Thinking today about Lorca’s empty grave.
“I understood they had assasinated me.
They scoured the cafés and the graveyards and the churches,
they opened the casks and the closets,
they destroyed three skeletons to pull out their gold teeth.
They still didn’t find me.
They didn’t find me?
No, they didn’t find me.”
Here is a song to listen to while thinking about Lorca’s empty grave:
(Translations mine from the Spanish text of the bilingual edition: Lorca, Frederico Garcia. “Death Mask” and “Fable and Round of the Three Friends,” in Poeta en Nueva York. Translated by Pablo Medina, Mark Statman, and los Herederos de Frederico Garcia Lorca. New York: Grove Press, 2008.)