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We all know where we were born, o my brothers, but not where our bones will lie buried.

el Cristo de Elqui


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🦋 Sussurating

The hiss of the cicadas in the trees behind our house is at its peak this evening -- really reverberating through our entire second floor. (It's a sound I love, for which small mercy I give thanks.) As I was listening to the buzzing just now a new approach hit me to a problem of tense that I'd been batting around a few weeks ago:

EL MAESTRO DE TARCA (â…£)

by Pablo Antonio Cuadra
Thus spoke el maestro
de Tarca:

Catch the cicada
by its wing
At least
you're holding in your hand
its song.

I believe this is both truer to the source and better sounding, more poetic, than what I had previously.

posted evening of Sunday, July 31st, 2011
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(Also, I had been rendering "cigarra" as "locust" -- this is not really correct and I'm not sure what was possessing me to think it sounded better.)

posted evening of July 31st, 2011 by Jeremy

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