Nov 16, 2023
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The thoughts that nested in your folds, where are they now? Where the roses that perfumed both Jesus Christ and Satan
Fredrico Garcia Larca
The moon drops flowers in your hand. A widow, waiting in the dark, escapes you. Only a little tamer than the universe.
Jerome Rothenberg, The Lorca Variations, (1993)
Tonight, I've just been going through some of my old things that are in boxes here at my dad's house. And I came across my script from my school play when I was 16. Fredrico Garcia Lorca's 'Blood Wedding'.
At the time my friends and I performed this play, I honestly feel we were too young to fully understand the pain and the passion of this play. And I know I, being only 16, didn't fully appreciate the incredible beauty of Blood Wedding. And although I held one of the main parts of 'Bride', looking back at it now I don't believe I had experienced enough of this world to be given such a heart breaking role, and do it justice.
I just re-read the entire script, and I was mesmerised. The way Garcia Lorca writes is so beautiful, I currently have no words for the way I feel.
"And I’ll lie at your feet,
Watching over your dreams,
Lying naked on the land;
Like a bitch on heat,
Because that’s what I am,
I look at you and I feel myself burn."
I look at you and I feel myself burn.