Thamar and Amnon BY FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA The moon revolves in the sky over waterless lands while summer sows murmurs of tiger and flame. Hovering over the roofs metal nerves are sounding. Frizzled air rises from the bleating of wool. Earth shows itself full of cicatrized wounds, or shaken by acute cauteries of white lights. Thamar was dreaming, birds in her throat, to the sound of cool tambourines and moon-bathed cithars. Her nakedness on the eaves, sharp pole-star of palm, asks for snow flakes on her belly and hail on her shoulders. Thamar was singing naked on the terrace. Around her feet, five frozen pigeons. Amnon, slender and concrete, in the tower gazed at her his loins full of foam and his beard of vibration. His illuminated nakedness was stretched out on the terrace, with between his teeth a murmur of newly struck arrow. Amnon was gazing at the round and low moon, and he saw in the moon his sister’s very firm breasts. At half-past three Amnon stretched himself on his bed. The whole alcove suffered with his eyes full of wings. The thick light buries villages in the brown sand, or discovers momentary coral of roses and dahlias. Water from the well, oppressed, blossoms silence in the jars. On the moss of tree trunks the stretched cobra sings. Amnon groans between the cold sheets of his bed. The ivy of shivering spreads over his parched flesh. Thamar entered silent in the silenced alcove, colour of vein and Danube troubled with remote trails. —Thamar, efface these eyes with your steadfast dawn. My threads of blood weave flounces over your skirt. —Leave me in peace, brother. Your kisses in my shoulder are wasps and light breezes in a double swarm of flutes. —Thamar, in your turgent breasts are two fishes calling me, and in the tips of your fingers are murmurs of sealed rose. The hundred horses of the king neighed in the courtyard. The slenderness of the vine resisted the sun in squares. Now he grasps her by the hair, now he claws her dress. Tepid corals draw rivulets on a golden map. Oh, what screams were heard above the houses! What thickness of daggers and ripped-up tunics. Along the sad stairways slaves go up and down. Pistons and thighs play under suspended clouds. Around Thamar gypsy virgins scream and others collect the drops of her martyrized flower. White fabrics redden in the closed alcoves. Rumours of cool aurora vine-tendrils and fishes change. Amnon, enraged violator, flees away on his pony. Negroes aim arrows at him from ramparts and towers. And when the four hoofs were just four echoes, David, with a pair of scissors, cut the strings of his harp.

Following the death of his son, Valentino, Tony Rizzo launched the Alternative Hair Show in 1983 to help raise funds for Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research. The show has grown into the world's most prestigious annual hairdressing event, hosting leading teams and inspirational hair artists from all over the globe. In doing so, the Alternative Hair Show has raised an astonishing amount of over ?7.5 million for research and continues to be a key resource to help Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research meet our fundraising targets. This year the event moved to the beautiful and mysterious Masonic Temple in the Freemasons' Hall in London's Covent Garden. The show brought a dazzling showcase of mystery and inspiration as the artistic teams translated the theme: Masquerade.