Sleepwalker Ballad
Green how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With shadows at her waist
she dreams at her railing,
green flesh, green hair,
with cold silver eyes.
Green how I want you green.
Under the gypsy moon
all things are watching her,
and she can’t see them.
Green how I want you green.
Big stars of frost
arrive with the fish of shadows
that clear the way for daybreak.
The fig tree scrapes the wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the mountain, crafty cat,
bristles its acrid agave.
But who will come? And from where…?
She stays at the railing
green flesh, green hair,
dreaming of the bitter sea.
—Friend, I want to swap
my horse for your house,
my saddle for your mirror,
my knife for your blanket.
Friend, I come bleeding
from the gates of Cabra.
Kid, if I could,
the deal would be done.
But I’m no longer I,
and my house is no longer my house.
—Friend, I want to die
decently, in my bed.
One of iron, if possible,
with Holland cloth sheets.
Don’t you see this wound I’ve got
from my chest up to my throat?
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With shadows at her waist
she dreams at her railing,
green flesh, green hair,
with cold silver eyes.
Green how I want you green.
Under the gypsy moon
all things are watching her,
and she can’t see them.
Green how I want you green.
Big stars of frost
arrive with the fish of shadows
that clear the way for daybreak.
The fig tree scrapes the wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the mountain, crafty cat,
bristles its acrid agave.
But who will come? And from where…?
She stays at the railing
green flesh, green hair,
dreaming of the bitter sea.
—Friend, I want to swap
my horse for your house,
my saddle for your mirror,
my knife for your blanket.
Friend, I come bleeding
from the gates of Cabra.
Kid, if I could,
the deal would be done.
But I’m no longer I,
and my house is no longer my house.
—Friend, I want to die
decently, in my bed.
One of iron, if possible,
with Holland cloth sheets.
Don’t you see this wound I’ve got
from my chest up to my throat?
—Your white shirt wears
three hundred maroon roses.
Your blood oozes and reeks
all around your sash.
But I’m no longer I,
and my house is no longer my house.
—Let me climb at least
up to the high railings;
Let me climb! let me
go up to the green railings.
Rails of the moon
where the water resounds.
Now the two friends climb
toward the high railings.
Leaving a trail of blood.
Leaving a trail of tears.
Tin lanterns
trembled on the rooftops.
A thousand crystal tambourines
struck the dawn.
Green how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The two friends climbed.
The long wind left behind
a rare taste in the mouth,
of bile, of mint and basil.
Friend! Where is she, tell me,
where is your bitter girl?
How many times she waited for you!
How many times she would wait for you,
fresh face, black hair,
at this green railing!
Over the cistern’s face
the gypsy girl was rocking.
Green flesh, green hair,
with cold silver eyes.
An icicle from the moon
holds her above the water.
The night turned intimate
as a little plaza.
Drunk Civil Guards
beat on the door.
Green how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
Translation by Jack Hayes
© 2017
The video gives a reading of Lorca’s original Spanish
language poem. “Romance Somnambulo” is often sung as a flamenco piece.
Árboles de Alsasua: Aureliano de Beruete, 1876.
Public domain.
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