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The accent hangs down from my shoe;
I hear it perfectly
yield, blaze, bend to the shape of amber
and hang down, colouring, a bad shade.
Thus, I have outgrown my size,
judges watch me from a tree
with their backs they watch me walk ahead,
go inside my hammer,
stand to look at a girl
and, at the foot of a urinal, raise my shoulders.

 Surely there's no one at my side,
it matters little, I don't need them;
surely they have dismissed me:
I feel it distinctly.

 Praying is the cruellest size!
Humiliation, brilliance, deep jungle!
I've size to spare, extendable fog,
speed above and from and close up.
Imperturbable! Imperturbable! Afterwards,
fatidic telephones are ringing.
It's the accent itself.

12 Set. 1937

César Vallejo
Translators: Michael Smith & Valentino Gianuzzi

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