tiempo tiempo tiempo tiempo.Era Era.Gallos cancionan escarbando en vano.Boca del claro día que conjugaera era era era.Mañana Mañana.El reposo caliente aun de ser.Piensa el presente guárdame paramañana mañana mañana mañana.Nombre Nombre.¿Qué se llama cuanto heriza nos?Se llama Lomismo que padecenombre nombre nombre nombre.
This afternoon it is raining, as never before; and Ihave no desire to live, my heart.This afternoon is sweet. Why should it not be?Dressed in grace and pain; dressed like a woman.This afternoon in Lima it is raining. And I recallthe cruel caverns of my ingratitude;my block of ice over her poppy,stronger than her ‘Don’t…
la resaca de todo lo sufrido se empozara en el alma¡Yo no se!Son pocos; pero son . . . abren zanjas oscurasen el rostro mas fiero y en el lomo mas fuerte,Serán talvez los potros de bárbaros atilas;o los heraldos negros que nos manda la MuerteSon las caídas hondas de los Cristos del alma,de alguna…
I said farewell with the cock’s crowing.It is shut and no one responds.The stone bench on which mama gave birthto my older brother, so he could saddlebacks I had ridden bare,through lanes, past hedges, a village boy;the bench on which I left my heartsick childhoodyellowing in the sun … And this mourningthat frames the portal?God…
I remember we used to play at this hour, and mamacaressed us: ‘But, sons…’Now I go hideas before, from all eveninglectures, and I trust you not to give me away.Through the parlor, the vestibule, the corridors.Later, you hide, and I do not give you away.I remember we made ourselves cry,brother, from so much laughing.Miguel, you…
opposing waters that have never isthmused.There are desires for a great kiss that would shroud Life,one that ends in the Africa of a fiery agony,a suicide!There are desires to. . .have no desires, Lord;I point my deicidal finger at you:there are desires to not have had a heart.Spring returns, returns and will depart. And God,bent…
from my great situation, from my actions,from my number split side to side,from all of this I am the only one who leaves.From the Champs Elysées or as the strangealley of the Moon makes a turn,my death goes away, my cradle leaves,and, surrounded by people, alone, cut loose,my human resemblance turns aroundand dispatches its shadows…
before the ripe daughterloin of day.I touch the bud of joy, it is in season.And an ancient sentiment diesdegenerated into brains.I think about your sex, furrow more prolificand harmonious than the belly of the Shadow,though Death conceives and bearsfrom God himself.Oh Conscience,I am thinking, yes, about the free beastwho takes pleasure where he wants, where…
I shall die in Paris– it does not bother me–Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn.It shall be a Thursday, because today, ThursdayAs I put down these lines, I have set my shouldersTo the evil. Never like today have I turned,And headed my whole journey to the ways where I am alone.César Vallejo is…
Y, entre mi, digo:ésta es mi inmensidad en bruto, a cántaroséste es mi grato peso,que me buscará abajo para pájaroéste es mi brazoque por su cuenta rehusó ser ala,éstas son mis sagradas escrituras,éstos mis alarmados campeñones.Lúgubre isla me alumbrará continental,mientras el capitolio se apoye en mi íntimo derrumbey la asamblea en lanzas clausure mi desfile.Pero…
