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| Black Stone on a White Stone César Vallejo translated by Clayton Eshleman |
I will die in Paris with a downpour, a day which I can already remember. I will die in Parisand I don't budge maybe a Thursday, like today, in autumn. Thursday it will be, because today, Thursday, as I prose these lines, I have forced on my humeri and, never like today, have I turned, with all my journey, to see myself alone. César Vallejo has died, they beat him, all of them, without him doing anything to them; they gave it to him hard with a stick and hard likewise with a rope; witnesses are the Thursdays and the humerus bones, the loneliness, the rain, the roads... |
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