César Vallejo: "Distant Footsteps"

Taiko Haessler over at Band of Wild Petticoats has a lovely post on Peruvian poet César Vallejo. The post included this translation of the poem "Distant Footsteps" and a recording of Vallejo reading it -- which I have shamelessly reposted here because it is so damn beautiful and it is National Poetry month.

 

"Distant Footsteps" from The Black Heralds (1919)

My father is asleep. His august face
expresses a peaceful heart;
he is now so sweet...
if there is anything bitter in him, it must be me.

There is loneliness in the house; there is prayer;
and no news of the children today.
My father stirs, sounding
the flight into Egypt, the styptic farewell.
He is now so near;
if there is anything distant in him, it must be me.

My mother walks in the orchard,
savoring a savor now without savor.
She is so soft,
so wing, so gone, so love.

There is loneliness in the house with no bustle,
no news, no green, no childhood.
And if there is something broken this afternoon,
something that descends and that creaks,
it is two old white, curved roads.
Down them my heart makes its way on foot.

(translated by Clayton Eshelman)