XI (page 187)
bitewashed sepulchers In rebocados sepulcros, by misspelling revocados (whitewashed, resurfaced), Vallejo has brought bocados (mouthful, snack, or bite) into the word. The translational challenge in such a situation is not only to misspell the appropriate word in English but also to pick up some of the secondary meaning in Spanish.
teneblearic Here, with the Spanish tenebloso, the misspelling of tenebroso (tenebrous, tenebrific) suggests a coinage of the English tenebrific and bleary.
XII (page 189)
Tramontation The Spanish Tramonto appears to be a nounlike neologism based on the verb tramontar, which can mean "to cross the mountains," "to sink behind the mountains" (as the sun), or, reflexively, "to help someone escape." It is clearly linked to tramontana, which in English is tramontane (on the other side of the mountain, or, a cold, violent northerly wind). In an early version of XV (dated by Espejo to igi9), we find the word used in the last two lines: Son dos puertas abriendose, cerrandose, at huir/Sombra a sombra en mitad de este tramonto! Here it is clear that Vallejo is using tramonto as a noun (probably eliminating the possibility that it could be a first-person singular of the verb tramontar), and, given the context of doors blowing open, that he probably has the violent wind meaning in mind. However, in an early version of XII (dated i92i, and reproduced in the RGV edition on p. 257), Ocaso (occident, or the setting of the sun) took the place of Tramonto in the second line. Given the uncertainty of any choice here, I have opted for tramontation, the setting of the sun behind a mountain.
factures The wordfabrida is old Spanish for fabricar (to fabricate, manufacture).
XIII (page 191)
daughterloin By adding a silent "h" to far (loin, or flank), Vallejo strongly evokes hya (daughter, or child).
XIV (page 193)
rubber Alberto Escobar reads azogue (quicksilver) in this line as a metaphor for semen. This reading is made plausible by line 6 and stimulated by the louts in line 4 (because of their association with the sexually driven beast in line 12 of the preceding XIII). I therefore translate goma not as "glue" but as "rubber." For another erotic use of quicksilver, see XXVII, line 12.
a wage of five soles (un sueldo de cinco soles) The sol is Peru's monetary unit. Such a wage would have amounted to virtually nothing.
XV (page 195)
bed The word cuja in this usage is a Latin-Americanism.
Daudet Alphonse Daudet (1840-1897), a French writer, is known for, among other books, Lettres de men moulin (1869), a collection of Provence-inspired short stories. This poem was originally written as a sonnet called "Sombras" (Shadows) and is reproduced on p. 264 of the RGV edition.
XVI (page 197)
zeros on the left Also an idiomatic expression meaning "mere ciphers" or "nobodies." I translate ceros a la izquierda literally here, since part of what I feel is Vallejo's preoccupation with the left and with negative numbers (e.g., the book's title, and poems IV, XXV, and XXXVIII).
XVII (page 199)
ovulatable That which can be ovulated. According to Ferrari, the word ovulandas is based on the verb ovular (to ovulate), using "the adjectival ending of a passive Latin conjugation." The same formation is found in callandas (silence-deserving) in XXV.
XIX (page 203)
To rummage, sweet Helpide Jean Franco writes, in regard to the first line, "By giving Hope a Greek name (Helpide) and capitalizing the initial letter, Vallejo is creating his own deity." However, Meo Zilio points out that Vallejo has added an "H" to the Greek elpis, -idos, and by doing so has evoked the Helpis, or Helpido, a genus of spiders (which elsewhere make two appearances in Trilce with the adjective arachnoid in XL and LXVII).
XX (page 205)
gullery In Spanish chi rota is an old word for mischief or trickery. There is a remote possibility that it could be a distortion of chirote (a kind of linnet), or that it could play off chirona (slang for jail, or the clink).
XXI (page 207)
arteried The Spanish arteriado is a neologism based on arteria (artery). In LVII Vallejo does the same thing with crater (crater), turning it into craterizados (craterized).
We had to splendor Hubimos de splendor is apparently a mix of tuvimos splendor (we had splendor) and hubimos de esplender (we had to shine). While splendor does exist as a verb in English, it is rare enough to warrant picking up at least some of the deft oddness of the Spanish phrase.
tenderlovin' Based on ternurosa, a Spanish neologism fusing ternura (tenderness) and amorosa (loving).
XXII (page 209)
M. Jean Jacques is in the black books Vallejo is undoubtedly referring to Jean-Jacques Rousseau; en hacerio is an archaic phrase meaning "in utter disgrace or misfortune." Like calabrina in the first poem, it is appropriately rendered by a word/phrase that is archaic in English.
rainshines In northern Peruvian Spanish, chirapar means "to rain while the sun is shining" (based on the Quechuan word chirapani).
sumpage Posillos is a modification of pocillos (sumps), which according to Gonzalez Vigil evokes poso (sediment, residue). Unable to find an appropriate misspelling of the word in English, with my word choice I focused on the residue to be found in a sump.
XXV (page 215)
Thrips uprear The common meaning for a fil is "chess bishop" (based on the Arabic at-fit, or elephant, the original form of the bishop). A much less common meaning is agiiero (omen, augury). The verb alfar appears to refer to the action of a horse that raises its head too high while galloping (I have not been able to track down the context for this denotation; i.e., does it relate to dressage? Arabic horsemanship?). As for its meaning, a good case can be made for "chess bishop," since in chess the bishop is next to the knight, which has a horse's head, the juxtaposition might possibly have triggered alfan apes. However, the magic of the line is in the sound connection (with the first two words followed by a adherirse-to adhere), so I have rejected a literal meaning-oriented translation of the line that might go: "Chess bishops hold their (horse) heads too high to adhere ..." Because the a files seem to function as destructive agents that attach themselves to a number of unrelated and related things (which subsequently unravel, give way, hobble, and wheeze), I have decided to work with a reading of apes that I acknowledge is questionable. I propose, with the marriage of sounds also in mind, to read it as a variant of a filerillos, which can denote a destructive insect (a kind of flea beetle that leaps up-or slightly stretched, a thrip). To some extent, in a poem as multidirectional as XXV, certain word choices become compromises relative to other words. For example, in line 4, cadillos can be translated as "cockleburs" or as "thrums" (warp ends, which can be associated with "unraveled" in line 5), and by selecting thrips for line i, I thus get, in line 4, "thrips and thrums" -a sound play that may be as unusual as the sound play between the first two words in Spanish in line i. While my translation of Trilce is primarily meaning oriented, there are occasions when the sound play is so paramount that it must be given equal priority with meaning (other examples: IX, lines 7-13; XX, line i; XXXVI, lines 7-i9; LII, line 30-34). It is also important in a poem like this not to select a "program" at the beginning and then steer as many meanings as possible into its stream.
In an essay on Hart Crane in At Their Word (Black Sparrow Press, 1978), Cid Corman perceptively writes:
Typical of what we think is Crane would be the piled-up shifting, metaphorical language, verbal gorgeousness outrunning sense, of:
Vallejo seems incipient. And Rimbaud's love of shock of language, of mere verbality. And Thomas in his even tighter conjunctions. The impulse toward mobbing sense is of our time. (55)
While I would tend to disagree with Corman's critical stance here, his association of these lines from Crane's magnificent "Lachrymae Christi" with Vallejo (in general, I gather) makes a lot of sense, especially with such poems as Trilce XXV.
ennazals The Spanish ennazala is a neologism based on nasal, adding a prefix and turning the adjective into a verb.
innanimous The Spanish i
nnanima is a neologism based on inanime (lifeless, inanimate). This word is paired with grifalda (gerfalcon, or gyrfalcon), old Spanish for the falcon of that name. A gerfalcon is also a small culverin (in Spanish, a grifalto); this meaning also appears to be involved.
XXVI (page 217)
chariot Aurigan is the noun auriga (chariot) turned into a verb.
sinamayera A female vendor of Philippine sinamay, a textile woven of abaca fiber.
sures Southerly winds on the coasts of Chile and Peru.
XXVIII (page 223)
Viandry An archaic word that refers to food. It is also a medieval term for the tax or provisions given to a monarch by a town, as he and his entourage pass through. I emphasize this second (or perhaps initially primary) meaning in LXX: Los soles andan sin yantar? (Do suns move without purveyance?), since in this case the sun in its daily course seems to be compared to a monarch in pilgrimage. As a verb, yantar used to be a common word meaning "to eat." While it would be out of common usage for most Spanish speakers today, it may still be in use in remote sierra areas of Peru.
degllusion Vallejo alters deglucidn (deglutition, swallowing), evoking ilusidn (illusion) to form deglusidn.
XXX (page 227)
vagurant The Spanish vagoroso is a neologism fusing vago (vague) with vagaroso (vagurant).
ensweetened Vallejo has added his own suffix to dulzor (sweetness) to form dulzorada. While ensweetened does exist in English, it is obsolete. Although sweetnessed would also be possible, in this line it sounds awkward to me.
XXXI (page 229)
cotton coddled Literally, entre algodones means "between cottons" or "cotton pads/wads." The phrase appears, however, to make use of the expression criado entre algodones (mollycoddled, or pampered).
XXXII (page 231)
Roombbb ... Hulllablll llust ... ster While the sounds (Rumbbb ... Trrraprrrr rrach ... chaz) may be read as street noise, the fact that the words trapa, racha, and cachaza (which appears as such in line 9) seem to be involved invites me to reconstruct the line making use of English equivalents. With poetry, the challenge is always to translate everything.
Serpenteenic e of the sweet roll vendor The "u" (in boldface) of the bizcochero's cry- "bis- cochouus"-unwinds in the air like a serpentin (a roll of color paper that is cast forth so as to unroll, as at a carnival). I change the "u" to an "e" to pick up the sound of "ee" in "serpen teenic," as well as the "ee" in "sweet" (which is echoed in line 13, along with the long "o" in "rolls"- Weeeeeetrozzz).
engyrafted The Spanish engirafada is a neologism fusing jirafa (giraffe) with girar (gyrate), and the prefix en.
XXXIII (page 233)
incordant The Spanish incordes is a neologism based on discorde (discordant, dissonant).
XXXVI (page 239)
hell-bent on winning A las ganadas is a northern Peruvianism.
ammoniafies The Spanish amoniacase is amoniaco (ammoniac, ammonia) turned into a verb. While we have a verb in English (ammonify), I do not use it, since none exists in Spanish.
neverthelessez The Spanish todaviiza is the adverb todavia (yet, still, nevertheless,-and, in old Spanish, always) extended/warped into a verb. A few lines later, another adverb, aunes (evens), is treated as a plural noun.
XXXVII (page 241)
marinera A gallant coastal Peruvian folk dance.
XXXIX (page 245)
I rock The verb mesarse is conventionally accompanied by an object, e.g., mesarse el pelo (to tear out one's hair). Here the verb also appears to evoke mecer (to swing or rock), since a columpio (on a swing) appears in the next line.
transcendentary Vallejo alters trascendente (transcendental) to evoke diente (tooth) in the neologism trascendiente. Since the word dental is part of the standard transcendental in English, I have coined transcendentary, since dentary means "pertaining to or bearing teeth."
XL (page 247)
Mondayescent The Spanish tunesentes is a neologism that appears to juxtapose tunes (Monday) with the suffix -escentes (-escent, denoting beginning, or beginning to be). While tunescentes also evokes tuna (moon, from which Monday derives), given the stanza's context of "Sunday" and "six elbows" (the other days of the week?), Monday appears to be the neologism's primary significance.
XLI (page 249)
slap for swap A tas is a small anvil used by silversmiths, called a "stake" in English. Given the context of beating/striking (and the evocation of masturbating in jail in the first stanza), this meaning of tas appears to be involved. However, taz a taz (tit for tat) and taz con taz (even, equal, as in a score tied 7 to 7), are perhaps equally strong candidates for the phrase on which Vallejo's variation is based. And since we know that he often slightly deformed words, changing visual appearance with the sound more or less intact, tas con tas could be a visual modification of taz con taz. While it is always possible in such a situation to pick the most likely meaning and to translate it literally, it is more adventuresome (and more in keeping with the maverick spirit of Trilce) to create a phrase in English that while involving the implications of the original is as unusual as Vallejo's variation.
XLVI (page 2-59)
An earlier version of this poem (a sonnet called "La tarde" -"The Evening," to be found on PP- 344-45 in the RGV edition) contains Otilia's name. Espejo recalls:
For a reference to a racing form, see XXXV.
XLVII (page 261)
you deisland The word isla (island) is turned into a "negative" verb with the addition of the prefix des(de-), forming to desislas. Possibly based on such standard verbs in Spanish as desterrar (to banish, or exile; literally "to de-earth") and desaislarse (to come out of seclusion or isolation; to de-isolate). The sense here is that the archipelago disintegrates into the depths of the sea.
mice The word pericotes is a Peruvianism.
XLIX (page 265)
irisizes The Spanish iridice is a neologism fusing iride (the stinking iris, or gladden) with iridiscente (iridescent) to form a verb.
mashed causes The word causas means "causes" in English, too, but la causa is a puree of boiled potatoes mashed with oil and lemon. Given the food associations in the last three lines of this poem, the compound phrase in English seems appropriate.
L (page 267)
This corvine one Julio Ortega believes that corvino here is the masculine for corvine, a common Peruvian fish (known in English, too, as corvine and related to the weakfish or grouper) used in such dishes as ceviche. He bases his opinion on another conjecture, that in the second stanza mojarilla also refers to a fish (the mojarra, the same as in English). In Peru, he comments, street-smart boys are sometimes referred to as corvinos or mojarillas. The other possibilities: all dictionaries offer "crowlike, corvine" as definitions of corvine, and I suspect that the Cerberean warden in the poem is more crowlike than fishlike, and that he may evoke for the jailed Vallejo Poe's raven, as a figure of "nevermore." Also, all dictionaries list mojarilla as "a gay or jolly person," with no mention of the fish (it being listed solely as mojarra). Since we have just been told (in line 8) that the warden "jokes with the prisoners," it is possible that Vallejo intends to deepen his cynicism in the following line by referring to him as "jolly." Given the lack of definite evidence for either position, I have gone with the reading that the poem itself seems to back up most cogently.
LV (page 2-77)
Espejo was hospitalized in early 192o. He writes that when Vallejo composed this poem he was inspired by his daily visits to his friend in the hospital (87).
Samain would say Vallejo quotes from the first two lines of "L'automne," by Albert Samain (1856-igoo), which, translated by Juan Ramon Jimenez, was included in La poesia francesa moderna (1913), edited by Diez-Canedo and Fortun. This is the book that introduced Vallejo to French Symbolist poetry. Among the poets included were Nerval, Baudelaire, Gautier, Corbiere, Laforgue, Rimbaud, Verlaine, Mallarme, Jammes, Maeterlinck, and Claudel. Samain's poetry, written in a Symbolist vein, was distinguished by its melancholy tone and musical qualities. Jean
Franco calls the quoted poem "a nostalgic evocation of human alienation healed by the essential harmony of nature" (109). Trilce explicitly demonstrates a rupture with this kind of Symbolism. Here is the Samain poem:
At one point Espejo dates LV in 1919, but after mentioning his hospitalization in 1920, he changes the date to that year. It occurs to me that after 105 days in jail, Vallejo would have been extremely sensitive to a description of the air in a prison yard as "calm," especially if he associated this place with being shouted at while using outdoor latrines (see commentary on the first poem in Trilce). Thus a case might be made for LV having been composed in 1921, after Vallejo's release from jail.
La Prensa Daily Lima newspaper (1903-1984).
empatrolled The Spanish empatrullado is a neologism based on patrullado (patrolled).
LVIII (page 283)
stripshredding The Spanish se harapan is a neologism based on harapo (rag) and possibly arroparse (to clothe oneself, wrap up). Since the desnudos (nudes) in the line above are probably pinups the prisoners have tacked to the wall, I attempt to create a word that inverts arroparse so as to evoke "stripping" by turning one's clothes into rags.
LIX (page 287)
"tender trap" Literally a small pen or poultry yard, but, in context, corralito is the "tender trap" of marriage.
LX (page 289)
vegetold The word vejetal is Vallejo's misspelling of vegetal (vegetal), suggesting a play on vejez (old age).
LXI (page 291)
Espejo writes that this poem was inspired by a journey back to Santiago de Chuco made by Vallejo and some friends after the poet had been away for several years. He recalls:
B003EEN38U EBOK The Complete Poetry A Bilingual Edition nodrm Page 10