Tardará mucho tiempo en nacer, si es que nace,
un andaluz tan claro, tan rico de aventura.
Yo canto su elegancia con palabras que gimen
y recuerdo una brisa triste por los olivos.
It will be a long time before there is born, if ever, an Andalusian so distinguished and rich in adventure. I sing of his elegance in words that moan, and remember a sad breeze among the olive-trees.
This is one of several poems Lorca wrote lamenting the death of his friend Ignacio Sánchez Mejías in a bull-fight in 1934. I find it a befitting elegy for the poet himself who was murdered by Franco’s fascists at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War.
English translation by J.M. Cohen
Arabic translation by Mustafa Ja’far