Lorca In My Soul

Long Sleeve T-Shirts

Clothing Style:

Joined September 2009

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  • Artwork Comments 1

Sizing Information

Chest 34" 39" 43" 46" 50"
Length 28" 29.5" 31" 32" 32.5"
Sizing chart
Model wears a size L


  • Plain colours are 100% Cotton, Marl/Heathers are 90% Cotton & 10% Polyester
  • Ethically sourced
  • Slim fit, but if that's not your thing, order a size up



Cases & Skins

Home Decor



Artist's Description

Fragments of three poems by Lorca.
(Translation based on J.L.Gili’s)

We begin with the right foot and the ballad
‘Thamar and Amnon’ . . .

The moon revolves in the sky above waterless lands while summer scatters murmurs of tiger and flame.
Over the roofs rang nerves of metal.
Frizzled air drifted with bleatings of wool.
The earth presents itself covered with scars, or shuddering with the intense searing of white lights.

Thamar was dreaming of birds in her throat, to the sound of cool tambourines and moon-drenched citherns.
Her naked body on the eaves, delicate outspread palms, asking for snowflakes on her belly and hail on her shoulders.
Thamar was singing naked on the terrace.
. . . .

We then revolve 90º and cut to
‘The Ballad of the Spanish Civil Guard’ . . .

The horses are black.
The horse-shoes are black.
Ink and wax stains shine on their cloaks.
They have skulls of lead, this is why they do not weep.
With their patent-leather souls they come along the road . . .
(see top left foot)
They pass if they wish to pass, and they hide in their heads a vague astronomy of undefined pistols.

Oh, city of the gipsies!
On the street corners, flags.
The moon and the pumpkin with cherry jam.
Oh, city of the gipsies!
Who that saw you would forget?
City of sorrow and musk, and cinnamon-coloured towers.

When night drew close, night, deep night of nights, the gipsies in their forges shaped suns and arrows.
A mortally wounded horse knocked at all the doors.
Glass cockerels sang in Jerez de la Frontera.
. . . .

Finally a last fragment from
(Perhaps it happened because you did not know your Geometry)

. . . .

He saw his quiet and reclining shadow on the white silk divan.

And the rigid, geometrical lad with a hatchet shattered the mirror.

In the shattering, a great jet of shadow invaded the unreal alcove.

Artwork Comments

desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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