Empieza el llanto <br />de la guitarra. <br />Se rompen las copas <br />de la madrugada. <br />Empieza el llanto <br />de la guitarra. <br />Es inútil <br />callarla. <br />Es imposible <br />callarla. <br />Llora monótona <br />como llora el agua, <br />como llora el viento <br />sobre la nevada. <br />Es imposible <br />callarla. <br />Llora por cosas <br />lejanas. <br />Arena del Sur caliente <br />que pide camelias blancas. <br />Llora flecha sin blanco, <br />la tarde sin mañana, <br />y el primer pájaro muerto <br />sobre la rama. <br />¡Oh guitarra! <br />Corazón malherido <br />por cinco espadas. <br /> <br /> <br />English Translation <br /> <br /> <br />The Guitar <br /> <br />The weeping of the guitar <br />begins. <br />The goblets of dawn <br />are smashed. <br />The weeping of the guitar <br />begins. <br />Useless <br />to silence it. <br />Impossible <br />to silence it. <br />It weeps monotonously <br />as water weeps <br />as the wind weeps <br />over snowfields. <br />Impossible <br />to silence it. <br />It weeps for distant <br />things. <br />Hot southern sands <br />yearning for white camellias. <br />Weeps arrow without target <br />evening without morning <br />and the first dead bird <br />on the branch. <br />Oh, guitar! <br />Heart mortally wounded <br />by five swords.<br /><br />Federico García Lorca<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/la-guitarra-2/
