LOS HERALDOS NEGROS
Caesar Vallejo

Hay golpes in la vida, tan fuertes...Yo no se!
Golpes como del odio de Dios; como si ante ellos,
la resaca de todo lo sufrido
se empozara en el alma...Yo no se!

Son pocos, pero son...Abren zanjas oscuras
en el rostro mas fiero y en el lomo mas fuerte
Seran tal vez los potros de barbaros atilas;
o los heraldos negros que nos manda la Muerte. 

Son las caidas hondas de los Cristos del alma,
de alguna fe adorable que el Destino blasfema,
Esos golpes sagrientos son las crepitaciones
de algun pan que en la puerta del horno se nos quema.

Y el hombre...Pobre...Pobre! Vuelve los ojos, como
cuando por sobre el hombro nos llama una palmada;
vuelve los ojos locos, y todo lo vivido
se empoza, como un charco de culpa, en la mirada.

Hay golpes en la vida, tan fuertes...Yo no se!


THE BLACK RIDERS(English)
CESAR VALLEJO

There are blows in life so violent--Don't ask me!
Blows as if from the hatred of God; as if before them,
the deep waters of everything lived through
were backd up in the Soul. . .Don't ask me!

Not many; but they exist. . .They open dark ravines
in the most ferocious face and in the most bull-like back.
Perhaps they are the horses of that hethen Attila,
or the black riders sent to us by Death.

They are the slips backward made by the Christs of the soul,
away from some holy faith that is sneered at the by Events.
These blows that are bloody hardly crackling  sounds
from some bread that burns at the oven door.

And man. . .poor man!. . .poor man!  He swings his eyes, as
when a man behind us calls us by clapping his hands;
swings is crazy eyes, and everything alive
is backed up, like a pool of guilt, in that glance.

There are blows in life so violent--Don't ask me!


translated by Robert Bly

(In: The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart: Poems for Men)