I stumbled upon Lorca’s Poet in New York somewhere along the way, and I felt understood-or at least that there was finally something for me to understand and to hold onto about my experience.
The juxtaposition, and perhaps just my life there at the time, made the place seem lonely and, at times, surreal. One block desolation, one block opulence.
I often wandered around the city with a good friend, walking home late at night after the bars closed, or spending the weekend days roaming the mercurial neighborhoods of the District, taking photos, jotting down lines, and trying to understand the extreme mix of poverty and wealth and power that the city held. I was living on Capitol Hill, in Washington, DC, teaching high school English during the day and college composition classes at night. I fell in love with the poetry of García Lorca about ten years before the publication of the article in The Guardian. I started to imagine what they might cook up in response to their relationship with his poetry. I wanted to talk and think about Lorca with fellow poets. My friend had quoted a beautiful poem along with her posting of the article, as well as a few untranslated lines from Lorca’s “Sleepwalking Ballad”-“ Verde que te quiero verde”-and I knew that he did mean something to many of us. I wondered if Lorca meant as much to my writer friends and their communities. I thought of him in the moment of his death-in a time and place when it was a risk to be a poet.
As if I were reading new details about the tragic death of a dear friend.
When I read that article, I felt a bolt of pain. He was executed for his political beliefs and his “homosexual and abnormal practices.” It was an open secret that he was killed by the right-wing Franco regime, but now, finally, proof. So you might be asking, Why García Lorca? In April of 2015, I read an article a friend had posted online from The Guardian detailing a revelation (based on newly uncovered documents) that Lorca had been killed in 1936 on police orders.
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