Cesar Vallejo

(16 March 1892 – 15 April 1938 / La Libertad)

Black Stone on Top of a White Stone


I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm,
On a day I already remember.
I shall die in Paris-- it does not bother me--
Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn.

It shall be a Thursday, because today, Thursday
As I put down these lines, I have set my shoulders
To the evil. Never like today have I turned,
And headed my whole journey to the ways where I am alone.

César Vallejo is dead. They struck him,
All of them, though he did nothing to them,
They hit him hard with a stick and hard also
With the end of a rope. Witnesses are: the Thursdays,
The shoulder bones, the loneliness, the rain, and the roads...

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

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  • Rookie - 200 Points Palas Kumar Ray (1/19/2009 4:47:00 AM)

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    This's the first ever poem of Cesar Vallejo I read not knowing much of the poet at all. The poem depicts his mental trauma and the helplessness which makes him affirmingly say about the end as if everything he finds happenning as per schedule.
    ||_______________________________________________________________|| (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Cecilia Nicoletti (2/9/2007 10:13:00 AM)

    The native man speaks no much.And use to be silent because hes word has been taken a long time ago from him.Vallejo interrups the old silence of natives in South American Literature.And it is true, he speaks as a white man and he lands at Europe to more lonely and sad.For his complex poetry it is about to be valued as he deserves.And to understand the real importance of having a voice and being heard... (Report) Reply

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