Cesar Vallejo

(16 March 1892 – 15 April 1938 / La Libertad)

Trilce - Poem by Cesar Vallejo

Hay un lugar que yo me sé
en este mundo, nada menos,
adonde nunca llegaremos.

Donde, aún sin nuestro pie
llegase a dar por un instante
será, en verdad, como no estarse.

Es ese un sitio que se ve
a cada rato en esta vida,
andando, andando de uno en fila.

Más acá de mí mismo y de
mi par de yemas, lo he entrevisto
siempre lejos de los destinos.

Ya podéis iros a pie
o a puro sentimiento en pelo,
que a él no arriban ni los sellos.

El horizonte color té
se muere por colonizarle
para su gran Cualquieraparte.

Mas el lugar que yo me sé,
en este mundo, nada menos,
hombreado va con los reversos.

-Cerrad aquella puerta que
está entreabierta en las entrañas
de ese espejo. -¿Esta? - No; su hermana.

-No se puede cerrar. No se
puede llegar nunca a aquel sitio
-do van en rama los pestillos.

Tal es el lugar que yo me sé.


In English


There is a place that I know to me
in this world, nothing less,
where never we will arrive.

Where, still without our foot
it got to give for a moment
it will be, in truth, like not being.

A site is that that is seen
in each short while in this life,
walking, walking of one in row.

More here of same me and of
my pair of yolks, I have interviewed it
always far from the destinies.

Already you can iros on foot
or to pure feeling in hair,
that at him they do not arrive nor seals.

The horizon color tea
one dies to colonize to him
for its great Cualquieraparte.

But the place that I know to me,
in this world, nothing less,
hombreado it goes with the reversos.

- You close that door that
it is half-opened in the entrails
of that mirror. - This? - No; its sister.

- it is not possible to be closed. Not
she can never arrive at that site
- do goes in branch the latches.

So it is the place that I know to me.


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Poem Submitted: Friday, April 2, 2010



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