And this was not possible.
-Let him think an identical thought, in the time that a zero remains useless.
And this was not possible.
-Let him do something crazy.
And this was not possible.
-Between him and another man similar to him, let a crowd of men like him interpose themselves.
And this was not possible.
-Let them compare him with himself.
And this was not possible.
- Let them call him, finally, by his name.
And this was not possible.
VOY A HABLAR DE LA ESPERANZA
Yo no sufro este dolor como Cesar Vallejo. Yo no me duelo ahora como artista, como hombre ni como simple ser vivo siquiera. Yo no sufro este dolor como catolico, como mahometano ni como ateo. Hoy sufro solamente. Si no me llamase Cesar Vallejo, tambien sufriria este mismo dolor. Si no fuese artista, tambien lo sufriria. Si no fuese hombre ni ser vivo siquiera, tambien lo sufriria. Si no fuese catolico, ateo ni mahometano, tambien lo sufriria. Hoy sufro desde mas abajo. Hoy sufro solamente.
Me duelo ahora sin explicaciones. Mi dolor es tan hondo, que no tuvo ya causa ni carece de causa. tQue seria su causa? tDonde esta aquello tan importante, que dejase de ser su causa? Nada es su causa; nada ha podido dejar de ser su causa. to que ha nacido este dolor, por si mismo? Mi dolor es del viento del norte y del viento del sur, como esos huevos neutros que algunas ayes raras ponen del viento. Si hubiera muerto mi novia, mi dolor seria igual. Si me hubieran cortado el cuello de raiz, mi dolor seria igual. Si la vida fuese, en fin, de otro modo, mi dolor seria igual. Hoy sufro desde mas arriba. Hoy sufro solamente.
Miro el dolor del hambriento y veo que su hambre anda tan lejos de mi sufrimiento, que de quedarme ayuno hasta morir, saldria siempre de mi tumba una brizna de yerba al menos. Lo mismo el enamorado. jQue sangre la suya mas engendrada, para la mia sin fuente ni consumo!
Yo creia hasta ahora que todas las cosas del universo eran, inevitablemente, padres o hijos. Pero he aqui que mi dolor de hoy no es padre ni es hijo. Le falta espalda Para anochecer, tanto como le sobra pecho Para amanecer y si to pusiesen en una estancia obscura, no daria luz y silo pusiesen en una estancia luminosa, no echaria sombra. Hoy sufro suceda lo que suceda. Hoy sufro solamente.
I AM GOING TO SPEAK OF HOPE
I do not suffer this pain as Cesar Vallejo. I do not ache now as an artist, as a man or even as a simple living being. I do not suffer this pain as a Catholic, as a Mohammedan or as an atheist. Today I simply suffer. If my name were not Cesar Vallejo, I would still suffer this very same pain. If I were not an artist, I would still suffer it. If I were not a man or even a living being, I would still suffer it. If I were not a Catholic, atheist or Muhammadan, I would still suffer it. Today I suffer from further below. Today I simply suffer.
I ache now without any explanation. My pain is so deep, that it never had a cause nor does it lack a cause now. What could have been its cause? Where is that thing so important, that it might stop being its cause? Its cause is nothing; nothing could have stopped being its cause. For what has this pain been born, for itself? My pain is from the north wind and from the south wind, like those neuter eggs certain rare birds lay in the wind. If my bride were dead, my pain would be the same. If they slashed my throat all the way through, my pain would be the same. If life were, in short, different, my pain would be the same. Today I suffer from further above. Today I simply suffer.
I look at the hungry man's pain and see that his hunger is so far away from my suffering, that were I to fast unto death, at least a blade of grass would always sprout from my tomb. The same with the lover. How engendered his blood is, in contrast to mine without source or consumption!
I believed until now that all things of the universe were, inevitably, parents or offsprings. But behold that my pain today is neither parent nor offspring. It lacks a back to darken, as well as having too much chest to dawn and if they put it in a dark room, it would not give light and if they put it in a brightly lit room, it would cast no shadow. Today I suffer come what may. Today I simply suffer.
HALLAZGO DE LA VIDA
jSenores! Hoy es la primera vez que me doy cuenta de la presencia de la vida. jSenores! Ruego a ustedes dejarme libre un momento, para saborear esta emocion formidable, espontanea y reciente de la vida, que hoy, por la primera vez, me extasia y me hace dichoso hasta las lagrimas.
Mi gozo viene de lo inedito de mi emocion. Mi exultacion viene de que antes no senti la presencia de la vida. No la he sentido nunca. Miente quien diga que la he sentido. Miente y su mentira me hiere a tal punto que me haria desgraciado. Mi gozo viene de mi fe en este hallazgo personal de la vida, y nadie puede it contra esta fe. Al que fuera, se le caeria la lengua, se le caerian los huesos y correria el peligro de recoger otros, ajenos, para mantenerse de pie ante mis ojos.
Nunca, sino ahora, ha habido vida. Nunca, sino ahora, han pasado gentes. Nunca, sino ahora, ha habido casas y avenidas, aire y horizonte. Si viniese ahora mi amigo Peyriet, le diria que yo no le conozco y que debemos empezar de nuevo. tCuando, en efecto, le he conocido a mi amigo Peyriet? Hoy seria la primera vez que nos conocemos. Le diria que se vaya y regrese y entre a verme, como si no me conociera, es decir, por la primera vez.
Ahora yo no conozco a nadie ni nada. Me advierto en un pais extrano, en el que todo cobra relieve de nacimiento, luz de epifania inmarcesible. No, senor. No hable usted a ese caballero. Usted no lo conoce y le sorprenderia tan inopinada parla. No ponga usted el pie sobre esa piedrecilla: quien sate no es piedra y vaya usted a dar en el vacio. Sea usted precavido, puesto que estamos en un mundo absolutamente inconocido.
jCuan poco tiempo he vivido! Mi nacimiento es tan reciente, que no hay unidad de medida para contar mi edad. jSi acabo de nacer! jSi aiin no he vivido todavia! Senores: soy tan pequenito, que el dia apenas cabe en mi.
Nunca, sino ahora, of el estruendo de los carros, que cargan piedras para una gran construccion del boulevard Haussmann. Nunca, sino ahora, avance paralela- mente a la primavera, diciendola: "Si la muerte hubiera sido otra ..." Nunca, sino ahora, vi la luz aurea del sol sobre las citpulas del Sacre-Coeur. Nunca, sino ahora, se me acerco un nino y me miro hondamente con su boca. Nunca, sino ahora, supe que existia una puerta, otra puerta y el canto cordial de las distancias.
jDejadme! La vida me ha dado ahora en toda mi muerte.
[1926]
DISCOVERY OF LIFE
Gentlemen! Today is the first time that I become aware of the presence of life. Gentlemen! I beg you to leave me alone for a moment, so I can savor this formidable, spontaneous, and recent emotion of life, which today, for the first time, enraptures me and makes me happy to the point of tears.
My joy comes from the unprecedented nature of my emotion. My exultation comes from the fact that before I did not feel the presence of life. I have never felt it. If anyone says that I have felt it he is lying. He is lying and his lie hurts me to such a degree that it would make me miserable. My joy comes from my faith in this personal discovery of life, and no one can go against this faith. If anyone would try, his tongue would fall out, his bones would fall out and he would risk picking up somebody else's, not his own, to keep standing before my eyes.
Never, except now, has there been life. Never, except now, have people walked by. Never, except now, have there been houses and avenues, air and horizons. If my friend Peyriet came over right now, I would tell him that I do not know him and that we must begin anew. When, in fact, have I known my friend Peyriet? Today would be the first time that we have known each other. I would tell him to go away and come back and call on me, as if he did not know me, that is, for the first time.
Now I do not know anyone or anything. I notice I am in a strange land where everything acquires a newborn eminence, a light of unfading epiphany. No, sir. Do not speak to that gentleman. You do not know him and such unexpected chatter would surprise him. Do not put your foot on that little stone: who knows it is not a stone and you will plunge into the void. Be cau
tious, for we are in a totally aknown world.
What a short time I have lived! My birth is so recent, there is no unit of measure to count my age. I have just been born! I have not even lived yet! Gentlemen: I am so tiny, that the day hardly fits inside me.
Never, except now, did I hear the racket of the carts, that carry stones for a great construction on boulevard Haussmann. Never, except now, did I advance parallel to the spring, saying to it: "If death had been another. . ." Never, except now, did I see the golden light of the sun on the cupolas of Sacre-Coeur. Never, except now, did a child approach me and look at me deeply with his mouth. Never, except now, did I know a door existed, another door and the cordial song of the distances.
Leave me alone! Life has now struck me in all my death.
Una mujer de senos apacibles, ante los que la lengua de la vaca resulta una glandula violenta. Un hombre de templanza, mandibular de genio, apto Para marchar de a dos con los goznes de los cofres. Un nino esta al lado del hombre, llevando por el reves, el derecho animal de la pareja.
1Oh la palabra del hombre, libre de adjetivos y de adverbios, que la mujer declina en su ttnico caso de mujer, aun entre las mil voces de la Capilla Sixtina! 1Oh la falda de ella, en el punto maternal donde pone el pequeno las manos y juega a los pliegues, haciendo a veces agrandar las pupilas de la madre, como en las sanciones de los confesionarios!
Yo tengo mucho gusto de ver asi al Padre, al Hijo y al Espiritusanto, con todos los emblemas e insignias de sus cargos.
A woman with peaceful breasts, before which a cow's tongue becomes a violent gland. A temperate man, mandibular in character, able to march side by side with the coffer's hinges. A child is at the side of the man, carrying in reverse, the animal rights of the couple.
Oh the word of man, free from adjectives and adverbs, which woman declines in her unique female case, even among the thousand voices of the Sistine Chapel! Oh that skirt of hers, at the maternal point where the child puts his hands and plays with the pleats, sometimes making his mother's pupils dilate, as in the sanctions of the confessionals!
I derive a great pleasure from seeing the Father, the Son and the Holyghost like this, with all the emblems and insignias of their offices.
Cesa el anhelo, ratio al aire. De siibito, la vida se amputa, en seco. Mi propia Sangre me salpica en lineas femeninas, y hasta la misma urbe sale a ver esto que se para de improviso.
-Que ocurre aqui, en este hijo del hombre?-clama la urbe, yen una Sala del Louvre, un nino llora de terror a la vista del retrato de otro nino.
-Que ocurre aqui, en este hijo de mujer?-clama la urbe, y a una estatua del siglo de los Ludovico, le nace una brizna de yerba en plena palma de la mano.
Cesa el anhelo, a la altura de la mano enarbolada. Y yo me escondo detras de mi mismo, a aguaitarme si paso por lo bajo o merodeo en alto.
Longing ceases, tail in the air. Suddenly, life amputates itself, abruptly. My own blood splashes me in feminine lines, and even the city itself comes out to see what it is that stops unexpectedly.
-What's going on here, in this son of man?-the city shouts, and in a hall of the Louvre, a child cries in terror at the sight of the portrait of another child.
-What's going on here, in this son of woman?-the city shouts, and in a statue from the Ludwigian century, a blade of grass is born right in the palm of its hand.
Longing ceases, at the height of the raised hand. And I hide behind myself, to watch if I slip through below or maraud on high.
-No vive ya nadie en la casa-me dices-; todos se han ido. La sala, el dormi- torio, el patio, yacen despoblados. Nadie ya queda, pues que todos han partido.
Y yo to digo: Cuando alguien se va, alguien queda. El punto por donde paso un hombre, ya no esta solo. Unicamente esta solo, de soledad humana, el lugar por donde ningitn hombre ha pasado. Las casas nuevas estan mas muertas que las viejas, porque sus muros son de piedra o de acero, pero no de hombres. Una casa viene al mundo, no cuando la acaban de edificar, sino cuando empiezan a habitarla. Una casa vive iinicamente de hombres, como una tumba. De aqui esa irresistible semejanza que hay entre una casa y una tumba. Solo que la casa se nutre de la vida del hombre, mientras que la tumba se nutre de la muerte del hombre. Por eso la primera esta de pie, mientras que la segunda esta tendida.
Todos han partido de la casa, en realidad, pero todos se han quedado en verdad. Y no es el recuerdo de ellos lo que queda, sino ellos mismos. Y no es tampoco que ellos queden en la casa, sino que continiian por la casa. Las funciones y los actos se van de la casa en tren o en avion o a caballo, a pie o arrastrandose. Lo que continua en la casa es el organo, el agente en gerundio y en circulo. Los pasos se han ido, los besos, los perdones, los crimenes. Lo que continua en la casa es el pie, los labios, los ojos, el corazon. Las negaciones y las afirmaciones, el bien y el mal, se han dispersado. Lo que continua en la casa, es el sujeto del acto.
-No one lives in the house anymore-you tell me-; all have gone. The living room, the bedroom, the patio, are deserted. No one remains any longer, since everyone has departed.
And I say to you: When someone leaves, someone remains. The point through which a man passed, is no longer empty. The only place that is empty, with human solitude, is that through which no man has passed. New houses are deader than old ones, for their walls are of stone or steel, but not of men. A house comes into the world, not when people finish building it, but when they begin to inhabit it. A house lives only off men, like a tomb. That is why there is an irresistible resemblance between a house and a tomb. Except that the house is nourished by the life of man, while the tomb is nourished by the death of man. That is why the first is standing, while the second is laid out.
Everyone has departed from the house, in reality, but all have remained in truth. And it is not their memory that remains, but they themselves. Nor is it that they remain in the house, but that they continue about the house. Functions and acts leave the house by train or by plane or on horseback, walking or crawling. What continues in the house is the organ, the agent in gerund and in circle. The steps have left, the kisses, the pardons, the crimes. What continues in the house are the foot, the lips, the eyes, the heart. Negations and affirmations, good and evil, have dispersed. What continues in the house, is the subject of the act.
Existe un mutilado, no de un combate sino de un abrazo, no de la guerra sino de la paz. Perdio el rostro en el amor y no en el odio. Lo perdio en el curso normal de la vida y no en un accidente. Lo perdio en el orden de la naturaleza y no en el desorden de los hombres. El coronel Piccot, Presidente de "Les Gueules Cassees", lleva la boca comida por la polvora de 1914. Este mutilado que conozco, lleva el rostro comido por el aire inmortal e inmemorial.
Rostro muerto sobre el tronco vivo. Rostro yerto y pegado con clavos a la cabeza viva. Este rostro resulta ser el dorso del craneo, el craneo del craneo. Vi una vez un arbol darme la espalda y vi otra vez un camino que me daba la espalda. Un arbol de espaldas solo crece en los lugares donde nunca nacio ni murio nadie. Un camino de espaldas solo avanza por los lugares donde ha habido todas las muertes y ningitn nacimiento. El mutilado de la paz y del amor, del abrazo y del orden y que lleva el rostro muerto sobre el tronco vivo, nacio a la sombra de un arbol de espaldas y su existencia transcurre a lo largo de un camino de espaldas.
Como el rostro esta yerto y difunto, toda la vida psiquica, toda la expresion animal de este hombre, se refugia, para traducirse al exterior, en el peludo craneo, en el torax yen las extremidades. Los impulsos de su ser profundo, al salir, retroceden del rostro y la respiracion, el olfato, la vista, el oido, la palabra, el resplandor humano de su ser, funcionan y se expresan por el pecho, por los hombros, por el cabello, por las costillas, por los brazos y las piernas y los pies.
Mutilado del rostro, tapado del rostro, cerrado del rostro, este hombre, no obstante, esta entero y nada le hace falta. No tiene ojos y ve y llora. No tiene narices y huele y respira. No tiene oidos y escucha. No tiene boca y habla y sonrie. No tiene frente y piensa y se sume en si mismo. No tiene menton y quier
e y subsiste. Jesus conocia al mutilado de la funcion, que tenia ojos y no veia y tenia orejas y no oia. Yo conozco al mutilado del organo, que ve sin Ojos y oye sin orejas.
There is a man mutilated not from combat but from an embrace, not from war but from peace. He lost his face through love and not through hate. He lost it in the normal course of life and not in an accident. He lost it in the order of nature and not in the disorder of men. Colonel Piccot, President of "Les Gueules Cassees," lives with his mouth eaten away by the gunpowder of 1914. This mutilated man I know, has his face eaten away by the immortal and immemorial air.
A dead face above the living torso. A stiff face fastened with nails to the living head. This face turns out to be the backside of the skull, the skull of the skull. I once saw a tree turn its back on me and another time I saw a road that turned its back on me. A tree turned backward only grows where no one ever died or was born. A road turned backward only advances through places where there have been all deaths and no birth. The man mutilated by peace and by love, by an embrace and by order and who lives with a dead face above his living trunk, was born in the shadow of a tree turned backward and his existence takes place along a road turned backward.
As his face is stiff and dead, all the psychic life, all the animal expression of this man, takes refuge, to translate itself outwardly, in his hairy skull, in his thorax and in his extremities. Impulses from his deep being, on going out, back away from his face and breathing, his sense of smell, his sight, his hearing, his speech, the human radiance of his being, function and are expressed through his chest, through his shoulders, through his hair, through his ribs, through his arms and his legs and his feet.
Face mutilated, face covered, face closed, this man, nevertheless, is whole and lacks nothing. He has no eyes and he sees and cries. He has no nose and he smells and breathes. He has no ears and he listens. He has no mouth and he talks and smiles. No forehead and he thinks and withdraws into himself. No chin and he desires and subsists. Jesus knew the man whose mutilation left him functionless, who had eyes and could not see and had ears and could not hear. I know the man whose mutilation left him organless, who sees without eyes and hears without ears.
B003EEN38U EBOK The Complete Poetry A Bilingual Edition nodrm Page 6