Opened the Selected verse of Federico Garcia Lorca to this poem:
Capriccio
Behind each mirror
is a dead star
& a baby rainbow
sleeping.
Behind each mirror
is a blank forever
& a nest of sliences
too young to fly.
The mirror is the wellspring
become mummy, closes
like a shell of light
at sunset.
The mirror
is the mother dew,
the book of desiccated
twilights, echo become flesh.
Glad I did.
2 comments:
Lorca's endings always, always get to me. His imagery overwhelms-- Behind each mirror... a dead star and a baby rainbow. Wonderful writer. Thanks for posting this Maggie.
Yes, those were the same lines that stayed with me, Sam, and you're so right about his endings. I just love to pick up a book of poetry I haven't read in awhile and have the page fall open to a poem I need to read.
It's been many moons ago, but I can remember workshopping one of my poems and someone telling me it reminded him of Lorca. I was like, "Wow! Geez--you have made my year! What a compliment!" I usually get the Jane Kenyon comparisons (which I don't mind at all as I admire her work).
Thanks for stopping by, Sam.
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