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Our Assessment:
A- : wild, varied poetry, very well presented See our review for fuller assessment.
From the Reviews: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review:
It seems only appropriate that translator Clayton Eshleman has occupied himself with Vallejo's poetry for longer than the poet lived: "For nearly fifty years, I have been translating the poetry of César Vallejo" he notes in his useful 'Afterword: A translation memoir'.
They certainly are texts one can spend a lifetime trying to figure out and come to terms with.
There are blows in life, so powerful ... I don't know !Emphatic yet uncertain, direct yet elliptical, the one line is almost a summary of Vallejo's poetry. Throughout his work one finds strong statements, and can almost feel the full weight of the world -- but there's also an almost playful drawing back from (or at least hesitation in considering) all the consequences and implications. Vallejo's first book of poems, The Black Heralds (1918) is the most straightforward -- often tortured (often around religion and sex), but relatively precise. So, for example, one finds here poems that begin (and end, with a slight variation, -- Vallejo again using that full-circle trick): This afternoon it is raining, as never before; and IBut there are also signs of what is to come: An odor of time lingers fertilized by verses,There are moments of calm -- 'White Rose ' begins with the almost surprising claim: "I feel fine" (though the summing-up clarifies the picture: he sees himself as: "a shipwrecked coffin") -- but more typically one finds, for example: A grimace of cruel dreams phosphorescesMuch of this is quite remarkable, a mix of strong emotion and strong language that, however, can batter down the reader. Still, he's often very successful with it, -- and occasionally even manages to tone things down a bit, as in 'For the Impossible Soul of my Lover', which closes: And if you have never wanted to shape yourselfThe poems in Trilce (1922) are a continuation and intensification of what came before, while the longest section is the collection of 'Human Poems' (1939), written between 1923 and Vallejo's death in 1938 and, unsurprisingly, offering the most variety. "Allow me to feel my pain", he begs in one of the prose-poems: he does not want to be anesthetized, he wants to feel -- and he wants to convey every last bit of pain and feeling, too. One also find him explaining: "My eternity has died and I am waking it". Nothing is left unturned, no nerve untouched. But it can be a lot to take. (It's almost a relief when he writes (in the piece 'I am going to speak of hope' (!)): "Today I simply suffer", since the suffering is almost a constant, but it's rarely simple.) "In short, I have nothing with which to express my life, except my death" Vallejo writes, and from a litany of low-points ("And the last man said; / - The low point of my life hasn't happened yet.") to too many variations on: "The pleasure of suffering" (here in 'Guitar'), Vallejo's poetry can sometimes seem almost oppressively grim. Even the dead keep on dying (as in the refrain in 'Mass': "But the corpse, alas ! kept on dying") -- though it is mildly comforting to see that Vallejo struck the final line of one poem, which Eshleman provides in an endnote: "That is why I lock myself, at times, in my hotel, to kill my corpse and to hold a wake over it." The power of the language does help make it all more bearable: Vallejo's poems, even in dealing with death and suffering, are both vivid and indisputably alive. The neologisms and the inventive and unexpected wordplay (surprising, among other reasons, also for so very rarely being humorous) bring to life the very language he uses (and Eshleman is quite creative in his English versions -- and helpfully explains how he chose many of them in his endnotes). But there's barely a truly soft touch anywhere in the whole collection (the closest he manages are lines along the lines of: "César Vallejo, I hate you with tenderness !"). From successful small images ("It is raining / through the leak in your love") to the driving feelings behind much of the poetry (summed up in, for example: "I was born on a day / when God was sick") to incredibly creative wordplay, Vallejo's poetry holds considerable appeal. Often grim, almost always intense, it can be a lot to take -- especially when it's all available at once, as here. But, though perhaps best enjoyed (or at least perused) in small doses, Vallejo is definitely worthwhile. An essential poet, in a commendable edition -- certainly recommended. - Return to top of the page - The Complete Poetry:
- Return to top of the page - Peruvian author César Vallejo lived 1892 to 1938. - Return to top of the page -
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