GCSE Drama Paper 1, Unit 1
‘Guernica’ by Pablo Picasso
“I stand with life against death, for peace against war.” Pablo Picasso
A LAS BARRICADAS Confederación Nacional de Trabajo Negras tormentas agitan los aires nubes oscuras nos impiden ver. Aunque nos espere el dolor y la muerte contra el enemigo nos llama el deber. El bien mas preciado es la libertad hay que defenderla con fe y con valor. Alza la bandera revolucionaria que llevara al pueblo a la emancipacion En pie obrero a la batalla hay que derrocar a la reaccion A las Barricadas! A las Barricadas! por el triunfo de la Confederacion. TO THE BARRICADES Black storms agitate the winds Dark clouds won't allow us to see Although we are waiting for pain and death Against the enemy we are called to go The most precious good is liberty And it must be defended With courage and faith Raise the revolutionary flag Which calls the people to emancipation March, worker, to the battle We have to smash the reaction To the Barricades! For the triumph of the Confederation.
In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world. Attributed to Frederico Garcia Lorca, playwright
The town of Guernica after the blitz in 1937
Bombing Casualties: Spain Dolls' faces are rosier but these were children their eyes not glass but gleaming gristle dark lenses in whose quicksilvery glances the sunlight quivered. These blenched lips were warm once and bright with blood but blood held in a moist bleb of flesh not spilt and spatter'd in touseled hair. In these shadowy tresses red petals did not always thus clot and blacken to a scar. These are dead faces: wasps' nests are not more wanly waxen wood embers not so grely ashen. They are laid out in ranks like paper lanterns that have fallen after a night of riot extinct in the dry morning air. Herbert Read
‘If I were to live another hundred years I couldn't say enough. How can something so small, a gun, a knife, bring down a bull of a man? The months trail past, and the pain still stings my eyes and pulls at my hair. And my two dead boys lie silent, slowly filling with grass, turning to dust;’ Extract from ‘Blood Wedding’ by Lorca