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32744Re: Lorca quote

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  • doybia
    Aug 7, 2007
      I realized that I was still a bit puzzled and spotted the problem: a
      new vocabulary word: duende

      Here is what I found when I went searching:

      Duende like art itself has faces that are both appealing and
      dangerous. It can be dark and hard to pin down.
      Coming from southern Spain, "Duende" has only recently migrated to
      English. Dictionaries give meanings sometimes at odds with each

      The New Oxford English Dictionary gives:

      1. A ghost, an evil spirit; 2. Inspiration, magic, fire.

      The Random House Dictionary gives:

      1. A goblin, demon, spirit; 2. Charm, magnetism.

      The Larousse Spanish-English Dictionary translates duende as Goblin,
      elf, imp/Magic. It gives the usages: los duendes del Flamenco, the
      Magic of Flamenco; tener duende, to have a certain magic.

      We take our cue from the great Spanish poet, Federico Garcia Lorca.
      He gave a famous lecture on La Teoria y Juego del Duende – The
      Theory and Function of Duende. Lorca says:

      "All through Andalusia . . . people speak constantly of duende, and
      recognize it with unfailing instinct when it appears. The wonderful
      flamenco singer El Lebrijano said: `When I sing with duende, no one
      can equal me.' . . . Manuel Torres, a man with more culture in his
      veins than anybody I have known, when listening to Falla play his
      own `Nocturno del Genaralife,' made his splendid pronouncement: `All
      that has dark sounds has duende.' And there is no greater truth.

      "These dark sounds are the mystery, the roots thrusting into the
      fertile loam known to all of us, ignored by all of us, but from
      which we get what is real in art. . . .

      "Thus duende is a power and not a behavior, it is a struggle and not
      a concept. I have heard an old master guitarist say: `Duende is not
      in the throat; duende surges up from the soles of the feet.' Which
      means it is not a matter of ability, but of real live form; of
      blood; of ancient culture; of creative action."

      So we have taken the name DUENDE in order to honor Lorca's dark
      creative force. Duende is there to challenge us to keep our ears
      open to the `dark sounds,' to keep our touch with the earth and with
      the ghosts of those who have come before, to never refuse the
      struggle which is needed to keep the spirits working on the side of

      --- In anthroposophy_tomorrow@yahoogroups.com, "write3chairs"
      <write3chairs@...> wrote:
      > --- In anthroposophy_tomorrow@yahoogroups.com, "doybia" wrote:
      > > Could you provide a bit more background
      > > for this quote? My curiosity is piqued!
      > Absolutely! Deborah, I am glad you asked. It is from a book I have
      > mentioned here before, "The Demon and the Angel," by Edward
      Hirsch. I
      > found it in a chapter titled "Night Work." Here is the entire
      > paragraph of that chapter:
      > There is consolation in the idea that the dark night of the soul
      is the
      > duende's special province. Lorca declares, "The muse of Góngora
      and the
      > angel of Garcilaso must let go of their laurel garlands when the
      > of St. John the Cross comes by" (Deep Song). Saint John's subject
      > spiritual negation and mystical union, the self alarmed and
      > utterly, so desolate, so desperate in its crying out, so abject in
      > need for a savior that it signals a transfiguration. We are moving
      > the realm of the self lost and found and lost again, the realm of
      > sacred. The dark night is a holy hour when the spirit comes to
      > John as an erotic visitation, a saving grace, a sovereign hand
      > wounds. He is "inflamed by love's desire." He is filled and
      > out. Here are the conclusive three stanzas of "Dark Night," in
      > Bidart's spirited rendition:
      > As he lay sleeping on my sleepless
      > breast, kept from the beginning for him
      > alone, lying on the gift I gave
      > as the restless
      > fragrant cedars moved the restless winds,--
      > winds from the circling parapet circling
      > us as I lay there touching and lifting his hair,--
      > with his sovereign hand, he
      > wounded my neck--
      > and my senses, when they touched that, touched nothing...
      > In a dark night (there where I
      > lost myself,--) as I leaned to rest
      > in his smooth white breast, everything
      > ceased
      > and left me, forgotten in the grave of forgotten lilies.
      > ---
      > Jennifer
      > > DeborahK
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