Seville Is A Tower Full Of Fine

Theatre Is Poetry That Rises From The Book And Becomes Human Enough To Talk And Shout, Weep And Despair

Variación / Variations El Remanso De Aire Bajo La Rama Del Eco. El Remanso Del Agua Bajo Fronda De Luceros. El Remanso De Tu Boca Bajo Espesura De Besos. * The Still Waters Of The Air Under The Bough Of The Echo. The Still Waters Of The Water Under A Frond Of Stars. The Still Waters Of Your Mouth Under A Thicket Of Kisses. Translated From The Spanish By Lysander Kemp

Hail, Mute Devil! You Are The Most Intense Animal. An Eternal Mystic Of The Fleshly Inferno.

We're All Like The Little Sailor. From The Harbors We Hear The Strains Of Accordions And The Murky Soapy Noises Of The Docks, From The Mountains We Receive The Dish Of Silence That The Shepherds Eat, But We Don't Hear More Than Our Own Distances. And What Distances Without End And Without Doors And Without Mountains!

The Weeping Of The Guitar Begins. The Goblets Of Dawn Are Smashed. The Weeping Of The Guitar Begins. Useless To Silence It. Impossible To Silence It. It Weeps Monotonously As Water Weeps As The Wind Weeps Over Snowfields. Impossible To Silence It. It Weeps For Distant Things. Hot Southern Sands Yearning For White Camellias. Weeps Arrow Without Target Evening Without Morning And The First Dead Bird On The Branch. Oh, Guitar! Heart Mortally Wounded By Five Swords.