierto costado cuando todas las rosas brotaban de mi saliva y el césped no conocía la impasible dentadura del caballo. ¡Ay, voz antigua que todos tenemos, pero que todos olvidamos, sobre el hombro de la hora, en las últimas expresiones en los espejos de los otros y en el juego del tiro al blanco. Estás bebiendo mi sangre bebiendo mi amor de niño pasado mientras mis ojos se quiebran en el viento con el aluminio y las voces de los soldados. Dejadme salir por la puerta cerrada donde Eva come hormigas y Adán fecunda peces… Déjame salir hombrecillo de los cuernos al bosque de los desperezas y los alegrísimos saltos. Yo sé el uso más secreto que tiene un viejo alfiler oxidado y sé del horror de unos ojos despiertos sobre la superficie concreta del plato. Pero no quiero mundo ni sueño, voz divina quiero mi libertad. Mi amor humano en el rincón más oscuro de la tierra que nadie quiera con mi nativo desprecio del arte y la correcta ley del canto. _______________________________________ Esos perros marinos se persiguen y el viento acecha troncos descuidados. ¡Ay, voz antigua, quema con tu lengua esta voz de hojalata y de talco! Quiero llorar porque me da la gana como lloran los niños del último banco porque yo no soy un poeta, ni un hombre ni una hoja pero sí un pulso herido que ronda las cosas del otro lado. Quiero llorar diciendo mi nombre Federico García Lorca, a la orilla de este lago para decir mi verdad de hombre de sangre matando en mí la burla y la sugestión del vocablo. Aquí frente al agua en extremo desnuda busco mi libertad, mi amor humano no el vuelo que tendré, luz o cal viva, mi presente en acecho sobre la bola del aire alucinado. Poesía pura, Poesía impura. Vana pirueteada, periódico desgarrado. Torre de salitre donde se entrechocan las palabras y aurora lisa que flota con la angustia de lo exacto. No. No. Yo no pregunto. Yo deseo. Voz mía libertada que me lames las manos. En mi laberinto de biombos es mi desnudo el que recibe la luna de castigo y el reloj encenizado. Aquí me quedo solo, hombrecillo de la cresta con la voz que es mi hijo. Esperando no la vuelta al rubor y al primer gusto de la alcoba pero sí mi moneda de sangre que entre todos me habéis quitado. Así hablaba yo cuando Saturno detuvo los trenes y la bruma y el sueño y la muerte me estaban buscando allí donde mugen las vacas que tienen rojas patitas de paje. Y allí donde flota mi cuerpo sobre los equilibrios contrarios. |
Double Poem of Lake Edem
Our Cattle graze, the Wind breathes.—Garcilaso It was my ancient voice ignorant of the dense, bitter juice the one that came lapping at my feet over the moist and fragile ferns. Ay, ancient voice of my love! Ay, voice of my truth! Ay, voice of my split side, when all the roses spilled from my spit and the grass hadn’t known the passive teeth of a horse. Ay, ancient voice that we all have but that we all forget around the time of the last expressions in the mirrors of others and in the target shoot. You are drinking my blood, drinking the love I have for the child I was while my eyes are shattered in the wind with aluminium and the voices of soldiers Let me leave through the closed door where Eve eats ants and Adam seeds the dazzling fish… Let me return, little horned man to the forest of the agile and happy leaps. I know the most secret use that an old rusty blade keeps, I know the horror of eyes wide open on the concrete surface of a platter. I do not want world nor dream, divine voice, I want my freedom, my human love in earth’s darkest corner that no one wants with my natural contempt for art and the correct law of song. ________________________________ These sea-dogs chase each other and the wind lies in ambush for careless tree trunks. Ay ancient voice, let your tongue burn this voice of tin and talc! I want to cry because I feel like it the way children seated in the last row cry, Because I am not a man, nor a poet nor a leaf only a wounded pulse that circles things of the other side. I want to cry speaking my name Federico García Lorca, on the shore of this lake to speak my truth as a man of blood killing within me the tricks and twists of the word. Here at the edge, naked, facing the water I seek my freedom, my human love Not the flight I’ll have, light or quicklime, my present lying in wait on a ball of hallucinated air. Pure poetry. Impure poetry. Pirouetted vanity, ripped newspaper. Saltpeter tower where words collide And the smooth dawn glides with the anguish of the exact. No. No. I’m not asking. I desire my liberated voice that you should lap my hands. In my labyrinth of screens it is my nakedness that receives the punishing moon and the ash-covered clock. Here I remain alone, a little man on the crest of the voice that is my child. Not waiting for blushing to return or the first taste of the bedroom but instead for the precious blood coin you took from me. I was speaking that way when Saturn stopped the trains and fog and dream and death were looking for me. there, where cattle with red duck feet low. And there where my body floats among opposing equilibriums. |
Lorca left Cuba on the 18th of June, 1930. On taking his leave he told his Cuban friends: “Aquí he pasado los mejores días de mi vida”. (“Here I have spent the best days of my life.”)
Cuban Heritage Collection, Federico Garcia Lorca Papers