? Loka
The rain fell on San Diego,
My sweet love.
White camellia in the air,
The sun shines in the veil.
As a Spanish poet and a representative of the "27 th generation",
Loka grew up in the country. Although she has been traveling for many years,
But the memory of natural scenery and rural customs still has a great influence on him.
He once said:
He is good at keenly looking for the beauty around him-the beauty of nature, the beauty of the countryside,
Then combine these beauties with faith, longing and loneliness,
It constitutes a very special charm,
Like a silent silence,
It seems to contain everything.
The rain fell on San Diego,
On a dark and cool night.
Dreams and silver blades of grass,
Cover the empty moon.
Beautiful lyrics, accompanied by the elegy style,
He used such words to commemorate the specious past.
Because of the uncertainty of these memories,
So ethereal, blurred and unpredictable;
Because it may be lost at any time,
So mysterious, so melancholy, so sad.
Look at the rain on this street,
Elegy of stone and glass.
Look at this disappearing wind,
The shadows and ashes of your ocean.
His poems show the infinity of reality,
It is precisely because of this infinity that the limitations of language are more prominent.
That is to say, no matter how many metaphors and profound descriptions are used,
We still can't fully capture the reality.
The shadows and ashes of the ocean,
Santiago, you stay away from the sun.
Ancient morning waves,
My heart trembled slightly.
The poet's short poems are very aesthetic.
Simplicity is full of profound interest,
As if trying to hide in the corner,
To see the vastness of the universe.
The ending sentence reminds us to read the poem backwards.
However, back and forth, back and forth,
Elusive, imprecise and undefined,
The mystery and looming,
Amazing, but also worrying,
I can't help but want to pursue more.
However, as described in this short poem-
Being but not knowing, wanting but not having,
For these things, whether concrete or abstract,
You'll never have them—
To be exact,
Your wish was cancelled before it was accurately defined.
So it is doomed to be dissatisfied.
In this respect, the poet takes the form of "absence" as otherization.
Expose things that don't exist,
To show the uncertainties—
Beautiful and terrible uncertainty.
The sky will appear in the wind.
As strong as a wall
Branches will break off from trees.
dance with the wind
one-one
Around the moon
Two to two
Around the sun
Draege Gendre
Until those ivory fall asleep.
Some of lorca's poems have fragments of Chelan style.
It's like chasing unknown pain,
It seems to be fragmented after being torn by ambiguity.
However, behind the great sadness and despair,
Have the power of purification and healing;
Behind the deepening pain or beauty,
It is the poet's cognition of the world.
Remember those poetic unreachable:
A fish swimming alone, the beauty of two Cordobas.
One is broken in the torrent, and the other is dried in the sky.
Remember those seemingly grotesque and serious poems:
When a horse's hooves
Gradually become four echoes,
King David, use scissors.
Cut his harp.
Although his poems are exquisite,
And bring real and imaginable pain:
He is detached and on the sidelines, but he is also thinking about his duties:
Poets are eager to capture reality through words.
To this end, he made many attempts.
However, just as inner wishes are elusive,
The diversity of life is also difficult to explain.
Even if it is obscure, it is true.
But even so,
We are still shocked by the mysterious folk songs in his poems.
Shocked by his early prediction of death,
Even shocked by his death-that was his last creation.
He said,
After contradictions and setbacks, after struggling in difficulties,
The solemnity of his final death is more like a spirit-
The great and immortal spirit belonging to the nation,
It will never be defeated and will remain in history forever.
All this seems to be a response to the poet's words:
In the eternal torrent of time, we believe that,
The night will quietly disperse and the dawn will come.
At a certain node of this long river, we see that,
At dawn, in the open air,
There is a poet who closes his eyes safely;
At that moment,
In nothingness, there seems to be a wind blowing,
Blowing through the stars.
Eternal stars, they do not belong to you. Only the sad wind, only these rotating leaves, do not want to fly away.