Black Stone On Top Of A White Stone Poem by Cesar Vallejo
Black Stone On Top Of A White Stone
I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm,
On a day I already remember.
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, Thursday
As I put down these lines, I have set my shoulders
To the evil. Never like today have I turned,
And headed my whole journey to the ways where I am alone.
César Vallejo is dead. They struck him,
All of them, though he did nothing to them,
They hit him hard with a stick and hard also
With the end of a rope. Witnesses are: the Thursdays,
The shoulder bones, the loneliness, the rain, and the roads...
Powerful. The first two lines reeled me in; I had to read on.
The native man speaks no much.And use to be silent because hes word has been taken a long time ago from him.Vallejo interrups the old silence of natives in South American Literature.And it is true, he speaks as a white man and he lands at Europe to more lonely and sad.For his complex poetry it is about to be valued as he deserves.And to understand the real importance of having a voice and being heard...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 2:41:48 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Thursdays will now have a new meaning for me. I shall toast this poet on Thursdays.