The Complete Poetry: A Bilingual Edition
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The Complete Poetry: A Bilingual Edition
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Overview
Vallejo's poetry takes the Spanish language to an unprecedented level of emotional rawness and stretches its grammatical possibilities. Striking against theology with the very rhetoric of the Christian faith, Vallejo's is a tragic vision—perhaps the only one in the canon of Spanish-language literature—in which salvation and sin are one and the same. This edition includes notes on the translation and a fascinating translation memoir that traces Eshleman's long relationship with Vallejo's poetry. An introduction and chronology provide further insights into Vallejo's life and work.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780520932142 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | University of California Press |
| Publication date: | 01/08/2007 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 732 |
| File size: | 664 KB |
About the Author
Poet and essayist Clayton Eshleman is a recipient of the National Book Award and the Landon Translation Prize. He is the cotranslator of César Vallejo: The Complete Posthumous Poetry and Aimé Césaire: The Collected Poetry, both from UC Press. Among Mario Vargas Llosa's prestigious literary awards are the National Critics' Prize, the Peruvian National Prize, and the Miguel de Cervantes Prize. He is the author of more than twenty books. Efrain Kristal is Professor of Comparative Literature at the University of California, Los Angeles. Stephen M. Hart is Professor of Spanish and Latin American Studies at University College, London.
Read an Excerpt
The Complete Poetry
A Bilingual Edition
By César Vallejo, Clayton Eshleman
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS
Copyright © 2007 The Regents of the University of CaliforniaAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-520-93214-2
CHAPTER 1
LOS HERALDOS NEGROS (1918)
Qui potest capere capiat
EL EVANGELIO
THE BLACK HERALDS
He who is able to receive it, let him receive it.
THE GOSPEL
LOS HERALDOS NEGROS
Hay golpes en la vida, tan fuertes ... Yo no sé!
Golpes como del odio de Dios; como si ante ellos,
la resaca de todo lo sufrido
se empozara en el alma ... Yo no sé!
Son pocos; pero son ... Abren zanjas oscuras
en el rostro más fiero y en el lomo más fuerte.
Serán talvez los potros de bárbaros atilas;
o los heraldos negros que nos manda la Muerte.
Son las caídas hondas de los Cristos del alma,
de alguna fe adorable que el Destino blasfema.
Esos golpes sangrientos son las crepitaciones
de algún pan que en la puerta del horno se nos quema.
Y el hombre ... Pobre ... pobre! Vuelve los ojos, como
cuando por sobre el hombro nos llama una palmada;
vuelve los ojos locos, y todo lo vivido
se empoza, como charco de culpa, en la mirada.
Hay golpes en la vida, tan fuertes ... Yo no sé!
THE BLACK HERALDS
There are blows in life, so powerful ... I don't know!
Blows as from the hatred of God; as if, facing them,
the undertow of everything suffered
welled up in the soul ... I don't know!
They are few; but they are ... They open dark trenches
in the fiercest face and in the strongest back.
Perhaps they are the colts of barbaric Attilas;
or the black heralds sent to us by Death.
They are the deep falls of the Christs of the soul,
of some adored faith blasphemed by Destiny.
Those bloodstained blows are the crackling of
bread burning up at the oven door.
And man ... Poor ... poor! He turns his eyes, as
when a slap on the shoulder summons us;
turns his crazed eyes, and everything lived
wells up, like a pool of guilt, in his look.
There are blows in life, so powerful ... I don't know!
PLAFONES ÁGILES
DESHOJACIÓN SAGRADA
Luna! Corona de una testa inmensa,
que te vas deshojando en sombras gualdas!
Roja corona de un Jesús que piensa
trágicamente dulce de esmeraldas!
Luna! Alocado corazón celeste
¿por qué bogas así, dentro la copa
llena de vino azul, hacia el oeste,
cual derrotada y dolorida popa?
Luna! Y a fuerza de volar en vano,
te holocaustas en ópalos dispersos:
tú eres talvez mi corazón gitano
que vaga en el azul llorando versos! ...
AGILE SOFFITS
SACRED DEFOLIACITY
Moon! Crown of an immense head,
which you keep shedding in golden shadows!
Red crown of a Jesus who thinks
tragically sweet of emeralds!
Moon! Maddened celestial heart
—why are you rowing like this, inside the cup
full of blue wine, toward the west,
such a defeated and aching stern?
Moon! And by flying off in vain,
you holocaust into scattered opals:
perhaps you are my gypsy heart
wandering the blue weeping verses!
COMUNIÓN
Linda Regia! Tus venas son fermentos
de mi noser antiguo y del champaña
negro de mi vivir!
Tu cabello es la ignota raicilla
del árbol de mi vid.
Tu cabello es la hilacha de
una mitra de ensueño que perdí!
Tu cuerpo es la espumante escaramuza
de un rosado Jordán;
y ondea, como un látigo beatífico
que humillara a la víbora del mal!
Tus brazos dan la sed de lo infinito,
con sus castas hespérides de luz,
cual dos blancos caminos redentores,
dos arranques murientes de una cruz.
Y están plasmados en la sangre invicta
de mi imposible azul!
Tus pies son dos heráldicas alondras
que eternamente llegan de mi ayer!
Linda Regia! Tus pies son las dos lágrimas
que al bajar del Espíritu ahogué,
un Domingo de Ramos que entré al
Mundo, ya lejos para siempre de Belén!
COMMUNION
Fair queenly one! Your veins are the ferment
of my ancient nonbeing and of the black
champagne of my life!
Your hair is the undiscovered rootlet
of the tree of my vine.
Your hair is the strand from a miter
of fantasy that I lost!
Your body is the bubbly skirmish
of a pink Jordan;
and it ripples, like a beatific whip
that would have put the viper of evil to shame!
Your arms create a thirst for the infinite,
with their hesperidian castes of light,
like two white redeeming roads,
two dying wrenchings of a cross.
And they are molded in the unconquered blood of
my impossible blue!
Your feet are two heraldic larks
eternally arriving from my yesterday!
Fair queenly one! Your feet are the two tears
I choked back, descending from the Spirit
one Palm Sunday when I entered the World,
already forever distant from Bethlehem!
NERVAZÓN DE ANGUSTIA
Dulce hebrea, desclava mi tránsito de arcilla;
desclava mi tensión nerviosa y mi dolor ...
Desclava, amada eterna, mi largo afán y los
dos clavos de mis alas y el clavo de mi amor!
Regreso del desierto donde he caído mucho;
retira la cicuta y obséquiame tus vinos:
espanta con un llanto de amor a mis sicarios,
cuyos gestos son férreas cegueras de Longinos!
Desclávame mis clavos oh nueva madre mía!
Sinfonía de olivos, escancia tu llorar!
Y has de esperar, sentada junto a mi carne muerta,
cuál cede la amenaza, y la alondra se va!
Pasas ... vuelves ... Tus lutos trenzan mi gran cilicio
con gotas de curare, filos de humanidad,
la dignidad roquera que hay en tu castidad,
y el judithesco azogue de tu miel interior.
Son las ocho de una mañana en crema brujo ...
Hay frío ... Un perro pasa royendo el hueso de otro
perro que fue ... Y empieza a llorar en mis nervios
un fósforo que en cápsulas de silencio apagué!
Y en mi alma hereje canta su dulce fiesta asiática
un dionisíaco hastío de café ...!
NERVESTORM OF ANGUISH
Sweet Jewess, unnail my clay transit;
unnail my nerve tension and my pain ...
Unnail, eternal lover, my protracted anxiety and
the two nails from my wings and the nail from my love!
I am back from the desert where I have often fallen;
put away the hemlock and regale me with your wines:
scare off my assassins with a love sob,
their grimaces are the iron blindness of Longinus!
Pull out my nails, oh my new mother!
Symphony of olives, decant your tears!
And wait, seated next to my dead flesh,
as the menace subsides, and the lark ascends!
You go ... return ... Your mourning plaits my great cilice
with drops of curare, sharp edges of humanity,
the rocky dignity there in your chastity,
and the Judithesque mercury of your inner honey.
It is eight o'clock on a creamy, bewitched morning ...
And it is cold ... A dog goes by gnawing the bone of another
dog that was ... And the match that I extinguished
in capsules of silence starts crying in my nerves!
And in my heretic soul, coffee's Dionysian spleen
sings its sweet Asiatic feast ...!
BORDAS DE HIELO
Vengo a verte pasar todos los días,
vaporcito encantado siempre lejos ...
Tus ojos son dos rubios capitanes;
tu labio es un brevísimo pañuelo
rojo que ondea en un adiós de sangre!
Vengo a verte pasar; hasta que un día,
embriagada de tiempo y de crueldad,
vaporcito encantado siempre lejos,
la estrella de la tarde partirá!
Las jarcias; vientos que traicionan; vientos
de mujer que pasó!
Tus fríos capitanes darán orden;
y quien habrá partido seré yo ...
MAINSAILS OF ICE
I come to watch you go by every day,
enchanted little steamer always distant ...
Your eyes are two blond captains;
your lip is a fleeting red
handkerchief fluttering a blood good-bye!
I come to watch you go by; until one day,
intoxicated with time and with cruelty,
enchanted little steamer always distant,
the evening star will fade away!
The rigging; winds that betray; winds
from a woman who passed by!
Your cold captains will give the order;
and the one who will have faded will be I ...
NOCHEBUENA
Al callar la orquesta, pasean veladas
sombras femeninas bajo los ramajes,
por cuya hojarasca se filtran heladas
quimeras de luna, pálidos celajes.
Hay labios que lloran arias olvidadas,
grandes lirios fingen los ebúrneos trajes.
Charlas y sonrisas en locas bandadas
perfuman de seda los rudos boscajes.
Espero que ría la luz de tu vuelta;
y en la epifanía de tu forma esbelta
cantará la fiesta en oro mayor.
Balarán mis versos en tu predio entonces,
canturreando en todos sus místicos bronces
que ha nacido el niño-jesús de tu amor.
CHRISTMAS EVE
As the orchestra falls silent, veiled feminine
shadows pass beneath the branches
through whose dry leaves filter icy
chimeras of moonlight, pale varicolored clouds.
There are lips that weep forgotten arias,
ivory gowns feigning huge lilies.
Chatter and smiles in wild flocks
perfume the rugged woods with silk.
I hope the light of your return laughs;
and in the epiphany of your graceful form
the holy day will rejoice in gold major.
On your estate my verses will then bleat,
humming with all their mystical bronze
that the baby-jesus of your love has been born.
ASCUAS
Para Domingo Parra del Riego
Luciré para Tilia, en la tragedia,
mis estrofas en ópimos racimos;
sangrará cada fruta melodiosa,
como un sol funeral, lúgubres vinos.
Tilia tendrá la cruz
que en la hora final será de luz!
Prenderé para Tilia, en la tragedia,
la gota de fragor que hay en mis labios;
y el labio, al encresparse para el beso,
se partirá en cien pétalos sagrados.
Tilia tendrá el puñal,
el puñal floricida y auroral!
Ya en la sombra, heroína, intacta y mártir,
tendrás bajo tus plantas a la Vida;
mientras veles, rezando mis estrofas,
mi testa, como una hostia en sangre tinta!
Y en un lirio, voraz,
mi sangre, como un virus, beberás!
EMBERS
For Domingo Parra del Riego
In the tragedy, I will display for Tilia
my stanzas in abundant clusters;
each melodious fruit will bleed,
like a funereal sun, doleful wines.
Tilia will hold the cross
that in the final hour will be of light!
In the tragedy, I will capture for Tilia
the drop of uproar that is on my lips;
and the lip, tightening for the kiss,
will break into a hundred holy petals.
Tilia will hold the dagger,
the floricidal and auroral dagger!
Now in shadow, heroine, virgin and martyr,
you will feel Life under your soles;
while, praying my stanzas, you hold vigil over
my head, like a Host in blood ink!
And you will drink my blood,
like a virus, from a lily, voraciously!
MEDIALUZ
He soñado una fuga. Y he soñado
tus encajes dispersos en la alcoba.
A lo largo de un muelle, alguna madre;
y sus quince años dando el seno a una hora.
He soñado una fuga. Un "para siempre"
suspirado en la escala de una proa;
he soñado una madre;
unas frescas matitas de verdura,
y el ajuar constelado de una aurora.
A lo largo de un muelle ...
Y a lo largo de un cuello que se ahoga!
HALF-LIGHT
I have dreamed of a flight. And I have dreamed of
your silks strewn about the bedroom.
Along a pier, some mother;
and her fifteen years breast-feeding an hour.
I have dreamed of a flight. A "forever and ever"
whispered on the ladder to a prow;
I have dreamed of a mother;
some fresh sprigs of greenery,
and the aurora-constellated trousseau.
Along a pier ...
And along a throat that is drowning!
SAUCE
Lirismo de invierno, rumor de crespones,
cuando ya se acerca la pronta partida;
agoreras voces de tristes canciones
que en la tarde rezan una despedida.
Visión del entierro de mis ilusiones
en la propia tumba de mortal herida.
Caridad verónica de ignotas regiones,
donde a precio de éter se pierda la vida.
Cerca de la aurora partiré llorando;
y mientras mis años se vayan curvando,
curvará guadañas mi ruta veloz.
Y ante fríos óleos de luna muriente,
con timbres de aceros en tierra indolente,
cavarán los perros, aullando, un adiós!
WILLOW
Lyricism of winter, rustle of crepe,
now when the hasty departure nears;
oracular voices of plaintive songs
that in the evening pray for a farewell.
Vision of the burial of my illusions
in the very tomb of the mortal wound.
Veronican charity from unknown regions,
where at the price of ether life is lost.
Near dawn I will depart in tears;
and while my years go on curving,
my swift course will curve scythes.
And under the cold holy oils of a dying moon,
with the timbre of steel in the indolent earth,
dogs, howling, will dig a good-bye.
AUSENTE
Ausente! La mañana en que me vaya
más lejos de lo lejos, al Misterio,
como siguiendo inevitable raya,
tus pies resbalarán al cementerio.
Ausente! La mañana en que a la playa
del mar de sombra y del callado imperio,
como un pájaro lúgubre me vaya,
será el blanco panteón tu cautiverio.
Se habrá hecho de noche en tus miradas;
y sufrirás, y tomarás entonces
penitentes blancuras laceradas.
Ausente! Y en tus propios sufrimientos
ha de cruzar entre un llorar de bronces
una jauría de remordimientos!
ABSENT
Absent! The morning when I go away
farther than far, to the Mystery,
as if following the inevitable ray,
your feet will slide into the cemetery.
Absent! The morning when, like a rueful bird,
I go away to the shore of
the sea of shadow and silent empire,
the white pantheon will be your captivity.
Night will have fallen in your glances;
and you will suffer, and then acquire
penitent lacerated whitenesses.
Absent! And in your own suffering
amid a wail of bronzes
a pack of remorse will lope by!
AVESTRUZ
Melancolía, saca tu dulce pico ya;
no cebes tus ayunos en mis trigos de luz.
Melancolía, basta! Cuál beben tus puñales
la sangre que extrajera mi sanguijuela azul!
No acabes el maná de mujer que ha bajado;
yo quiero que de él nazca mañana alguna cruz,
mañana que no tenga yo a quien volver los ojos,
cuando abra su gran O de burla el ataúd.
Mi corazón es tiesto regado de amargura;
hay otros viejos pájaros que pastan dentro de él ...
Melancolía, deja de secarme la vida,
y desnuda tu labio de mujer ... !
OSTRICH
Melancholy, pull out your sweet beak now;
don't batten your fasting on my wheat of light.
Melancholy, enough! As your daggers drink
the blood my blue leech would suck out!
Do not finish off the fallen woman's manna;
I want some cross to be born of it tomorrow,
tomorrow when I will have no one to turn my eyes to,
when the coffin opens its great sneering O.
My heart is a potsherd sprinkled with gall;
there are other old birds who graze inside it ...
Melancholy, stop drying up my life,
and bare your woman's lip ... !
BAJO LOS ÁLAMOS
Para José Eulogio Garrido
Cual hieráticos bardos prisioneros,
los álamos de sangre se han dormido.
Rumian arias de yerba al sol caído,
las greyes de Belén en los oteros.
El anciano pastor, a los postreros
martirios de la luz estremecido,
en sus pascuales ojos ha cogido
una casta manada de luceros.
Labrado en orfandad baja el instante
con rumores de entierro, al campo orante;
y se otoñan de sombra las esquilas.
Supervive el azul urdido en hierro,
y en él, amortajadas las pupilas,
traza su aullido pastoral un perro.
UNDER THE POPLARS
For José Eulogio Garrido
Like imprisoned hieratic bards,
the poplars of blood have gone to sleep.
On the knolls the flocks of Bethlehem
ruminate arias of grass in the setting sun.
The ancient shepherd, shaken by
the last martyrdoms of light,
has caught in his paschal eyes
a chaste cluster of brilliant stars.
Wrought by orphanhood he descends the instant
with rumors of burial, to the praying field;
the cattle-bells are autumn-cast with shadow.
The blue survives warped in iron,
and in it, eyeballs shrouded,
a dog traces its bucolic howl.
BUZOS
LA ARAÑA
Es una araña enorme que ya no anda;
una araña incolora, cuyo cuerpo,
una cabeza y un abdomen, sangra.
Hoy la he visto de cerca. Y con qué esfuerzo
hacia todos los flancos
sus pies innumerables alargaba.
Y he pensado en sus ojos invisibles,
los pilotos fatales de la araña.
Es una araña que temblaba fija
en un filo de piedra;
el abdomen a un lado,
y al otro la cabeza.
Con tantos pies la pobre, y aún no puede
resolverse. Y, al verla
atónita en tal trance,
hoy me ha dado qué pena esa viajera.
Es una araña enorme, a quien impide
el abdomen seguir a la cabeza.
Y he pensado en sus ojos
y en sus pies numerosos ...
Y me ha dado qué pena esa viajera!
DIVERS
THE SPIDER
It is an enormous spider that now cannot move;
a colorless spider, whose body,
a head and an abdomen, bleeds.
Today I watched it up close. With what effort
toward every side
it extended its innumerable legs.
And I have thought about its invisible eyes,
the spider's fatal pilots.
It is a spider that tremored caught
on the edge of a rock;
abdomen on one side,
head on the other.
With so many legs the poor thing, and still unable
to free itself. And, on seeing it
confounded by its fix
today, I have felt such sorrow for that traveler.
It is an enormous spider, impeded by
its abdomen from following its head.
And I have thought about its eyes
and about its nume
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Complete Poetry by César Vallejo, Clayton Eshleman. Copyright © 2007 The Regents of the University of California. Excerpted by permission of UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS.
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Table of Contents
ContentsForeword / Mario Vargas Llosa
Acknowledgments
Introduction / Efraín Kristal
Los heraldos negros —The Black Heralds
Plafones ágiles — Agile Soffits
Buzos — Divers
De la tierra — Of the Earth
Nostalgias imperiales — Imperial Nostalgias
Truenos — Thunderclaps
Canciones de hogar — Songs of Home
Trilce
Poemas humanos — Human Poems
I
II
España, aparta de mí este cáliz — Spain, Take This Cup from Me
Afterword: A Translation Memoir
Appendix: A Chronology of Vallejo’s Life and Works / Stephen M. Hart
Notes
Bibliography
Index of Spanish Titles and First Lines
Index of English Titles and First Lines