New York is something awful, something monstrous. I like to walk the streets, lost, but I recognize that New York is the world's greatest lie. New York is Senegal with machines.
Interpretation
The quote expresses a complex view of New York as both fascinating and deceptive.
Federico Garcia Lorca's quote reveals his ambivalence towards New York City, depicting it as a place that is both appealing and grotesque. He suggests that while the city has a vibrant life and energy, it also embodies falsehoods under the surface, portraying an identity that is artificial and disconnected from its true essence. The comparison to Senegal, a place with its own deep cultural roots, highlights the disparity between the city's technological advancements and the human experiences that define life.
In practice
During a discussion on urban life at a conference, I could use this quote to illustrate the duality of city experiences.
The wounds were burning like suns at five in the afternoon, and the crowd broke the windows At five in the afternoon. Ah, that fatal five in the afternoon! It was five by all the clocks! It was five in the shade of the afternoon!
There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them. Snow, rain, and mist highlight, drench, or conceal the vast towers, but those towers, hostile to mystery and blind to any sort of play, shear off the rain's tresses and shine their three thousand swords through the soft swan of the fog.
The poem, the song, the picture, is only water drawn from the well of the people, and it should be given back to them in a cup of beauty so that they may drink - and in drinking understand themselves.
Death laid its eggs in the wound
The two elements the traveler first captures in the big city are extra human architecture and furious rhythm. Geometry and anguish.
Woodcutter. Cut my shadow from me. Free me from the torment of being without fruit. Why was I born among mirrors? Day goes round and round me. The night copies me in all its stars. I want to live without my reflection. And then let me dream that ants and thistledown are my leaves and my parrots.
Our thoughts are clay, they are moulded with the changes of the days;--when we are resting they are good; under fire, they are dead. Fields of craters within and without.
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
One who is injured ought not to return the injury, for on no account can it be right to do an injustice.
The universe we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but blind, pitiless indifference.
Evil is a violation of purpose, the purpose of your creator and mine.
Yet seldom do they fail of their seed, And that will lie in the dust and rot to spring up again in times and places unlooked-for. The deeds of Men will outlast us.
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