coldhearted scientist وداد

It is hard to find a Vallejo video that is not sentimental, or eerie, or both. People really seem to think he was those things, and he does come from an eerie town. And he is associated with pain, and desgarre might as well be his middle name. I really wonder about all of this, though … despite all of his troubles, he appears to have been very efficient and to have had a great time, a lot of the time.

I mean, two majors and a full time job and a Bohemian literary group … that was college. I mean, getting your boss’ daughter pregnant and having the cojones to refuse to get married … that was later. I mean, going to defend the family honor, pistol in hand … that was around the same time. These last two things indicate that he may not have been so oppressed or humble or Messianic or Christlike and so on as he is sometimes portrayed to have been.

I think Vallejo had an exciting life: Lima, Paris, Madrid, Moscow, Berlin, and friends and girlfriends. He did not get paid regularly enough, but he did buy wine. I am saying all of this because I am tired of the morose Vallejo image and would like to try something else on.

*

Vallejo’s brother Miguel, close to him in age, died unexpectedly in 1915. Vallejo was at college, four or five days’ ride away. When he received the news Miguel was already in the ground. He has a famous poem about this, in which he compares grief and loss to a game of hide and seek in which the hider does not return. This is how I feel about the cat.

A mi hermano Miguel

In memoriam

Hermano, hoy estoy en el poyo de la casa,
donde nos haces una falta sin fondo!
Me acuerdo que jugábamos esta hora, y que mamá
nos acariciaba: “Pero, hijos…”

Ahora yo me escondo,
como antes, todas estas oraciones
vespertinas, y espero que tú no des conmigo.
Por la sala, el zaguán, los corredores.
Después, te ocultas tú, y yo no doy contigo.
Me acuerdo que nos hacíamos llorar,
hermano, en aquel juego.

Miguel, tú te escondiste
una noche de agosto, al alborear;
pero, en vez de ocultarte riendo, estabas triste.
Y tu gemelo corazón de esas tardes
extintas se ha aburrido de no encontrarte. Y ya
cae sombra en el alma.

Oye, hermano, no tardes
en salir. Bueno? Puede inquietarse mamá.

*

Brother, today I sit on the brick bench of the house,
where you make a bottomless emptiness.
I remember we used to play at this hour, and Mama
caressed us: “But, children…”

Now I go hide
as before, from all evening
lectures, and I trust you not to give me away.
Through the parlor, the vestibule, the corridors.
Later, you hide, and I do not give you away.
I remember we made ourselves cry,
brother, from so much laughing.

Miguel, you went into hiding
one night in August, toward dawn,
but, instead of chuckling, you were sad.
And the twin heart of those dead evenings
grew annoyed at not finding you. And now
a shadow falls on my soul.

Listen, brother, don’t be late
coming out. All right? Mama might worry.

Translated by James Wright

Axé.