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Friday, 22 November 1985 00:00

Song of the Arid Orange Tree

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Woodcutter, woodcutter
Cut me from my shadow,
Free me from the burden
Of seeing myself barren.

Why must I live amid these mirrors?
The sun looks down askance
While night comes out to mock me
With every single star

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But living without reflection
I'd dream the ants and hawks
Cover my boughs like foliage
And sing in my leaves like birds.

Woodcutter, woodcutter
Cut me from my shadow,
Free me from the burden
Of seeing myself barren.

arid-11

Peter Jukes: translated from Lorca's Cancion del Naranjo Seco

Read 1896 times Last modified on Thursday, 30 October 2014 13:01
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