Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

"I Am Going to Talk About Hope" by César Vallejo presents an agonizing portrait of human suffering, untethered from any explicit cause or context. This piece dissects the nature of sorrow in its rawest form, inviting us into the psyche of a person who suffers "further down," beyond identifiable roles or social categories. Unlike other poems by Vallejo, where existential or societal issues frame the emotional landscape, here the focus narrows down to suffering as an elemental state of being.

The poem opens with a series of negations: the speaker doesn't suffer as César Vallejo the artist, man, or living being; nor does he suffer in the context of any religious or non-religious identity. "Today I merely suffer," he says, evoking a form of pain that is fundamental and unqualified. The poem immediately distinguishes this sorrow from other more situational or categorized forms of suffering. It seems as if the speaker is trying to articulate an aspect of the human condition that is more primeval, a kind of existential suffering that is so ingrained in the fabric of existence it cannot be extricated or named.

The sorrow is "so profound that it has no reason nor lack of reason." It exists in an almost metaphysical space, detached from logical explanations or discernible causes. This is not a sorrow that can be traced back to a lost love or an existential crisis; it is a sorrow that exists "all by itself," an ontological condition that is both mystifying and encompassing. This notion calls into question our common understanding of suffering as something that can be understood, managed, or categorized. Vallejo's suffering is an enigma, and in that enigma lies its agony.

Furthermore, the speaker looks at the "sorrow of the hungry man" and realizes that even if he starved himself to death, a blade of grass would spring from his tomb, signifying that his existential sorrow is unproductive and has no conceivable utility. Unlike the sorrow of a hungry man or a lover, which is engendered by clear circumstances and might at least have the potential for resolution or redemption, the speaker's sorrow has "neither father nor son." It exists in a kind of eternal present, unmoored from past or future, and it "lacks a back for nightfall, just as it has too much breast for dawn."

The suffering described is almost a non-being, something that "in a dark place would give no light and in a bright place would throw no shadow." It defies natural laws, expectations, and even the dialectic of cause and effect. It simply is, and that 'is-ness' becomes a source of intense, inarticulate pain. The speaker concludes, "Today, no matter what happens, I suffer. Today I merely suffer."

The structure of this poem-its lack of a traditional rhyme scheme, its fragmented syntax, and its repetitiveness-serves to mirror and emphasize its complex theme of inexplicable suffering. César Vallejo crafts a piece where form and content are deeply intertwined, using the poem's structure to amplify its thematic focus, plunging the reader into a labyrinth of sorrow that defies reason and yet is profoundly, disturbingly human.

This poem serves as a haunting contemplation of suffering in its most inexplicable and base form. By stripping away all external contexts and rationales, César Vallejo forces us to confront the inscrutable core of human suffering. There is a disquieting universality in this portrayal that commands our attention, leaving us with a heightened awareness of the unspoken sorrows that might dwell in any soul.

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