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Blood Wedding, Bodas de Sangre, Federico Garcia Lorca, introduction, Ֆեդերիկո Գարսիա Լորկա, ԱՐՅԱՆ ՀԱՐՍԱՆԵԿԱՆ
If Romeo + Juliet is the ultimate doomed love story written in English, then Federico Garcia Lorca’s Bodas de Sangre (Blood Wedding) is the equivalent in Spanish. Written 81 years ago, it blows the top of my skull every time I read it (I’ve yet to see it live, for some reason Spanish drama has not caught on in West Michigan, which is odd, considering the amount of migrant labor that works in the farmland around where I live). I am amazed not just because of its savagery, but its poetry. It is surreal in the way the Dadaists were surreal. It’s horrific in the way the first World War scarred an entire generation (Generación del 27). There are several very good translations of the play in English one can read online, however, as far as I know, no one has translated into Armenian, the language of mountains that echoes time.
As with all my attempts at translations, I must apologize for my poor language skills. I am dyslexic and impatient in equal measures. To me it is better to have a bad translation, one that might inspire someone else with better skills than I have to publish something truly amazing, than to have no translation at all. I keep looking for a tutor or mentor who can help me with my Armenian language skills. I suppose one day I might find it (Armenian is gender neutral, there is no “he” or “she,” just the word “na”) and until then I will keep posting my attempts at translation.
For the record, if anyone wants a much better version of the play, please consider reading Langston Hughes’ 1938 translation (published two years after my dear Federico was murdered by fascists in the opening days of the Spanish Civil War). As the old song goes, “por mi Diosa, el amor que el amado.” Indeed, how can I not be not amazed at such wonderful words?
Langston Hughes did this? What did he not get his fingers into up there in Harlem?
Never heard of this, and have never read Romeo and Juliet…cultural heathen that I am. My rebellion against being told to read something in school strikes again. Read Numbers in the Dark by Italo Calvino, if i recall. Got something out of that class.
Later…
Yes, school does have a way of making most run screaming from the room any time Shakespeare is mentioned. How odd that the very people who dedicate their lives teaching literature routinely do such a terrible job that I’m amazed anyone touches it at all. History was like that for me. The idea of memorizing names and dates felt like torture.
I’ve read so few classics for that reason, and people wonder how anyone can become an English professor not reading any commonly assigned classic besides “Heart of Darkness.” Cause we assign it, then randomly award grades on whether we like students or not…simple.
Later…
Haha! So that’s the way my academic universe really worked? It actually makes lovely sense now that I’m thinking about it (and it seems a miracle I graduated). I’m still not sure what one can do with a master’s degree in poetry (though to be fair my brother has an even more useless MFA in experimental animation, so, as the British would say, Bob’s your uncle)
Haha! So that’s the way my academic universe really worked? It actually makes lovely sense now that I’m thinking about it (and it seems a miracle I graduated). I’m still not sure what one can do with a master’s degree in poetry (though to be fair my brother has an even more useless MFA in experimental animation, so, as the British would say, Bob’s your uncle)
It is a simple process…be amusing and nod head continually.
Later…
I tried that once. I ended up giggling so much at all my own jokes that the effect was lost.