LA POETA EN PORTLAND

this morning i read a piece of tuesday's news from the guardian announcing the discovery at the library of congress' music division of an original draft of the poem "office and denunciation" by federico garcía lorca. looking good in pants means being incredibly rich in dumb luck, and so it was that the re-whetting of my curiosity for lorca was also a well timed prelude to the opening of "duende de lorca," an original, bilingual stage production that previews tonight at teatro milagro on se 6th and stark. i want to go home tonight and finish zone, but if i care about the book and its implications then maybe i should take that it mentioned lorca's assassination by the right during the spanish civil war as another sign. even more, i should consider the significance of lorca's passion for cante jondo, the deepest and most serious form of flamenco music, which was very much evocative of my mood after flamenco class last night -- and ironic because i was upset at having floundered through my tientos. the temperature yesterday was twenty degrees higher than it had been on tuesday, and in the evening the rain had given way to a low hanging fog that coated the top of the river to just under the bridges, which was beautiful but eerie and foreboding as i rode through the warm air and across the lower deck of the steel bridge looking left and right to the broadway and the burnside. on the wildness of the city, from "office and denunciation," the poet: "this is not hell. it is the street."