Since Federico García Lorca was assassinated in 1936 a little after Civil War in Spain started his figure was controversial about the disappearence of his body and much more about the premonition that he would die assassinated.

            Lorca visited New York in 1929-1930. At that epoch Lorca had a remarkable name amongst the Spanish authors, especially from Southern Spanish regions: Andalucía, Extremadura, Murcia, La Mancha. This is due to the deep attachment for Granada and all other Andalucía’s cities, villages and gents, and for their customs, being these all the Gypsies world, flamenco and bullfighting.

            His period spent in Madrid at the Students Residence supposed to him the most popular name of the group that originated the 27 (1927) Spanish Generation. I had been working in the house were Lorca lived in Madrid, at Alcalá Street where Alcalá’s and Goya’s Streets converge. It was 1973. That was the year when president Carrero Blanco was assassinated. Carrero Blanco had been appointed president of government by filthy and ugly pure shit dictator Franco.

            At home we had Lorca’s Complete Works in one volume. I had read some verses by Lorca already. His six poems in Galician are admirable. After many times looking for Lorca’s body, not until now there has been not a clue that reveals the mystery.

In his book ‘Poet in New York’ Federico García Lorca forsaw his death before it happened seven years later. This is manifest in Fable and Round of the three friends. He says:

I understood they had killed me. They toured cafés and cemeteries and churches. They opened barrels and wardrobes. Destroyed three skeletons to pluck their gold’s teeth. They didn’t find me ever. Did they not? No, they didn’t. But it was known that the sixth moon had fled upstream, and that the sea remembered ¡suddenly! the names of all the drowned.

Of course there can’t be none denying that these verses are Lorca’s own imagination, or was it rather a Lorca’s premonition? Ninety years have gone by and there’s still mystery about his assassination and the disappearence of his body.

In ‘Poet in New York’ there are some verses that I want to divulge here.

Blind Panorama of New York:

I have many times lost myself in searching for the burn that holds things awaken and I had only found sailors leaning on railings and little creatures from heavens buried under the snow.

Well then, waiting that all the people that reads this poem feels sorrow but reflects, I added drunkards and innocents, and it is easy to make them match as if it was so in the Lorca’s original.

In his ‘Poema del Cante Jondo’ has Lorca clarifying verses he entitles Memento:

            When I die,

bury me with my guitar,

under the sand.

            When I die,

amongst the orange trees and the peppermint.

            When I die,

bury me if you want in a vane.

            When I die!

            The library I usually go to in Usera my quarter is called José Hierro. We owe to him a book of poetry: ‘Notebook of New York’, of 1988. The first of the three parts the book has is entitled Deception is great (Engaño es grande). Verses in Deception is great are these José Hierro subtitled Rapsodia en blue:

Please, for love, for charity:

            That someone tells me who I am, if I am, what I am doing here, beggar.

            It may be, who begs like this, any of us.

When Lorca comes to my mind I think that perhaps he had managed to escape from Spain to exile and that I may have known him personally in Buenos Aires.