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F. G. Lorca ❤ Monólogo La Novia Bodas de Sangre 🎧 Voz Aína Neruda
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Feliz fin de semana. En esta tarde de sábado les declamo "Monólogo del personaje de la Novia en la obra de teatro "Bodas de sangre", escrita por Federico García Lorca (1931). Un drama que conmueve y me atreví a recitarlo para todos ustedes. Siempre con el cariño y énfasis que intento en cada poema regalarles. Sean felices. Con todo el cariño de un corazón que habla ❤.
No olviden escuchar con 🎧 Auriculares
Abrazos envueltos de deseos de salud y amistad.
Voz, edición: Aína Neruda.
Imágenes sobrepuestas a mi imaginación.
Federico García Lorca (Fuente Vaqueros, Granada, 5 de junio de 1898-camino de Víznar a Alfacar, Granada, 18 de agosto de 1936) fue un poeta, dramaturgo y prosista español. Adscrito a la generación del 27, fue el poeta de mayor influencia y popularidad de la literatura española del siglo xx y como dramaturgo se le considera una de las cimas del teatro español del siglo xx. Fue asesinado por el bando sublevado un mes después del golpe de Estado que provocó el inicio de la guerra civil española.
Happy weekend, on this Saturday afternoon I declaim to you "Monologue of the character of the Bride in the play "Bodas de sangre", written by Federico García Lorca (1931). A drama that moves and I dared to recite it for everyone You. Always with the affection and emphasis that I try to give you in each poem. Be happy. With all the affection of a heart that speaks.
Don't forget to listen with 🎧 Headphones
Hugs wrapped with wishes for health and friendship.
Voice, editing: Aína Neruda.
Images superimposed on my imagination.
Federico García Lorca (Fuente Vaqueros, Granada, June 5, 1898-road from Víznar to Alfacar, Granada, August 18, 1936) was a Spanish poet, playwright and prose writer. Assigned to the generation of '27, he was the most influential and popular poet in 20th-century Spanish literature and as a playwright he is considered one of the tops of 20th-century Spanish theater. He was assassinated by the rebels a month after the coup d'état that caused the start of the Spanish civil war.
Here I come. Leave her; I have come so that they kill me and that they take me with them. But not with your hands; with wire hooks, with a sickle, and with force, until it breaks in my bones. Leave her! I want her to know that I'm clean, that I'll be crazy, but that they can bury me without any man looking at himself in the whiteness of my breasts. Because I went with the other, I left! You would have gone too. I was a burned woman, full of sores inside and out, and your son was a little bit of water from which I expected children, land, health; but the other was a dark river, full of branches, which brought the rumor of its reeds and its muttered singing closer to me. And I ran with your son who was like a little boy in cold water and the other sent me hundreds of birds that prevented me from walking and that left frost on my wounds as a poor withered woman, as a girl caressed by fire. I didn't want to, listen well! I didn't want to. Your son was my end and I have not deceived him! But the other's arm dragged me like a blow from the sea, like the head of a mule, and it would have dragged me always, always, even if I had been old and all the children of your son they would have grabbed me by the hair. Take revenge on me; here I am! See that my neck is soft; it will cost you less work than mowing a dahlia from your garden. But not that! Honored, honored as a newborn girl. And strong to prove it to you. Light the fire. We are going to put our hands in: you, for your son; me, for my body. You will remove them first."
No olviden escuchar con 🎧 Auriculares
Abrazos envueltos de deseos de salud y amistad.
Voz, edición: Aína Neruda.
Imágenes sobrepuestas a mi imaginación.
Federico García Lorca (Fuente Vaqueros, Granada, 5 de junio de 1898-camino de Víznar a Alfacar, Granada, 18 de agosto de 1936) fue un poeta, dramaturgo y prosista español. Adscrito a la generación del 27, fue el poeta de mayor influencia y popularidad de la literatura española del siglo xx y como dramaturgo se le considera una de las cimas del teatro español del siglo xx. Fue asesinado por el bando sublevado un mes después del golpe de Estado que provocó el inicio de la guerra civil española.
Happy weekend, on this Saturday afternoon I declaim to you "Monologue of the character of the Bride in the play "Bodas de sangre", written by Federico García Lorca (1931). A drama that moves and I dared to recite it for everyone You. Always with the affection and emphasis that I try to give you in each poem. Be happy. With all the affection of a heart that speaks.
Don't forget to listen with 🎧 Headphones
Hugs wrapped with wishes for health and friendship.
Voice, editing: Aína Neruda.
Images superimposed on my imagination.
Federico García Lorca (Fuente Vaqueros, Granada, June 5, 1898-road from Víznar to Alfacar, Granada, August 18, 1936) was a Spanish poet, playwright and prose writer. Assigned to the generation of '27, he was the most influential and popular poet in 20th-century Spanish literature and as a playwright he is considered one of the tops of 20th-century Spanish theater. He was assassinated by the rebels a month after the coup d'état that caused the start of the Spanish civil war.
Here I come. Leave her; I have come so that they kill me and that they take me with them. But not with your hands; with wire hooks, with a sickle, and with force, until it breaks in my bones. Leave her! I want her to know that I'm clean, that I'll be crazy, but that they can bury me without any man looking at himself in the whiteness of my breasts. Because I went with the other, I left! You would have gone too. I was a burned woman, full of sores inside and out, and your son was a little bit of water from which I expected children, land, health; but the other was a dark river, full of branches, which brought the rumor of its reeds and its muttered singing closer to me. And I ran with your son who was like a little boy in cold water and the other sent me hundreds of birds that prevented me from walking and that left frost on my wounds as a poor withered woman, as a girl caressed by fire. I didn't want to, listen well! I didn't want to. Your son was my end and I have not deceived him! But the other's arm dragged me like a blow from the sea, like the head of a mule, and it would have dragged me always, always, even if I had been old and all the children of your son they would have grabbed me by the hair. Take revenge on me; here I am! See that my neck is soft; it will cost you less work than mowing a dahlia from your garden. But not that! Honored, honored as a newborn girl. And strong to prove it to you. Light the fire. We are going to put our hands in: you, for your son; me, for my body. You will remove them first."
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