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 For me its a good play you can pick up a lot great things in this play Juan i think is selfish because all he wants for Yerma is to settle of what she has and not thinking of Yerma's needs as a woman.

About the Author

Federico Garcia Lorca—(1898-1936) was a
Spanish poet and dramatist, also remembered as a
painter, pianist, and composer. A member of the
“Generacion del ‘27” (Generation of ‘27), he was killed
by rightist partisans at the beginning of the Spanish Civil
War (1936-39). Born into a family of minor, but wealthy,
landowners in Granada, his reputation as a poet was
secured in the 1920s with the publication of Libro de
Poemas (Book of Poems, 1921) and Primer Romancero
Gitano (Gypsy Ballads, 1928). Towards the end of the
1920s, Lorca fell victim to depression due to his anguish
over his true sexuality. He was deeply affected by the
success of his Gypsy Ballads, which made him a
celebrity—maintaining the persona of a straight author in
public while really being gay inside, which he could only
acknowledge in private. Growing estrangement between
Lorca and his closest friends reached its climax when
Spanish surrealist painter Salvador Dali collaborated with him on the 1929 film Un Chien Andalou
(An Andalusian Dog), which Lorca later interpreted as a vicious attack on him. The film ended
Lorca’s affair with Dali, with Dali meeting his future wife. At the same time, his intensely
passionate but fatally one-sided affair with the sculptor Emilio Aladren was collapsing as the latter
became involved with his future wife. Aware of these problems, Lorca’s family arranged for him to
take a lengthy visit to the United States in the 1930s. While in the U.S., he gained even more
recognition for his plays, especially what has been called his “earth/rural trilogy”: Bodas de
Sangre (Blood Wedding, 1933), Yerma (Barren, 1934), and Le Casa de Bernarda Alba (The
House of Bernarda Alba, 1936). Shortly after he finished the last of the trilogy he returned to
Spain as the civil war broke out. He was arrested by fascist Nationalists in Granada who
supported General Francisco Franco and was executed without a trial. Although his work was not
overtly political, Lorca had incurred the wrath of the militarist “Escuadra Negra” (Black Squadron)
because of his leftist leanings and, apparently, for his being a homosexual. Lorca was buried in a
mass grave and his works remained officially banned in Spain until 1971. Today, Lorca is honored
by a statue prominently located in a Madrid plaza. Political philosopher David Crocker reports that
“the statue is still an emblem of the contested past: each day, the Left puts a red handkerchief on
the neck of the statue, and someone from the Right comes later to take it off”.

Yerma Synopsis: A tragic play in three acts and six scenes

Yerma Synopsis: A tragic play in three acts and six scenes

Act I, Scene 1

Yerma has been married two years. She wants to strengthen her husband, Juan, so he

can give her children. Telling Yerma to stay at home, Juan goes back to his work in the olive

groves, and Yerma talks to the child she wishes she were carrying. María, married five months

and already pregnant, asks Yerma to sew for the baby. Yerma fears that if she too doesn’t

conceive soon, her blood will turn to poison. The couple’s friend, Victor, sees Yerma sewing and

assumes she is pregnant. His advice, when he learns the truth: try harder!

Act I, Scene 2

Yerma has just taken Juan his dinner in the fields. On the road home, she encounters an

Old Woman who insists that passion is the key to conception. Yerma admits a secret longing for

Victor, but none for Juan. She then meets two girls whose attitudes astonish her. One has left her

baby untended. The other is childless and glad of it, although her mother, Dolores, is giving her

herbs for pregnancy. Next, Victor comes along and the conversation between Victor and Yerma

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becomes tense with unspoken thoughts and desires. Juan enters, worrying about what people will

say if Yerma stays out chatting. He tells her he intends to work all night. Yerma will sleep alone.

Act II, Scene 1

It is three years later. Five Laundresses gossip about a woman who still has no children,

who has been looking at another man, and whose husband has brought in his sisters to keep an

eye on her. We know they mean Yerma. The laundresses sing about husbands and love-making

and babies.

Act II, Scene 2

Juan’s two sisters guard Yerma. She refuses to stay at home, and people are talking.

Without children in it, her house seems like a prison to her. Her marriage has turned bitter. María

(from Act 1, Scene 1) visits, but reluctantly, since the sight of her baby always makes Yerma

weep. The childless girl (from Act 1, Scene 2) says her mother, Dolores, is expecting Yerma.

Victor comes in to say goodbye. He is leaving the region while things are still unspoken between

them. When Juan goes out with Victor, Yerma makes her escape to see Dolores.

Act III, Scene 1

Dawn finds Yerma at Dolores’s house. Dolores and the Old Woman (from Act 1, Scene 2)

have been praying over Yerma all night in the cemetery. Juan accuses Yerma of deceit, and she

curses her blood, her body, and her father “who left me the blood of the father of a hundred sons”.

Act III, Scene 2

Characters:

Old Woman

First Woman

First Girl

Maria

Yerma

Juan

First Man

Second Man

Boy

Male Mask

Female Mask

Girls

Children

Women

Men

(The environs of a hermitage high in the

mountains. Downstage are the wheels of a cart

and some canvas forming a rustic tent, where

we see Yerma. Women enter with offerings for

the shrine. They are barefoot. The cheerful Old

Woman of the first act is on stage.)

(Singing while the curtain is raised)

When you were single

I never could see you,

but now you are married we’ll meet.

When you were single

I never could see you.

I’ll strip you bare now

wife, and wanderer,

when midnight sounds through the air.

OLD WOMAN: (Sarcastically) Have you

drunk the holy water?

FIRST WOMAN: Yes!

OLD WOMAN: Now let’s see it work.

FIRST WOMAN: We believe in it.

OLD WOMAN: You come to ask the saint for

children, and it so happens every year more

single men come on this pilgrimage. What’s

going on? (She laughs)

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FIRST WOMAN: Why do you come if you

don’t believe?

OLD WOMAN: To watch. I’m crazy about

seeing it all. And to look after my son. Last year

two men killed themselves over a barren wife

and I need to be vigilant. And, finally, because I

feel like it.

FIRST WOMAN: God forgive you! (She

leaves)

OLD WOMAN: (Sarcastically) May He

forgive you too!

(She leaves. Maria enters with the First Girl)

FIRST GIRL: Is she here?

MARIA: There’s the cart. It cost me a lot to get

her here. She’s been a month without rising

from her chair. I’m afraid of her. She’s

possessed by some idea, I don’t know what, but

it must be a wicked one.

FIRST GIRL: I’m with my sister. She’s been

coming here for eight years, but with no result.

MARIA: Those who are meant to have children

do so.

FIRST GIRL: That’s what I say.

(Voices are heard)

MARIA: I’ve never liked these pilgrimages.

Let’s go down to the farms where there are

people about.

FIRST GIRL: Last year, in the darkness, some

young men felt my sister’s breasts.

MARIA: For miles around you hear nothing but

dreadful tales.

FIRST GIRL: I saw more than forty barrels of

wine behind the hermitage.

MARIA: A stream of single men flows through

these mountains.

(Voices are heard. Yerma enters with six Women

who are going to the chapel. They are

barefooted and carrying ornamental candles.

Twilight falls.)

Lord, who makes the roses flower

don’t leave my rose to wither.

SECOND WOMAN: Over her body that

suffers may the yellow rose flower.

MARIA: And in your servants’ bellies set free

earth’s hidden fires.

CHORUS OF WOMEN: Lord, who makes the

roses flower don’t leave mine to wither.

(They kneel.)

The heavens have their gardens

of happiness in flower:

glows the rose of wonder

between briar and briar.

A ray of dawn appears

an angel watches over,

with his wings of thunder

with his eyes that suffer.

All about the leaves, there

runs a milk-white river

moistening the faces

of the stars that quiver.

Lord, may your rose bloom

in my barren flesh.

(They rise.)

SECOND WOMAN: Lord, with your hand

calm the embers of her cheeks.

YERMA: Listen to the penitent in her sacred

wandering. Let your rose bloom in my flesh

though with a thousand thorns.

CHORUS OF WOMEN: Lord, who makes the

roses flower don’t leave my rose to wither.

YERMA: To my flesh that suffers bring the

rose of wonder.

(They leave.)

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(Girls enter from the left running, with large

garlands in their hands. From the right, three

others do the same, looking behind them. There

is a crescendo of voices from the stage,

accompanied by bells on horse-collars and

harnesses. On a higher level seven girls appear,

waving their garlands towards the left. The

noise increases and two traditional Masks

appear: one male and the other female. The

masks they carry are large. The Male carries a

bull’s horn in his hand. They are not in any way

grotesque, but very beautiful and with a

suggestion of earthly purity. The Female shakes

a ring of large bells.)

CHILDREN: The devil and his wife! The devil

and his wife!

(The rear of the stage fills with people who

shout and comment on the dance. It is quite

dark.)

In a stream along the mountain

the sorrowing wife was bathing.

All about her body creeping

little snails through the water.

The sands all along the shore

and all the breezes of morning

brought a flame to her laughter

and made her shoulders shiver.

Aye, nakedly she stood there

lovely lady of the water!

BOY: Aye, how she moaned there!

FIRST MAN: Aye, the withering of love!

BOY: In the wind and the water!

SECOND MAN: Let her say whom she longs

for!

FIRST MAN: Let her say whom she waits for!

SECOND MAN: Aye, with her empty womb

and with her waning beauty!

WOMAN’S MASK: When the darkness falls

I’ll tell you when the glittering night is falling.

When it gleams above our wandering I’ll rip the

seams of my clothing.

BOY: Suddenly there came the nightfall. Aye,

how the night came falling! See there the

darkness gathering in the depths of mountain

water.

(The sound of guitars commences.)

MALE MASK: (Rising, and shaking the horn)

Aye, now how white

the sorrowful wife!

Ay, how she sighs in the branches!

You’ll be red poppies, carnations,

when the man spreads his mantle.

(He approaches.)

If you come here wandering

begging for your womb to flower

don’t you wear a mourning veil,

but a fine gown of soft linen.

Walk alone along the walls where

the fig-trees grow thickest,

and support my mortal body

till the white dawn moans.

Aye, how she shines there!

Aye, how she was shining there!

Aye, how the woman quivers!

FEMALE MASK:

Aye, let love wreathe her

with coronets and garlands,

arrows of brightest gold

through her breasts be darted!

MALE MASK:

Seven times she wept there,

nine times rose again.

Fifteen times they joined

orange-tree with jasmine.

FIRST MAN: Strike her with the horn!

SECOND MAN: With the rose in the dance.

FIRST MAN: Aye, how the woman quivers!

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MALE MASK:

In this wandering

the man always commands.

The husband is the bull,

ever the man commands,

and women are the flowers,

for the one who wins.

BOY: Strike her with the breeze.

SECOND MAN: Strike her with the branch.

MALE MASK:

Come and see the splendor

of she who is bathing!

FIRST MAN: Like a reed she bends.

BOY: Like a flower she bows.

MEN: Let the young girls flee!

MALE MASK:

Let the dance flare high

and the shining body

of the spotless wife!

(The girls dance to the sound of clapping and

music. They sing.)

GIRLS:

The heavens have their gardens

of happiness in flower:

glows the rose of wonder

between briar and briar.

(Two girls pass by shouting. The cheerful Old

Woman enters.)

OLD WOMAN: Let’s see if you’ll let us sleep

now. But there’ll be something else later.

(Yerma enters) You? (Yerma is downcast and

silent.) Why did you come here? Tell me.

YERMA: I don’t know.

OLD WOMAN: You’re not convinced? And

your husband?

(Yerma shows signs of fatigue, and acts like

someone whose mind is oppressed by a fixed

idea.)

YERMA: He’s over there.

OLD WOMAN: What’s he doing?

YERMA: Drinking. (Pause. Putting her hands

to her forehead.) Aye!

OLD WOMAN: Aye, aye. Less of that: show

more spirit. I couldn’t tell you before but now I

can.

YERMA: What can you tell me that I don’t

know already?

OLD WOMAN: What can no longer be

silenced. What shouts itself from the rooftops.

The fault is your husband’s, do you hear? Let

him cut off my hands if it isn’t. Neither his

father, nor his grandfather conducted themselves

like man who breed well. For them to have a

child, heaven and earth had to be joined.

They’re just balls of spit. But your family are

not. You have brothers and cousins for miles

around. See what a curse has fallen on your

beauty!

YERMA: A curse. A blight of venom on the

crop.

OLD WOMAN: But you have feet on which

you can leave his house.

YERMA: Leave?

OLD WOMAN: When I saw you in the

procession my heart leapt. Women come here to

find new men, and the Saint performs miracles.

My son is waiting for me behind the chapel. My

house needs a woman. Mate with him and the

three of us can live together. My son is strong.

Like me. If you enter my household, there’ll be

the smell of babies again. The ashes of your

coverlet will turn to bread and salt for your

children. Come. Take no notice of others. And

as for your husband, in my house there are

strong hearts and weapons to prevent him even

crossing the street.

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YERMA: Hush, hush! It’s not like that! I can’t

take another. I can’t go seeking men out. Do you

think I could know another man? Where would

my honor be then? Water can’t run uphill or the

full moon rise at noon. No. I’ll keep to the path

I’m on. Did you really think I could yield to

another man? That I could go and beg for what

is mine, like a slave? Understand me, so you

never say it to me again. I am not seeking any

other.

OLD WOMAN: When one is thirsty, one is

grateful for water.

YERMA: I’m like a parched field where a

thousand pairs of oxen should drive the plough,

and what you offer me is a little glass of water

from the well. My grief is one that’s already

beyond the flesh.

OLD WOMAN: (Firmly) Then stay that way.

Since you wish to. Like a thistle in a wasteland.

Pinched and barren.

YERMA: (Firmly) Barren, yes, I know that!

Barren! You don’t need to hurl it in my face.

Don’t come and pleasure yourself, as children

do, with the sufferings of some small creature.

Ever since I married I’ve been avoiding that

word and this is the first time I’ve heard it said

to my face. The first time I recognize that it’s

true.

OLD WOMAN: You rouse no sympathy in me.

None. I’ll go look for another wife for my son.

(She exits. A large choir of pilgrims is heard

singing in the distance. Yerma moves towards

the cart, and her husband appears from behind

it.)

YERMA: Were you there all along?

JUAN: I was there.

YERMA: Spying on me?

JUAN: Spying.

YERMA: You heard what I said?

JUAN: Yes.

YERMA: So? Leave me and go and join the

singing. (She sits on the canvas.)

JUAN: It’s time I spoke too.

YERMA: Speak, then!

JUAN: And time I complained.

YERMA: About what?

JUAN: That I have a bitterness in my throat.

YERMA: And I in my bones.

JUAN: This is your last chance to resist this

continual lament for shadowy things, outside

existence, for things that are lost in the breeze.

YERMA: (With dramatic astonishment)

Outside existence you say? Lost in the breeze,

you say?

JUAN: Things which haven’t happened and

neither you nor I can control.

YERMA: (Violently) Go on, go on!

JUAN: For things that don’t matter. Do you

hear? That have no importance to me. That’s

what I had to say to you. What matters to me is

what I can hold in my hands, what I can see with

my eyes.

YERMA: (Rising to her knees, desperately)

That’s it. That’s it. That’s what I wanted to hear

from your mouth. Truth is not felt when it’s

inside oneself, but how vast it is, how loud it

cries, when it emerges, and raises its arms! It

doesn’t matter! Now, I’ve heard you!

JUAN: (Approaching her) Think that it had to

be so. Listen to me. (He embraces her to help

her rise.) Many women would be happy to live

your life. Life is sweeter without children. I’m

happy without them. It’s not your fault.

YERMA: What did you seek in me, then?

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JUAN: Yourself.

YERMA: (Excitedly) That’s it! You wanted a

home, tranquillity, and a woman. But nothing

more. Is that true?

JUAN: It’s true. As everyone else does.

YERMA: And the rest? Your son?

JUAN: (Firmly) Didn’t you hear, it doesn’t

matter! Don’t ask me again! Do I have to shout

it in your ear so you can understand, and live

peacefully for once!

YERMA: And you’ve never thought about it

even when you could see I wanted one?

JUAN: Never. (They are both on the ground)

YERMA: And I’m not to hope for one?

JUAN: No.

YERMA: Nor you?

JUAN: Nor I, likewise. Resign yourself!

YERMA: Barren!

JUAN: But living peacefully. Both of us, in

gentleness and friendship. Embrace me! (He

embraces her.)

YERMA: What do you want?

JUAN: I want you. In the moonlight you are

beautiful.

YERMA: You want me as if you were wanting

a pigeon to eat.

JUAN: Kiss me…like this.

YERMA: That, never. Never (Yerma gives a

cry and grasps her husband by the throat. He

falls backward. She chokes him until he is dead.

The choir of pilgrims starts up.) Barren, barren,

but I’m certain at last. Now I know for certain.

And alone. (She rises. People begin to gather.)

I’ll sleep, without waking with a start to see if

my blood announces new blood. With a body

barren forever. What do you want? Don’t come

near me, because I’ve murdered my child! I’ve

killed my own son!

(The group that remained in the background

gathers. We hear the sound of the choir of

pilgrims.)

Curtain. End

(Translated, from the Spanish, by A. S. Kline)

References:

Federico Garcia Lorca. Wikipedia. Retrieved October 8, 2008 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/

Federico_Garc%C3%ADa_Lorca

Garcia Lorca-Yerma: A new freely downloadable translation. Poetry in translation: A.S. Kline’s

free archive. Retrieved October 9, 2008 from http://www.tonykline.co.uk/klineasyerma.htm