Embedded Files
Teatro Paraguas
October 16, 2011
For Immediate release
What:
“Machado y Lorca”, a bilingual theatrical presentation of the poetry of Antonio Machado and Federico García Lorca, Spain’s two most loved poets.
When & where & how much:
Teatro Paraguas Studio
3221 Richards Lane, Santa Fe
November 11th and 12th at 8:00 pm and November 13th at 2:00 pm
$10 regular, $8 seniors & students, Sunday pay-what-you-wish
and
National Hispanic Cultural Center, Wells Fargo Theater
1701 4th NW, Albuquerque
November 18th and 19th at 8:00 pm and November 20th at 2:00 pm
Admission free
Why:
In Spain, Antonio Machado is the best loved of all poets since the Golden Age. Yet in America he is hardly known, while Federico García Lorca is a name in everyone’s mind. Both poets wrote in the first third of the twentieth century, both wrote plays and acted professionally, and both were strongly influenced by the music of Andalucía in southern Spain. Each admired the other tremendously and each died on the losing side of the Spanish civil war. Their poetry and their lives, however, differed like oil and water: one flammable, one cool. “A las cinco de la tarde” spurs our actors to passion and to action;“Caminante,no hay camino” evokes calm and quiet attention. Teatro Paraguas’ bilingual production (poems acted in the original Spanish with projected or verbal translations) makes the most of this contrast in style.
How:
Our five actors (Paola Vengoechea, Lesley Reveles, Argos MacCallum, John Camacho and Daniel Bohnhorst), with guitarist “El Niño David” Briggs, perform and sing their way through an “embodiment” of the best works of these two poets under the direction of Crawford MacCallum. Crawford says “I am thrilled to have again, as I had for our recent show,‘Jim Sagel, poeta nuevomexicano’, a cast with excellent acting skills as well as an excellent command of the Spanish language. New Mexico is a wonderful place to do this original kind of theater”. Many of Machado’s poems are performed by only one or two actors, while Lorca’s “Romances”, or ballads, are generally portrayed by ensemble acting of the entire cast. Our “theater is the poetry that rises from the page and becomes human,” in the words of Lorca.
Tickets will be available at the door. Reservations are not required but are recommended because of the intimate nature of our venues.
For reservations or information please contact Teatro Paraguas at 505-424-1601 or visit our website athttp://www.teatroparaguas.org. Questions about the show can be directed to Crawford MacCallum at 505-573-9493.
MACHADO
MACHADO
Anoche cuando dormía
Anoche cuando dormía
soñé ¡bendita ilusión!
que una fontana fluía
dentro de mi corazón.
Dí: ¿por qué acequia escondida,
agua, vienes hasta mí,
manantial de nueva vida
en donde nunca bebí?
Anoche cuando dormía
soñé ¡bendita ilusión!
que una colmena tenía
dentro de mi corazón;
y las doradas abejas
iban fabricando en él,
con las amarguras viejas,
blanca cera y dulce miel.
Anoche cuando dormía
soñé ¡bendita ilusión!
que un ardiente sol lucía
dentro de mi corazón.
Era ardiente porque daba
calores de rojo hogar,
y era sol porque alumbraba
y porque hacía llorar.
Anoche cuando dormía
soñé ¡bendita ilusión!
que era Dios lo que tenía
dentro de mi corazón.
Last night while I was sleeping
Last night while I was sleeping
I dreamed - blessed illusion! -
that a fountain was flowing
in the depths of my heart.
Tell me what hidden acequia,
water, brings you to me
with a spring of new life
where I never have drunk?
Last night while I was sleeping
I dreamed - blessed illusion! -
that a bee hive was humming
in the depths of my heart,
and the bright golden bees
were in there contriving
white combs and sweet honey
from all my old pains.
Last night while I was sleeping
I dreamed - blessed illusion! -
that a fiery sun was shining
in the depths of my heart.
It was fiery, because it gave off
heat from a glowing hearth;
it was the sun, because it shone with
light, and it made me weep.
Last night while I was sleeping
I dreamed - blessed illusion! -
that it was God I was holding
in the depths of my heart.
Los ojos
Cuando murió su amada
pensó en hacerse viejo en la mansión cerrada,
solo, con su memoria y el espejo donde ella se miraba un claro día.
Como el oro en el arca del avaro,
pensó que guardaría todo un ayer en el espejo claro.
Ya el tiempo para él no correría.
Mas pasado el primer aniversario,
¿cómo eran--preguntó--, pardos o negros,
sus ojos? ¿Glaucos?...¿Grises?
¿Cómo eran, ¡Santo Dios!, que no recuerdo?...
Salió a calle un día
de primavera, y paseó en silencio
su doble luto, el corazón cerrado...
De una ventana en el sombrío hueco
vio unos ojos brillar. Bajó los suyos
y siguió su camino...¡Como ésos!
Her Eyes
When his beloved died
he thought he'd just grow old,
shut up in the house
alone, with her memory and the mirror
she had looked in one bright day.
Like gold in the miser's chest,
he thought he'd keep
all yesterdays in the clear mirror.
For him time's flow would cease.
But after a year had passed,
he began to wonder about her eyes:
"Were they brown or black? Or green? ...Or grey?
What were they like? Good God! I can't recall..."
One day in spring he left the house
and took his double mourning down the street
in silence, his heart shut tight...
In the dim recess of a window
he caught a flash of eyes. He lowered his
and walked right on... Like those!!
LORCA
LORCA
CANCION DEL NARANJO SECO
Leñador.
Córtame la sombra.
Líbrame del suplicio
de verme sin toronjas.
¿Por qué nací entre espejos?
El día me da vueltas.
Y la noche me copia
en todas sus estrellas.
Quiero vivir sin verme.
Y hormigas y vilanos,
soñaré que son mis
hojas y mis pájaros.
Leñador.
Córtame la sombra.
Líbrame del suplicio
de verme sin toronjas.
SONG OF THE BARREN ORANGE TREE
Woodcutter,
cut down my shadow.
Free me from the torment
of seeing myself fruitless.
Why was I born among mirrors?
Day turns round and round me
and night copies me
with all her stars.
I want to live invisible
and dream
that ants and milkweed
are my leaves and birds.
Woodcutter,
cut down my shadow.
Free me from the torment
of seeing myself fruitless.
BALADILLA DE LOS TRES RIOS
El río Guadalquivir
va entre naranjos y olivos.
Los dos ríos de Granada
bajan de la nieve al trigo.
¡Ay, amor,
que se fue y no vino!
El río Guadalquivir
tiene las barbas granates.
Los dos ríos de Granada
uno llanto y otro sangre.
¡Ay, amor,
que se fue por el aire!
Para los barcos de vela,
Sevilla tiene un camino;
por el agua de Granada
sólo reman los suspiros.
¡Ay, amor,
que se fue y no vino!
Guadalquivir, alta torre
y viento en los naranjales.
Dauro y Genil, torrecillas
muertas sobre los estanques.
¡Ay, amor,
que se fue por el aire!
¡Quién dirá que el agua lleva
un fuego fatuo de gritos!
¡Ay, amor,
que se fue y no vino!
Lleva azahar, lleva olivas,
Andalucía, a tus mares.
¡Ay, amor,
que se fue por el aire!
BALLAD OF THE THREE RIVERS
The river Guadalquivir
flows between orange and olive trees.
The two rivers of Granada
descend from snow to wheat.
Oh love
that left and did not return!
The river Guadalquivir
has garnet whiskers.
The two rivers of Granada:
one of tears, the other of blood.
Oh love
that left through the air!
Seville has a road
for sailing-boats;
only sighs row
on the waters of Granada.
Oh love
that left and did not return!
Guadalquivir, high tower
and wind in the orange groves.
Dauro and GeniI, little towers
dead in the reflecting pools.
Oh love
that left through the air!
Who would guess that the water carries
a will-o'-the-wisp of shouts!
Oh love
that left and did not return.
It carries olives and orange blossoms,
Andalusia, to your seas.
Oh love
that left through the air!
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