César Vallejo
Quiero escribir, pero me sale espuma,
quiero decir muchísimo y me atollo;
no hay cifra hablada que no sea suma,
no hay pirámide escrita, sin cogollo.
Quiero escribir, pero me siento puma;
quiero laurearme, pero me encebollo.
No hay toz hablada, que no llegue a bruma,
no hay dios ni hijo de dios, sin desarrollo.
Vámonos, pues, por eso, a comer yerba,
carne de llanto, fruta de gemido,
nuestra alma melancólica en conserva.
Vámonos! Vámonos! Estoy herido;
Vámonos a beber lo ya bebido,
Vámonos, cuervo, a fecundar tu cuerva.
posted by Arturo Vasquez @ 8:41 PM
2 Comments:
I want to write, but from my mouth comes foam;
I want to say much, but I sink in silence,
There is no spoken riddle that is not measured,
There is no written pyramid without a center.
I want to write, but I feel like a puma;
I want to crown myself, but I am seasoned with onion,
There is not a spoken cough that does not become mist,
There is no god nor son of god, without development.
Let us go, then, because of this, to eat grass,
Flesh of mouning, fruit of lament,
Our melancholy soul in safe keeping.
Let us go! Let us go! I am wounded;
Let us go to drink the already drunk,
Let us go, raven, to know your mate.
This is the consummate anti-sonnet by one of the most influential writers in the twentieth century, Cesar Vallejo. My translation is not very poetic and is very literal except in some places.
By the way, he and I have the same birthday: March 16th. Small world.
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