Thursday, March 30, 2017

Black Stone on a White Stone

Black Stone on a White Stone

I will die in Paris in a rainstorm, 
a day I already have in my memory.
I will die in Paris—and I won’t run away—
maybe a Thursday, like today, in autumn.

It will be a Thursday, because today, Thursday, as I prose 
these verses, I’ve put my humerus bones
on wrong, and never as today have I turned back,
on every one of my roads, to see myself alone.

César Vallejo is dead, they beat him
without his doing a thing to them;
they hit him hard with a stick and hard

with a rope too; his witnesses
the Thursdays, the humerus bones,
the solitude, the rain, the roads.

César Vallejo, “Piedra negra sobre una piedra blanca”
Translation by Jack Hayes
© 2017

Image Links to its Source on Wiki Commons:
Fotografia de César Vallejo en el Parque de Versalles: Photo by Juan Domingo Córdoba - Photo restoration: John Manuel Kennedy T. 1929
Public domain.

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