Federico Garcia Lorca writing on seguiriyas...
...There are songs where the lyrical tremor reaches a point inaccessible to any but a few poets:
The moon has a halo; my love has died.
Cerco tiene la luna; mi amor ha muerto.
There is much more mystery in those two lines than in all the plays of Maeterlinck. Simple, real mystery, sound and healthy, without gloomy forests or rudderless ships. It is the living eternal enigma of death:
The moon has a halo; my love has died.
...Behind these poems lurks a terrible question that has no answer. Our people cross themselves in prayer, look at the stars, and wait in vain for a sign of salvation. The gesture is pathetic but true. And the poem either poses a deep emotional question with no answer, or solves it with death, which is the question of questions.
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