“Arbolé, arbolé . . .”

Today’s poetry post is in honor of Joyce Wilson (1924-2014), who studied Spanish and French literature and was a writer herself.

I love this poem, called “Arbolé, arbolé” after its first line, by Federico García Lorca; it’s deceptively simple, almost fable-like in its repetition and use of color. But what is the “grey arm of the wind” around her waist? Does it hold her back? Protect her? Why this girl? As with so many others, I have more questions than answers about this poem.

I hope you’ve all had a wonderful holiday with family, friends, and happy reading.

4 thoughts on ““Arbolé, arbolé . . .”

  1. Another memorial poem might be Hermann Hesse’s “Beim Schlafengehen” (On Going to Sleep); immortalized as the first entry of Richard Strauss’ last composition, “Four Last Songs .”

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