Day 8 of NaPoWriMo Poetry Challenge…”Brown Girl on Black Soil”


For today’s NaPoWriMo Poetry Challenge, the prompt asks us to “rewrite” a famous poem giving it our “own spin”.

I actually sat for about an hour and wondered how I would approach this challenge. To be honest, I couldn’t think of any famous poems I’d want to (even try) to rewrite. 🙂 I didn’t want to NOT participate in a day of this challenge so I gave it a shot using one of the suggestions given on NaPoWriMo.

The original poem is titled “Black Stone Lying On A White Stone” by Cesar Vallejo

Here is his poem: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15870

Here is my “rewrite”

“Brown Girl on Black Soil”

 

I will laugh in Kenya, on a hot day

it will be one day soon, I just know it.

I will laugh in Kenya and do a little dance

on a Sunday, Monday, Tuesday…as today is Tuesday in Spring.

 

It will be a Tuesday because today, Tuesday

is more fun than Monday was and lots

of people dislike Monday I’ve found.

So I will laugh on a Tuesday with friends old and new.

 

Chatti Natti is laughing! Everyone joins in.

Laughter is contagious but needs no vaccination.

They laugh with her and clap their hands also

 

while dancing. They will be witnessess

on that Tuesday as the echoes of my laughter

and rhythm of my feet pound on Kenya’s dusty street.

 

(Copyright 2014 chattinatti)

African Dance

African Dance

Black Stone Lying On A White Stone

by César Vallejo
translated by Robert Bly

   I will die in Paris, on a rainy day,
on some day I can already remember.
I will die in Paris--and I don't step aside--
perhaps on a Thursday, as today is Thursday, in autumn.

   It will be a Thursday, because today, Thursday, setting down
these lines, I have put my upper arm bones on 
wrong, and never so much as today have I found myself
with all the road ahead of me, alone.

   César Vallejo is dead.  Everyone beat him
although he never does anything to them;
they beat him hard with a stick and hard also

   with a rope.  These are the witnesses:
the Thursdays, and the bones of my arms,
the solitude, and the rain, and the roads. . .

– See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15870#sthash.4RQ5VkIM.dpuf

Black Stone Lying On A White Stone

by César Vallejo
translated by Robert Bly

   I will die in Paris, on a rainy day,
on some day I can already remember.
I will die in Paris--and I don't step aside--
perhaps on a Thursday, as today is Thursday, in autumn.

   It will be a Thursday, because today, Thursday, setting down
these lines, I have put my upper arm bones on 
wrong, and never so much as today have I found myself
with all the road ahead of me, alone.

   César Vallejo is dead.  Everyone beat him
although he never does anything to them;
they beat him hard with a stick and hard also

   with a rope.  These are the witnesses:
the Thursdays, and the bones of my arms,
the solitude, and the rain, and the roads. . .

– See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15870#sthash.4RQ5VkIM.dpuf

Black Stone Lying On A White Stone

by César Vallejo
translated by Robert Bly

   I will die in Paris, on a rainy day,
on some day I can already remember.
I will die in Paris--and I don't step aside--
perhaps on a Thursday, as today is Thursday, in autumn.

   It will be a Thursday, because today, Thursday, setting down
these lines, I have put my upper arm bones on 
wrong, and never so much as today have I found myself
with all the road ahead of me, alone.

   César Vallejo is dead.  Everyone beat him
although he never does anything to them;
they beat him hard with a stick and hard also

   with a rope.  These are the witnesses:
the Thursdays, and the bones of my arms,
the solitude, and the rain, and the roads. . .

– See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15870#sthash.4RQ5VkIM.dpuf

Black Stone Lying On A White Stone

by César Vallejo
translated by Robert Bly

   I will die in Paris, on a rainy day,
on some day I can already remember.
I will die in Paris--and I don't step aside--
perhaps on a Thursday, as today is Thursday, in autumn.

   It will be a Thursday, because today, Thursday, setting down
these lines, I have put my upper arm bones on 
wrong, and never so much as today have I found myself
with all the road ahead of me, alone.

   César Vallejo is dead.  Everyone beat him
although he never does anything to them;
they beat him hard with a stick and hard also

   with a rope.  These are the witnesses:
the Thursdays, and the bones of my arms,
the solitude, and the rain, and the roads. . .

– See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15870#sthash.4RQ5VkIM.dpuf

Black Stone Lying On A White Stone

by César Vallejo
translated by Robert Bly

   I will die in Paris, on a rainy day,
on some day I can already remember.
I will die in Paris--and I don't step aside--
perhaps on a Thursday, as today is Thursday, in autumn.

   It will be a Thursday, because today, Thursday, setting down
these lines, I have put my upper arm bones on 
wrong, and never so much as today have I found myself
with all the road ahead of me, alone.

   César Vallejo is dead.  Everyone beat him
although he never does anything to them;
they beat him hard with a stick and hard also

   with a rope.  These are the witnesses:
the Thursdays, and the bones of my arms,
the solitude, and the rain, and the roads. . .

– See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15870#sthash.owO0JNS4.dpuf

Black Stone Lying On A White Stone

by César Vallejo
translated by Robert Bly

   I will die in Paris, on a rainy day,
on some day I can already remember.
I will die in Paris--and I don't step aside--
perhaps on a Thursday, as today is Thursday, in autumn.

   It will be a Thursday, because today, Thursday, setting down
these lines, I have put my upper arm bones on 
wrong, and never so much as today have I found myself
with all the road ahead of me, alone.

   César Vallejo is dead.  Everyone beat him
although he never does anything to them;
they beat him hard with a stick and hard also

   with a rope.  These are the witnesses:
the Thursdays, and the bones of my arms,
the solitude, and the rain, and the roads. . .

– See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15870#sthash.owO0JNS4.dpuf

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8 thoughts on “Day 8 of NaPoWriMo Poetry Challenge…”Brown Girl on Black Soil”

  1. This brought a tremendous smile to my face, and I especially loved the photo at the end. You can’t fake joy like that! By far, my favorite line is: “Laughter is contagious but needs no vaccination.” You come up with the best poetry!

    • Thank you adelie! Yes I felt very joyful imagining that scene so I’m happy the feel of the poem was achieved. Thank you for your continued support. I love your work as well. I enjoy having a cuppa and reading your blog. 🙂

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