But what can I say about Poetry? What can I say about these clouds, about this sky? I look, I look, I look at them, I look at it, and that's it. You understand that a poet can't say anything about Poetry. Leave that to the critics and the professors. But neither you, nor I, nor any poet knows what Poetry is. Here, look. I hold fire in my hands. I understand it and work perfectly with it, but I can't talk about it without literature. I understand all poetics; I could talk about them if I didn't change my mind every five minutes. I don't know. Maybe one day I'll like mediocre poetry a lot, just as today I like (we like) mediocre music madly. I'll burn the Pantheon at night, so that I can start raising it in the morning and always leave it unfinished. In my talks I've sometimes spoken about Poetry, I can't talk only about my poetry. And it's not because I don't realize what I'm doing. On the contrary, if it is true that I am a poet thanks to God – or the devil – I am also such thanks to technique and effort, thanks to the fact that I am very well aware of what a poem is.
Federico García Lorca
Federico García Lorca (1898-1936) was a Spanish poet and playwright who, in a career that spanned just 19 years, resurrected and revitalized the most basic strains of Spanish poetry and theatre. He is known primarily for his Andalusian works, including the poetry collections Romancero gitano (1928; Gypsy Ballads) and Llanto por Ignacio Sánchez Mejías (1935; Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías), and the tragedies Bodas de sangre (1933; Blood Wedding), Yerma (1934; Yerma), and La casa de Bernarda Alba (1936; The House of Bernarda Alba). In the early 1930s, Lorca helped inaugurate a second Golden Age of the Spanish theatre. He was executed by a Nationalist firing squad in the first months of the Spanish Civil War.
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