{"id":5887,"date":"2016-04-27T12:02:46","date_gmt":"2016-04-27T09:02:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/?p=5887"},"modified":"2016-04-27T12:03:50","modified_gmt":"2016-04-27T09:03:50","slug":"preciosa-y-el-aire","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/?p=5887","title":{"rendered":"Preciosa Y El Aire"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"24320\"<\/a><\/p>\n

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Preciosa Y El Aire
\nSu luna de pergamino
\nPreciosa tocando viene
\npor un anfibio sendero
\nde cristales y laureles.
\nEl silencio sin estrellas,
\nhuyendo del sonsonete,
\ncae donde el mar bate y canta
\nsu noche llena de peces.
\nEn los picos de la sierra
\nlos carabineros duermen
\nguardando las blancas torres
\ndonde viven los ingleses.
\nY los gitanos del agua
\nlevantan por distraerse,
\nglorietas de caracolas
\ny ramas de pino verde.
\n*
\nSu luna de pergamino
\nPreciosa tocando viene.
\nAl verla se ha levantado
\nel viento que nunca duerme.
\nSan Cristobal\u00f3n desnudo,
\nlleno de lenguas celestes,
\nmira la ni\u00f1a tocando
\nuna dulce gaita ausente.
\nNi\u00f1a, deja que levante
\ntu vestido para verte.
\nAbre en mis dedos antiguos
\nla rosa azul de tu vientre.
\n*
\nPreciosa tira el pandero
\ny corre sin detenerse.
\nEl viento-hombr\u00f3n la persigue
\ncon una espada caliente.
\nFrunce su rumor el mar.
\nLos olivos palidecen.
\nCantan las flautas de umbr\u00eda
\ny el liso gong de la nieve.
\n\u00a1Preciosa, corre, Preciosa,
\nque te coge el viento verde!
\n\u00a1Preciosa, corre, Preciosa!
\n\u00a1M\u00edralo por d\u00f3nde viene!
\nS\u00e1tiro de estrellas bajas
\ncon sus lenguas relucientes.
\n*
\nPreciosa, llena de miedo,
\nentra en la casa que tiene,
\nm\u00e1s arriba de los pinos,
\nel c\u00f3nsul de los ingleses.
\nAsustados por los gritos
\ntres carabineros vienen,
\nsus negras capas ce\u00f1idas
\ny los gorros en las sienes.
\nEl ingl\u00e9s da a la gitana
\nun vaso de tibia leche,
\ny una copa de ginebra
\nque Preciosa no se bebe.
\nY mientras cuenta, llorando,
\nsu aventura a aquella gente,
\nen las tejas de pizarra
\nel viento, furioso, muerde.<\/p>\n

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Federico Garc\u00eda Lorca
\n………………………………………………..<\/p>\n

The gypsy and the wind<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Playing her parchment moon
\nPreciosa comes
\nalong a watery path of laurels and crystal lights.
\nThe starless silence, fleeing
\nfrom her rhythmic tambourine,
\nfalls where the sea whips and sings,
\nhis night filled with silvery swarms.
\nHigh atop the mountain peaks
\nthe sentinels are weeping;
\nthey guard the tall white towers
\nof the English consulate.
\nAnd gypsies of the water
\nfor their pleasure erect
\nlittle castles of conch shells
\nand arbors of greening pine.<\/p>\n

Playing her parchment moon
\nPreciosa comes.
\nThe wind sees her and rises,
\nthe wind that never slumbers.
\nNaked Saint Christopher swells,
\nwatching the girl as he plays
\nwith tongues of celestial bells
\non an invisible bagpipe.<\/p>\n

Gypsy, let me lift your skirt
\nand have a look at you.
\nOpen in my ancient fingers
\nthe blue rose of your womb.<\/p>\n

Preciosa throws the tambourine
\nand runs away in terror.
\nBut the virile wind pursues her
\nwith his breathing and burning sword.<\/p>\n

The sea darkens and roars,
\nwhile the olive trees turn pale.
\nThe flutes of darkness sound,
\nand a muted gong of the snow.<\/p>\n

Preciosa, run, Preciosa!
\nOr the green wind will catch you!
\nPreciosia, run, Preciosa!
\nAnd look how fast he comes!
\nA satyr of low-born stars
\nwith their long and glistening tongues.<\/p>\n

Preciosa, filled with fear,
\nnow makes her way to that house
\nbeyond the tall green pines
\nwhere the English consul lives.<\/p>\n

Alarmed by the anguished cries,
\nthree riflemen come running,
\ntheir black capes tightly drawn,
\nand berets down over their brow.<\/p>\n

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Federico Garcia Lorca<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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