Somewhere in this house is (should be) a hardback first edition (foxed) City Lights pocketbook of the selected poems of Federico Garcia Lorca.
I carried it to Spain and laid it on his desk in his home in town. My tour had to wait for the private visit of a famous bullfighter.
And I had a book dealer and leather worker who made journals cuz he also made paper make a cover for it of Spanish leather.
And I can’t find it.
I’m going to take down my big thick Collected and read every sad poem I can find. Which might take a while. But I have plenty of whiskey and cigarettes.
Ay! Mi precioso libro! Nunca volveremos a Granada en el tiempo de las flores naranjas.
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