Dare to Read

March 11, 2011

Two Plays by Federico Garcia Lorca

Filed under: On News — carmenferreiroesteban @ 9:52 pm
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by Carmen Ferreiro-Esteban

 

 

Federico Garcia Lorca was killed in Granada in 1936.

Yet his plays are still very much alive.

One Yerma is playing until March 26 in Leeds, England. See the review here http://www.yorkshireeveningpost.co.uk/lifestyle/arts-entertainment/theatre-reviews/review_yerma_1_3165637

Another great review in The Guardian http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2011/mar/14/yerma-review quotes Lorca as saying theater is “poetry that becomes human enough to talk”.

While Bodas de Sangre (Blood Wedding) opens today, Friday March 11 in NYC performed by the Marvell Repertory Theatre at the Abingdon Theatre Arts Complex (312 West 36th Street 1st Floor). http://offbroadway.broadwayworld.com/article/Marvell_Reps_BLOOD_WEDDING_Opens_Tonight_20110311

See review at http://www.theatermania.com/new-york/reviews/03-2011/blood-wedding_34891.html

December 27, 2010

Garlic for Breakfast-8 by Carmen Ferreiro-Esteban

Welcome again to my paranormal novel Garlic for Breakfast.
If you missed the previous installments, please check below.

 

My cheap violin and my cross, indeed,” Federico said when the song ended, paraphrasing the last line of his poem. “I wrote these words years before I met Becquer and he made me an immortal. I wrote them for a lover long forgotten. But they reflect my feelings for Becquer exactly, on our first winter in Vienna.”

“Becquer made you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Why? Did you ask him to do it?”

“No. I was unconscious when he found me, bleeding through my broken skull and half buried in the ditch that was meant to be my grave. No, I didn’t ask him to change me, but I would have died otherwise.”

“Why didn’t Becquer rescue you before? Before they took you to the countryside?”

“Because Becquer was in Barcelona when he heard of my arrest through the radio. He had to get to Granada first, then wasted more time tracking me down.

“You must understand it was a confusing time that summer of 1936 in Spain. A time of fear and betrayal. And silence, thick as mud. When the fascists came to arrest me at my friend’s house where I was hiding, my friend was reassured I would be freed soon, after my charges had been disproved. And for all he asked, they refused to tell him where they were taking me.

By the time Becquer localized the cell where I had spent the previous day, the cell was empty.

To be continued …

If you missed the previous installments, please check below.

 

To hear Ian Gibson’s talk about Federico’s fate click here