| TRILCE - IV | TRILCE - IV | ||||||||
| César Vallejo | trans. Rebecca Seiferle | ||||||||
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Rechinan dos carretas contra los martillos hasta los lagrimales trifurcas, cuando nunca las hicimos nada. A aquella otra sí, desamada, amargurada bajo túnel campero por lo uno, y sobre duras áljidas
Tendime en són de tercera parte, mas la tarde - qué la bamos a hhazer- se anilla en mi cabeza, furiosamente a no querer dosificarse eri madre. Son los anillos. Son los nupciales trópicos ya tascados. El alejarse, mejor que todo, rompe a Crisol. Aquel no haber descolorado por nada. Lado al lado al destino y llora y llora. Toda la canción cuadrada en tres silencios. Calor. Ovario. Casi transparencia.
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Two carts squeal against hammers until the lachrymals trifurcate when we never did anything to them. To that other, yes, unloved, embittered in the open tunnel by the one, and into harsh algid
I stretched out in the manner of the third party, much later - how will we f-f-fasten it? - rings in my head, furiously, not wanting to take doses of mother. The rings exist. Tropic nuptials already threshing. Withdrawing, better than all else, cleaves the Crucible. Which was not discolored for nothing. Side by side by destiny, weeps and weeps. The entire song squared in three silences. Caloric. Ovary. Almost transparent.
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Copyright © Rebecca Seiferle 1992, - publ. The Sheep Meadow Press
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