Translation of Federico Garcia Lorca
Green I want you green,
Green wind. Green branches.
The boat out on the sea
and the horse upon the mountain.
With darkness on her waist
she dreams on her veranda,
green flesh, green hair
with eyes of silver cold.
Green I want you green.
Beneath the moon of gypsies,
the things are watching her
and she cannot watch them back.
Green I want you green.
Great stars of frost
arrive with the fish of darkness
that opens the way to dawn.
The fig tree rubs its wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the mountain, cat burglar,
bristles its bitter hisses.
But who will come? And from where...?
She is still at her rail,
green flesh, green hair,
dreaming of the bitter sea.
“Compadre, I want to trade
my horse for your address,
my saddle for your reflection,
my dagger for your covering.
Compadre, I come bleeding,
from the haven of Cabra.”
“If I could, young man,
I would seal this deal.
But I am no more me,
nor is my home no more my home.”
“Compadre, I wish to die
decently in my bed.
Of steel, if possible,
with sheets of Holland linen.
Don’t you see the wound I have
from my chest up to my throat?”
“Three hundred blackened roses
carried on your white shirt.
Your blood oozes and reeks
around your sash.
But I am no more me,
nor is my home no more my home.”
“Let me rise at least
to the highest rail;
Let me climb! Let me,
up to the green balconies.
Railings of the moon
that reverberate with water.”
Now the two companions climb
toward the highest railings.
Leaving a trail of blood.
Leaving a trail of tears.
Trembling on the rooftops
were lampposts of tin.
A million tambourines of crystal
injured the new morning.
Green I want you green,
green wind, green branches.
The two companions climbed.
The long wind left behind
a rare taste in the mouth
of bile, mint and basil.
“Compadre! Where is she, tell me?
Where is your bitter girl?”
“How many times she’d wait for you!
How many times she waited,
fresh face, black hair,
on this green balcony!”
On the face of the cistern
the gypsy sways.
Green flesh, green hair,
with eyes of silver cold.
An icicle moon
holds her over the water.
Intimate became the night
like a hidden little plaza.
Drunken Civil Guards
were beating on the door.
Green I love you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The boat out on the sea
and the horse upon the mountain.
