Horizon

From above the green mist
old sun plunges down
sans sunrays

And the shadowy shore
dreams in time to a boat
& a bell you can't miss
joins its sorrows.

In my leftover soul
there's the sound of a small
silver drum.

—Federico García Lorca, Six Songs at Nightfall: Horizon

I thumbed through the book for a while to find a good poem to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the poet's death (his murder, actually, and by the way, thanks Literanista), but of course, I write it here now to celebrate his life, and the music within. What beautiful things he sings. You can begin reading a book of his with, perhaps, death in your thoughts—and even some of his work dances with the subject—but you will set it down with light and magic in your mind. I promise you that.

Aside from the Collected Poems book that I pulled this one from, I have a fondness for his A Poet in New York, (a gift from my father years ago) which I'd like to think helped prepare me a bit for that mad, beautiful, cold city when I moved there in 1998...but I doubt anything can really prepare you for that place, eh?

Here's to you, Federico. You have swept beauty into every dozing oyster on the island.