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


The day's about to come; wind up
your arm, look for yourself underneath
the mattress, turn and stand on
your head, in order to walk straight.
The day's about to come, put on your coat.

The day's about to come; grab
your gut tight in your hand, reflect
before you meditate, so it's awful
when misery overtakes you
and some tooth sinks down into you to the depths.

You have to eat, but I tell myself,
don't grieve, that's not for the poor,
grief and sobbing by the tomb;
patch yourself together, remember,
trust your white thread, smoke, check up
on your chain and hide it behind your portrait.
The day's about to come, put on your soul.

The day's about to come; they're going by,
they've opened up an eye in the hotel,
banging on it, flashing your mirror at it...
Are you trembling? It's the remote state of the forehead
and the recent nation of the stomach.
They're still snoring... What universe puts up with this snore?
The way your pores stay there, judging it!
With so many twos, ay, you're so alone!
The day's about to come, put on your dream.

The day's about to come, I repeat
through the oral organ of your silence
and the urge to turn left with hunger
and right with thirst; in any case
stop being poor with the rich,
stir up
your cold, because within it is mixed my warmth, beloved victim.
The day's about to come, put on you body.

The day's about to come;
the morning, the sea, the meteor, are going
after your exhaustion with banners,
and by your classic pride, the hyenas
count their steps to be in time with the ass,
the baker's wife is thinking of you,
the butcher is thinking of you, fingering
the hatchet in which are imprisoned
the steel and the iron and the metal; never forget
that during the Mass there are no friends.
The day's about to come, put on the sun.

The day is here; double
your breaths, triple
your rancorous goodwill
and give the elbow to fear, nix and exclamation point;
well, you, as your crotch shows, and being
a bad one, ay, immortal,
have dreamed this night that you were living
on nothing and dying from everything.


César Vallejo
Translation by Sandy McKinney

subir   poema aleatorio   Poemas humanos (1939)   siguiente / next   anterior / previous
español Original version