anterior    aleatorio / random   autor / author   inicio / home   siguiente / next

    IN THE GREEK TENTS

Yes, the Soul grew afraid
at five o'clock on that faded blue afternoon.
The lip implored it between linens,
pouting like a bridegroom to his bride.

Thought, the great General, strapped
on the sword of deicide.
The Heart was dancing; but then sobbed:
was the enslaved dancer wounded?

Not at all! It was just the tigers brushing by
while racing to post themselves in that corner
to watch sadly the sunsets arriving from Athens.

There'll be no cure for this hospital of nerves —
great, irritated camp of this late afternoon!
And the General considers how to blow up the sinister pains
over there...

in the narrow defile of my nerves!

autógrafo

César Vallejo, 1918
Translated by Rebecca Seiferle


subir   poema aleatorio   Los Heraldos Negros (1918)   siguiente / next   anterior / previous
Truenos
español Original version