Song of the Arid Orange Tree

Woodcutter, woodcutter

Cut me from my shadow,

Free me from the burden

Of seeing myself barren.

 

Why must I live amid these mirrors?

The sun looks down askance

While night comes out to mock me

With every single star

But living without reflection

I’d dream the ants and hawks

Cover my boughs like foliage

And sing in my leaves like birds.

 

Woodcutter, woodcutter

Cut me from my shadow,

Free me from the burden

Of seeing myself barren.

Peter Jukes: translated from Lorca’s Cancion del Naranjo Seco

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