Review of The Rabble’s Cageling by Alison Croggon, originally posted on her blog, Theatre Notes:
Few poets write of desire with such passionate delicacy as Federico García Lorca. Lyric, erotic and savage, his poems celebrate the anguish of absence, the bittersweet longing for what cannot be possessed. When he writes of his home city Granada, he imagines an ideal beauty, the “spiritual colour” which Andalusia woke within him. This beauty exists within and beyond the “poor cowardly city”, the “miser’s paradise” that contains “the worst bourgeoisie in all Spain”, of which he wrote bitterly only months before he was shot dead near Granada by Fascists. He saw the real as clearly as the possible.
In Lorca’s poetry, repression squeezes desire into a defiant brilliance. Lorca was gay – some claim that is the reason that he was murdered – and so, in a world of absolute divisions, he existed on the penumbra between both sexes, a fluid creature of the twilight, weaving his poems out of the blinding contrasts between night and day. He made of them paeans to life in which beauty is a measure of mortality: “Like all ideal things,” as he says in a poem about fountains, “they are moving / on the very edge / of death.”