Çıkın Sokaklara Dünyanın Çocukları

by César Vallejo, Ayşe Nihal Akbulut (Translator)

Peru'lu ozan César Vallejo (1892-1938) yaşamının büyük bölümünü Avrupa'da, çoğunlukla Paris'te geçirdi. İspanya ve Rusya'yı gezdi. Örtük ancak çarpıcı anlatımıyla dikkati çeken yapıtlarında toplumcu düşünce ile Hırıstiyanlık öğretisine göndermeleri harmanlayan Vallejo'nun İspanya İç Savaşını konu alan 15 şiirlik kitabını oluşturan bu şiirler savaşa katılan gönüllülerin, halkın, yığınların sesini taşır okurlara.

Genres: Poetry, Classics, Spanish Literature, 20th Century, Latin American

88 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1974

About the author

César Abraham Vallejo Mendoza was a Peruvian poet. Although he published only three books of poetry during his lifetime, he is considered one of the great poetic innovators of the 20th century. Always a step ahead of the literary currents, each of his books was distinct from the others and, in it's own sense, revolutionary. Clayton Eshleman and José Rubia Barcia's translation of "The Complete Posthumous Poetry of César Vallejo" won the National Book Award for translation in 1979.

Reviews

[lau · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nois… ¡La violencia y la ternura de César Vallejo! Me deshago infinitamente ante el que quizá sea el mayor planto poético sobre la Guerra Civil española. No queremos ponernos serios y opinólogos pero no puedo sino llorar estos quince poemitas que brotan de la más humana deshumanización: del amor latente en lo más tristemente humano. Nuestro amigo César combina vanguardia y compromiso en ese balance que tantos autores no han sabido cuidar (Pablo Neruda, te estoy mirando a ti): ética y estética dialogan, se funden… y no sé si llorar o parar un momento a respirar o qué, pero bueno solo decir que te quiero César Vallejo, que además eres guapísimo y que ojalá la edición de 1939 no llevara un dibujo del inútil de Pablo Picasso. En fin, brillante y doliente, la herida nace de un concepto que se quiebra cuando quiere dar voz al dolor, siempre desde lo local a lo universal porque “el mundo está español hasta la muerte”. Por lo demás, podemos obviar lo problemático de la figura de España-madre (que ya aparece en el título con toda la movida bíblica del huertico de los olivos) y atender a cómo construye desde abajo, desde el individuo («Pedro Rojas», por favor), la imagen nacional, porque sinceramente chu-lí-si-mo. Has hablado genial, mi niño.

[Elif · Rating 1 out of 5]

Benlik değildi, çeviri şiir olmasının bir etkisi olabilir.

[Justin Evans · Rating 3 out of 5]

I started this when I was staying with a couple of friends up in Portland. I finished it the other day; in the meantime, my friends have conceived, carried, given birth to and celebrated at least two birthdays with their daughter. So, it took me a while.

The reason is not far to seek: I cannot, and I suspect, never will, deal well with the kind of Hispanic poetry that uses quite this many exclamation marks! Granted, many of these poems are written in the exhortative mode! That goes not just for the obviously political poems towards the end of the volume, but also for the much more experimental work of Trilce! And even some of the earlier poems! Is this a thing with all Spanish poetry?! I can only assume not! But it sure is easy to parody! And that does a great disservice to Vallejo, whose work combines some wonderful imagery with great intellectual and emotional power! I'm also a bit disappointed in the translation, which has very little in the way of musicality! I suspect this is all very hard to translate, so I'm not going to rant about it! And I would be very willing to read different translations, particularly of Trilce!

[Noel Cisneros · Rating 5 out of 5]

El dolor y absurdo de la guerra se torna en oraciones fúnebres con la habilidad de Vallejo.

[Bea Manguen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Este poemario es duro y siento cada verso. Vallejo, el peruano más español. Sus poemas como plegarias gritan por la unificación de una España de hermanos divididos.
Masa es mi favorito y España aparta de mi este cáliz me hace llorar.

[Michael Palkowski · Rating 3 out of 5]

The translations read as though a great deal of context and detail sieved through the process, more than normally would. This is something however which must be expected when attempting to translate such a formidable poet who experimented with word play, slang, juxtaposed quirks, musical and religious terminology, bilingual borrowings and complex meters. The translator comes to this project emphasizing the sheer difficulty of this and showcases the amorphous reality of attempting to appropriate works from a certain paradigmatic historical period into english. I lament that i am not a polyglot, for i would be able to appreciate the bilingual quality of this book in enclosing the original poems alongside the translations. I feel that, despite the overwhelming difficulty, she has by my anglophonic reading, done a rather nice job at retaining the erudite complexity that i can only presume the originals had in quite an abundance.

[Ernest · Rating 5 out of 5]

Simple, accessible, yet strikingly powerful- poems here vary from short snippets of life in Peru, to more abstract internalization of his life thus far. The introductions and short biographical elements included in the editors help make these snapshots more personal. Will reread this some time at a later date- didn't particular understand some of the narratives present here, but I'm sure it'll be clearer soon.

[Robin Boardman · Rating 4 out of 5]

An emotive poetical account of the Spanish Civil War. Vallejo matches the efforts of his contemporaries such as Pablo Neruda to create a unified spirit of Republican resistance. His work calls forth the name of those lost and immortalises them in this volume. Vallejo transcends their lost by forming their resistance as a unified voice. Through words and poetry their struggle will live on through the generations, a key example of anti-fascist struggle.

[Matt · Rating 4 out of 5]

Excellent stuff: surreal, dark, slightly twisted.

Powerful humanism and lyric energy. Imagistic and haunting.

It was given to me as a gift a little while ago....I carried it with me everywhere I went... A real gem, and all the better for not being as well known as many another edgy surrealist.

[Shannon · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a bilingual edition and I read the Kindle version. Formatting for the Kindle edition was poor and the translation (obviously) doesn't capture the beauty of his original language. Pity my Spanish skills are not good enough to read entirely in the original. Still, some of these poems came through for me and were just sublime. Just find it in hard copy!

[Duff · Rating 4 out of 5]

Really good translations opposite the original Spanish. Always appreciate being able to scan back and forth. Vallejo is a favorite, so this small book was indeed a pleasure. Borrowed it from the library and now searching to own it to add to my poetry collection.

[M.W.P.M. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Then, retreating from Talavera,
in groups of one, armed with hunger, in masses of one,
armed with chest up to the forehead,
without planes, without war, without rancor,
the loss behind
& the gain
lower than the lead, mortally wounded by honour,
crazed by dust, the arm on foot,
loving unwillingly,
conquering the whole earth in a Spanish way,
to retreat still, & not to know
where to put their Spain,
where to hide their orbital kiss,
where to plant their pocket-size olive tree!

- pg. 19

* * *

The beggars fight for Spain,
begging in Paris, in Rome, in Prague
& thus underlining, with an imploring Gothic hand
the feet are fighting & begging God
satanically for Santander,
that combat in which no longer is anyone defeated.
They deliver themselves to
the old suffering, they insist on crying social lead
at the foot of the individual,
& with moans those beggars attack,
killing by merely being beggars.

Pleas of the infantry
in which the weapon pleads from the metal up
& the wrath pleads, this side of the raging gunpowder.
Silent squadrons which fire,
with mortal cadence, their gentleness
from a threshold, from inside themselves, yes! from inside themselves.

Potential warriors,
without socks to cannon thunder,
satanic, numerous,
dragging their titles of strength,
crumb under belt,
double calibre rifle: blood & blood
The poet hails armed suffering!

- pg. 33-34

* * *

A book remained at the edge of his dead waist,
a book was sprouting from his dead corpse.
The hero was carried off,
& corporeally & evilly his mouth entered our breath;
all of us sweated, carrying our navels on our shoulders;
wanderers the moons were following us;
the dead man also was sweating from sadness.

And a book, during the battle for Toledo,
a book, a book behind, a book on top, was sprouting from the corpse.

Poetry of the purple cheekbone, between saying it
& not saying it,
poetry in the moral map that once accompanied
his heart.
The book remained & nothing else, for there are no
insects in his tomb,
& at the edge of his sleeve the air remained soaking
& becoming gaseous, infinite.

All of us sweated, carrying our navels on our shoulders,
the dead man also was sweating from sadness.
& a book, I saw it sensewise,
a book, a book behind, a book on top
sprouted from the corpse ex abrupto.

- Short Prayer for a Dead Loyalist Hero, pg. 53

* * *

At the end of the battle,
the combatant dead, a man came toward him
& said: "Don't die; I love you so much!"
But oh God the corpse kept on dying.

Two men approached him & repeated:
"Don't leave us! Be brave! Return to life!"
But oh God the corpse kept on dying.

20, 100, 1000, 500,000 came up to him,
exclaiming: "So much love & no power against death!"
But oh God the corpse kept on dying.

Millions of persons surrounded him,
with a common plea: "Stay, brother!"
But oh God the corpse kept on dying.

Then all the inhabitants of the earth
surrounded him; the corpse looked at them sadly, moved:
he sat up slowly,
embraced the first man, began to walk . . .

- Mass, pg. 61

[Luisa Ripoll-Alberola · Rating 5 out of 5]

Justo hoy, día de la Hispanidad, se cruzaron conmigo los versos de Vallejo:

Niños del mundo,
si cae España –digo, es un decir–
si cae...

Y la verdad me sentí atrapada e hice un parón de más de una hora de estudiar para leerme de corrido este increíble poemario que honra a la hispanidad, por así decirlo, mestiza, combativa, nada fácil de aprehender, que es en la que creo.

Y así empieza con

¡Oh vida! ¡Oh tierra! ¡Oh España!
¡Onzas de sangre,
metros de sangre, líquidos de sangre,
sangre a caballo, a pie, mural, sin diámetro,
sangre de cuatro en cuatro, sangre de agua
y sangre muerta de la sangre viva!

pasando por

Padre polvo que subes de España
Dios te salve, libere y corone,
padre polvo que asciendes del alma.

para acabar en

¡Cuídate, España, de tu propia España!

[Taylor Napolsky · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a lot to take in, and I don’t feel fully equipped to make comments on it until I give it another read.

(Proceeds to do it anyway.)

To keep it one hundred—I have little idea what’s going on in most of these poems; but I don’t mind that... The language is entrancing, and exciting, the work of someone who you really get the sense he was thinking differently. I completely admire that. There’s such a “misunderstood soul” sensibility to it (my projection maybe...probably. But what the hell? I’m going to go with it). I worked my way through this, reading compulsively, enamored with the spiritual aesthetic, the fiery emotion, the urgency.

[Emīls Ozoliņš · Rating 4 out of 5]

Cesar Vallejo was an intriguing fella. Had I not examined the shelves of my local university library, I don’t think I would have stumbled upon Vallejo anytime soon. Yet he is important. Yet they say he’s second only to Neruda in the Latin-American world.
So there’s something about him, as you can tell.
He’s good. Poetry is very hit-or-miss - so is art as a whole - but poetry tends to be like love at first sight, it’s either there or not. Some poems may come around, some poems may falter. Some may not last the test of time in your mind.
Some were incredible. Some I didn’t care at all for. Some I cringed at a little. Such is the rollercoaster we happened to sign ourselves for.

[Kris · Rating 3 out of 5]

I am not ashamed to say that I think this one went over my head a bit. Sometimes I thought the individual lines were pretty, but then it would not make sense to me in relation to the next line and the next. He was clearly discussing some important subjects, but I could not seem to quite grasp them.
I did get an overwhelming feeling of depression and sadness and reading a brief story of his life that definitely checks out. He clearly was able to purvey that and I respect these works for that, but for me I found it too hard to connect to the individual poems.

[Mike · Rating 4 out of 5]

Intensely felt ruminations on the Spanish Civil War, directly witnessed by the Peruvian poet Vallejo, just before his death in Paris in 1938. Unlike many of the poems I’ve read of the Spanish Civil War, especially by writers from the United States, these feel intensely personal, not just as a lament for the death of “Mother Spain,” but for the destruction of the peasant way of life. Vallejo doesn’t begin with grand, sweeping, universal themes of War, Death, and Sacrifice, but instead structures his verse as inside remarks or private conversations and thoughts, with references that only locals might understand. Ironic, considering Vallejo was Peruvian.

Even more ironic: the best poem of the lot might not be the title poem, but “Mass,” which, according to his widow, was written not during the war, but in 1929. This is also the only poem that reads more universal than specific:

At the end of the battle,
The combatant dead, a man came toward him
& said: “Don’t die! I love you so much!”
But oh God the corpse kept on dying.

That poem has a surprise ending, but not necessarily a happy one. The corpse arises and walks away – but remains a corpse in the end.

As throughout the collection, Vallejo's message might be more of a warning than a lament. And this, ultimately, is the universal message conveyed within the personal and the private that emerges by the end of the book: Spain is the world. As Vallejo writes in his final poem in this collection: "Beware, Spain, of your own Spain! ... Beware of the future!"

[Paolo · Rating 3 out of 5]

Difícil de leer sin cortar el ritmo para entender el contexto de las palabras que usa, lo que obliga a releer para poder disfrutar la “melodía” (no sé cómo describir esto que tienen los poemas que los hace sentir diferente a la narrativa en prosa) de los textos.
Igualmente se disfruta, en especial los capítulos finales (“Masa” es épico).

[İlker Şaguj · Rating 4 out of 5]

Şiir çevirisinde önemli olan iki şey de çeviri yapan kişinin de şair olması yahut iyi bir şiir okuru olması gerekliliğidir. Ayşe Nihal Akbulut'un bu başarılı çevirisinden onun şiiri ne kadar takip ettiğini görmek mümkün. Önemli bir çeviri.

[bianqui *‧.₊˚*੭*ˊᵕˋ੭.* · Rating 3 out of 5]

Así responde el hombre, así, a la muerte,
así mira de frente y escucha de costado,
así el agua, al contrario de la sangre, es de agua,
así el fuego, al revés de la ceniza, alisa sus rumiantes ateridos.

el ritmo de estos poemas al leerlos en voz alta me pareció fascinante

[Romulo · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

[SirriCan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Perulu üvey abim

[Lis Molina · Rating 2 out of 5]

un poemario con tinte patriótico y un tanto grotesco.

[Diego R. · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

[Daniela · Rating 2 out of 5]

no entendí

[Lee · Rating 3 out of 5]

i was also born on a day when god was sick

[Claudia ☀️ · Rating 4 out of 5]

Vallejo se ha ganado un hueco en mi corazón después de esto. Cada bala, cada bomba que cayó en España la sintió como si fuera en su Perú natal.

[Paky · Rating 3 out of 5]

Una poesía dura, en circunstancias trágicas, rodeada de muerte, pero en la que también cabe la esperanza. El poeta, que falleció en abril de 1938, no alcanzó a ver el final de la guerra, pero posiblemente ya intuía su desenlace cuando nos dice “si la madre España cae -digo, es un decir- salid, niños del mundo; id a buscarla!”.

[Drkshadow03 · Rating 2 out of 5]

“A book remained at the edge of his dead waist,
A book was sprouting from his dead corpse.
The hero was carried off,
& corporeally & evilly his mouth entered our breath;
All of us sweated, carrying our navels on our shoulders;
Wanderers the moons were following us;
The dead man also was sweating from sadness.”

These fifteen poems by Cesar Vallejo captures his experiences and his reflections of the Spanish Civil War. In the poems, Vallejo celebrates and mourns his fallen comrades fighting for the Republic, documents different battles that took place, and presents the Spanish Civil War as part of the larger fight for freedom and liberation worldwide. His imagery of the hammer and sickle depicts his affinity for Communism.

He honors fallen soldiers such as Pedro Rojas who becomes the representative of the common man and the everyman, “a representative of everyone.” His soldiers are men born from the land “arming you with dust” and “armed with hunger.” The poems try to bring out the everyday human qualities of his fallen soldiers, while representing their fight and struggle as part of the larger fight and struggle for everybody— for all of humanity. He doesn’t, however, only present soldiers as heroic sacrifices for a greater cause and glorify fighting, but poems like “Spanish Image of Death” capture the gritty and brutal side of war as it describes Lady Death making her way through the battlefield.

He records in his poetry not just heroism of valiant peasant soldiers, but also the many innocent who have died. He offers this poetic description of Guernica, which was destroyed by German aircraft during the Spanish Civil War.

“But from here, later,
From the viewpoint of this land,
From the sorrow to which the satanic good flows,
The great battle of Guernica can be seen.
An a priori combat, unforeseen,
Combat in peace, combat of weak souls,
Against weak bodies, combat in which the child strikes,
Without anyone telling him to strike,
Beneath his atrocious diphthong
& beneath his very clever diaper,
& in which a mother strikes with her scream, with the backside
Of a tear,
& in which a mother strikes with his disease, with his pill & his son,
& in which the old man strikes
With his white hair, his centuries & his stick
& in which the priest strikes with God!
Silent defenders of Guernica!
Oh weak ones, oh offended gentle ones,
Who rise up, grow up, & fill up the world with powerful weak ones!”

The combatants here are not soldiers. They are ordinary innocent weapon less people who fight only with their screams and their symbols of innocence. The Old man can fight only with his old age, while the baby can fight only with his diaper. The choice of images show these are not real combatants and reveal just how horrifying an act the razing of Guernica is.

Probably my favorite poem in the collection was “XII. Mass” which was a repetitive poem of people coming up to a corpse and trying to resurrect them with their love, but continually failing, until “all the inhabitants of the earth” come and they manage to revive the dead man. This displays the universalism of humanity and the universalism of the fighting and sacrifice, but the poem depicts it in such a touching way by using fairly simple language and literary techniques.

Some of the poems also incorporate biblical allusions. For example, poem “XIII. Funereal Drumroll for the Ruins of Durango” implores through the repetition at the beginning of each stanza Father Dust, which alludes to the creation of man from the earth and dust. The dust itself is our father. At one point in the poem, he implores God to give Father Dust human form, alluding to the Genesis episode more explicitly. He also describes Father Dust as the “sandal of the pariah” invoking images of Adam leaving the Garden of Eden after his banishment, but also Moses wandering through the desert as an exile. Likewise the title of the collection and poem “XIV. Spain, Take this Cup From Me” alludes to Luke 22:42 and Matthew 26:39 where Jesus begs God in the garden of Gethsemane to take the cup and responsibility of his future sacrifice for humanity away from him. The poem warns imaginary children of the possibility of Spain falling and implores them to go out and find Spain should that happen, similar to Jesus’s disciples spreading his teachings. The title and the content suggest it is easy for the world to pass the buck of responsibility for the suffering happening in the country and the fall of Spain, but ultimately every struggle is interconnected. Spin and the ideas it represents will live on outside of the actual country should it fall in the war.

[Jale · Rating 3 out of 5]

Perulu devrimci ozan Cesar Vallejo'nun ölümünden sonra yayımlanmış, 15 şiirden oluşan, İspanya İç Savaşını anlatan kitabı. Vallejo sanatçı ve yazarın sorumluluğunu "Sanatçı kendini ne yığınların dalgalanan seçim sonuçlarına bırakmalı ne de ekonomik bir devrimi desteklemeye indirgemeli, tersine, öncelikle, insanlığın içinde yepyeni bir siyasal bilinç uyandırmalıdır, insanın doğasında yepyeni bir politik hammadde üretmelidir." ve "Oysa gönül ister ki, kavgamız sürerken polis ile silahlı güçlerin, yazarların ve tüm halkın eylemlerine ve yaşamına karşı savundukları gözdağı karşısında, bu yazarlar da bu kavgada seslerinin yükseltsinler ve böylece bu diktatörlüğü, bu tavrı protesto edebilsinler." diye açıklıyor ve tutsak olduğu zamanlar da dahil böyle davranmaya devam ediyor.
Bu kitapta yer almayan, ama İsmet Özel'in çevirisini yaptığı Umuttan Söz Etmek İstiyorum (http://www.karakutu.com/umuttan-sz-et...) ise en sevdiğim Vallejo şiiridir.
Şiirlerinden çarpıcı birkaç satır aktarmak gerekirse;
... dönüp gelecek düşükle can vermiş çocuklar kusursuz olarak dünyaya, uzay boşluğundan
ve çalışacak tüm insanlar,
çoğalacak tüm insanlar,
anlayacak tüm insanlar.

Çünkü İspanya'da adam öldürülmekte, ötekiler öldürmekte çocuğu, bozulan oyuncağını, Rosenda'yı, harika anayı, atıyla yüksek sesle konuşan ademi,
ve merdiven aralığında uyuyan köpeği.
Kitabı öldürmekteler, yardımcı fiillerine ateş etmekteler, savunmasız ilk sayfasına.
Heykelin tam kaidesini öldürmekteler,
bilgeyi, bastonunu, çalışma arkadaşını,
kapı komşu berberi - belki de benim saçımı kesmiştir,
ama iyi adamdır ve sonra kadersiz;
dün önde türkü tutturan dilenciyi,
bugün ağlayarak geçen hemşireyi,
dizlerinin kararlı yüksekliğini yüklenmiş papazı.

Ve kitaba ismini veren şiirin son satırları:
Kısın sesinizi, size söylüyorum;
sesinizi kısın, hecelerin türküsünü, ağıdını maddenin ve kendi kendine mırıltısını piramitlerin,
ve giderek
iki taşla yürüyen şakaklarınkini!
Soluğunuzu kısın, ve eğer
inerse kol,
eğer şakaklara kızılcık sopaları, eğer gece inerse,
eğer gökyüzü sığarsa iki yer katmanı arasına,
eğer kapıların gıcırtısı gürültü çıkarırsa,
eğer gecikirsem,
eğer kimseyi görmezseniz, korkutursa eğer sizi körleşmiş uçları kurşun kalemin, eğer anamız İspanya düşerse; demem o ki, lafın gelişi yani;
çıkın sokaklara, dünyanın çocukları; onu aramaya çıkın!...