Weeds grow weeds/ Federico Garcia Lorca
YERMA. We’ve no children. …Juan! JUAN. What is it? YERMA. I love you, don’t I? […]
Under the ancient Arch of the Rose/Francisco Aragon
Last night, I strolled the narrow streets of the medieval area of Cadiz. As I walked through the ancient Arch of the Rose, Francisco Aragon’s prologue for my book “The Silver Teacup” rushed to my mind. This snippet is the first paragraph of that introduction: Me llamo Francisco, he said, interrupting what he was doing to […]
