Duende gay

I was a sad nineteen-year-old taking my first poetry workshop when I first read Federico Garcia Lorca’s “Theory and Play of the Duende.” In this piece, he discusses a concept he sees as vital to poetry and yet never fully defines. He calls it duende; in English, we might call it passion or inspiration, although I don’t think this encapsulates the idea entirely. I call it soul for two reasons. First, duende can also denote a literal spirit or ghost, and I appreciate the double meaning (it makes me picture myself in conversation with something else when I’m writing). Second, Lorca makes it abundantly clear that duende goes beyond being inspired. He compares his thought of duende to a Muse, which sends inspiration, but rejects her as necessary or even helpful:

The Muse dictates, and occasionally prompts. She can execute relatively little since she’s distant and so fatigued (I’ve seen her twice) that you’d think her heart half marble. Muse poets hear voices and don’t know where they’re from, but they’re from the Muse who inspires them and sometimes makes her meal of them, as in the case of Apollinaire, a amazing poet des