Blood Wedding and Yerma

  “White swan in the river, the eye of cathedrals, false dawn in the leaves, am I. They cannot hide! Who can escape? Who sobs in the valley's tangle? The moon leaves a knife behind in the air, a lead-coloured trap that seeks blood's cry. Let me in! I come frozen through walls and windows! Open roofs and breasts where I can be warmed! I'm chilled! My ashes of somnolent metals seek the crown of the fire among streets and mountains. But I bring the snow to their shoulders of jasper, and I flood, cold and harsh, the depths of the lakes. But this night my cheeks will be stained with red blood and the reeds clustered in wide swathes of air. I have no shadow, nowhere they can hide!Let me enter a breast where I can be warmed! A heart of my own! Burning! Spilling itself on the hills of my breast; Let me come in! Oh, let me! (To the branches) No shadow. My rays must shine everywhere, and in dark of the trees spread a rumour of dawn, so my cheeks this night will be stained with red blood, and the reeds clustered in wide swathes of air. Who's that hiding! Speak out! No! There's no escape! I'll make the horse gleam with a fever of diamond''

 ‘'The moon is gone, and they are near by. They'll not leave here. The sound of the river will drown in the sound of the trees the broken flight of their cries. It must be here, and soon. I am weary. The chests, and the white sheets ache await on the empty bedroom floors the heavy corpses with slashed throats. Not a bird will stir and the breeze, will sweep the sound of their cries away with her through the black trees, or bury them deep in gleaming mud. The moon! The moon! (Impatiently) The moon! The moon!''

The immortal masterpiece of feverish passion, undying love, treachery, violence, and the sins of the past that can never be redeemed. The greatest sin? Denying ourselves, dreading the power of our deepest feelings.

Federico Garcia Lorca knew human nature like no other, his plays need no introduction. And those of us who have loved against all odds experience his fiery words to the very depths of our souls.
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Μνημειωδης η μετάφραση του μεγάλου Νίκου Γκάτσου, θρυλικό το έργο του αθάνατου Μάνου Χατζιδάκι.

 “Να μη μιλάς και να καίγεσαι, μεγαλύτερη κόλαση δεν υπάρχει. Και τι κέρδισα εγώ με την περηφάνια μου, που σ'απαρατησα ν' αγρυπνας νύχτες ολακερες, χωρίς να σε βλέπω; Τίποτα. Κέρδισα μόνο τη φωτιά που φούντωσε μεγαλύτερη μέσα μου. Εσύ θαρρείς πως ο καιρός μπορεί να γιάνει και τα ντουβάρια να κρύψουν πίσω τους τον καημό, μα είναι ψέματα, ψέματα! Σα φτάσει το μαχαίρι στο κόκκαλο, κανείς δε μπορεί να το βγάλει!”

 “Πουλιά της χαραυγής ξυπνήσαν και φτερουγιζουνε στα δέντρα. Η νύχτα αργοπεθαίνει τώρα πάνου στου λιθαριού την κόψη. Πάμε να βρούμε μια γωνιά όπου θα σ' αγαπώ για πάντα, και δε με νοιάζουν οι άνθρωποι με το φαρμάκι που χύνουν.”