"Αναδύεται η θύμησή σου από τη νύχτα που με στεγάζει.
Το ποτάμι αδειάζει στη θάλασσα τον επίμονο θρήνο του."

"Τώρα πιά δεν την αγαπάω, σίγουρα...
Πόσο όμως θεέ μου , την αγάπησα τότε.
Πολέμαγε η φωνή μου να βρει τη ριπή του ανέμου
που θα της άγγιζε το αυτί."

"Θ' ακούω την απέραντη νύχτα,
την πέντε φορές απέραντη χωρίς εκείνην.
Και τους στίχους να πέφτουν στην ψυχή μου
όπως πέφτει η δροσιά στο λιβάδι."

Sensual poetic beauty, with a lingering sadness, this collection of poems written when Chilean Neruda was only 19 is a remarkable feat, but was not received well for the intense and sexual content, this time being 1924 I can understand why, however, there is no explicit text it's more to do with imagery using the surrounding environment, charting oceanic movements of passion along with the changing weather, to tell of youthful love. " I have gone marking the atlas of your body / with crosses of fire. / My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide. / In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst.''. Becoming Neruda's best-loved work selling two million copies by the 1960s. Why? the imagery he conjures up is simply breathtaking but also painfully sad. ``On all sides I see your waist of fog, / and your silence hunts down my afflicted hours; / my kisses anchor, and my moist desire nests / in you with your arms of transparent stone.'' As irresistible as the sea, love is engulfing (``You swallowed everything, like distance. / . . . In you everything sank!''), but also departs as mysteriously as it arrived, leaving the poet's heart a ``pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.''

In terms of the intensity of romance and the tenderness of love, this collection encapsulates so much, each piece stands alone, but always remains close to the others.
Of the 20 poems on offer, not all made sense to me on first reading, but at only 70 pages in length, I will certainly be re-visiting in time. And then there's the seething "Song of Despair", a breakup song if I ever heard one, this for me was the highlight, words of such searing torment that were expressed with a heartbroken urgency. At such a young age, Neruda paints a mature picture of the abstract representations of life. To the contrary, the poems represent an open curiosity for different dimensions of life like sexuality, solitude, melancholy, and loss. Also, he does not idealize beauty and love, making his poetry far more authentically realistic. Nature is a constant presence throughout, with stars, rivers, wind, sky and sea reappearing in different contexts, lovers become nature itself. You can truly feel that each poem is reaching out to the other, sharing the same pleasure and plight.

يأس وحزن يطغى على هذه القصائد التي أتمنى أن اقرأها بلغتها الأصلية حتى أستشعر بمعانيها بشكل أكثر انصهاراً ..

Çeviriden dolayı şiirlerin çok fazla anlam kaybı yaşadığını düşünüyorum. Yani bence öyle olmuş. Öyle çok fazla sevemedim ben. Hissedemedim de zaten. Sadece sonlara doğru 3-5 şiir hoşuma gitti, hepsi bu. Bayılmadım, hoşuma gitti.

n  Bu gece en hüzünlü şiiri yazabilirim.

Şöyle diyebilirim: 'Gece yıldızla dolu
ve yıldızlar, masmavi, titreşiyor uzakta.'

Şakıyarak dönüyor gökte gece rüzgarı.

Bu gece en hüzünlü şiiri yazabilirim.
Sevdim ben onu, o da beni sevdi bir ara.n

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
-Pablo Neruda



Neruda was accomplished in a variety of styles ranging from erotically charged love poems like his collection Twenty Poems of Love and a Song of Despair, surrealist poems, historical epics, and overtly political manifestos. Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair is an amazing collection of poetry. His words caress the senses; imagery so delicious and fulfilling you can not only see it but smell and taste and feel it, this is a great collection of passionate poetic imagery with a tinge of sadness but, sadly though, it was scandalized due to its sexual content which shows limited understanding of human beings in general.



Pablo Neruda brings love and rebellion to mind as soon as you think about him, he is considered to be synonym of love and strong emotions. Though I'm not a great fan of love poetry- I may have some preconceived notions- however I was spellbound and taken aback with pleasant surprise when I read Neruda. Time stops and modern life, with all its hustle and bustle, disappears. The weary reader, beaten to death by the speed at which today’s life is going, will be transported to a differently-paced world where time is not dictated by the rules of the clock but instead by the cadence of Neruda’s poetry. The city disappears and is replaced by mountains; the honking of cars is replaced by the singing of birds; and the indifference and cynicism that you feel will be replaced by a sense of longing. Such are the power of Neruda’s words. This is the world created by poetic artistry of Neruda.

n  Here I Love Youn
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me,
The moon turns its clockwork dream.

n  I like For You To Be Stilln
I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.



Neruda's ballads exemplify an enchanting surrender that invigorates the helplessness of new love and evacuates the disgrace out of the advances that are only a toll before the music. Love as we know it is a dangerous passion, it makes human beings vulnerable to be deceived, it brings with it anguish which keeps on haunting them till eternity, however some of the passions may not be as demanding as Neruda so aptly congeals the parts of nature with that of a human body. But even that innocuous seeming passion brings the feeling of despair, for these parts of nature reminds one of one's lover and the vulnerability associated with love encircles the person.

n  So That You Will Hear me n
The wind of anguish still hauls on them as usual.
Sometimes hurricanes of dreams still knock them over.
You listen to other voices in my painful voice.
Lament of old mouths, blood of old supplications.
Love me, companion. Don't forsake me. Follow me.
Follow me, companion, on this wave of anguish.

n  Every Day You Playn
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water,
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands



The tone in these ballads is steady, through these poems you can feel that these lyrics are addressing each other, having a similar anguish and joy. Be that as it may, in The Song of Despair there is an obvious change in the tone, the speaker is edgy as the memory of a sweetheart frequents him. The symbolism in these ballads is of wreck and misfortune: pit of garbage, furious give in of the shipwreck and substance. He likewise rehashes the line In you everything six times and each time its significance changes as the ballad develops in passionate power and agony. Additionally this reiteration gives the sonnet a melodic quality that relates with his want to title the ballad a song.


n  A Song of Despairn
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.

Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!
........
It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which night fastens to all the timetables.

The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.

Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
Only the tremulous shadow twists in my hands.

Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.
It is the hour of departure. Oh abandanoed one!



It may look to a casual reader that these poems are about love between man and woman (the preconceived notions about the writer would also help) but it would be naive of a reader to think so, for the poems magnificently unwraps the anguish, uncertainty, longing and despair which are so elegantly weaved with the disguise of love.

n  Quiero hacer contigo
lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos

I want to do with you
what spring does with the cherry treesn

I think I will memorize this in Spanish. You never know when it may come in useful.

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”

Πάμπλο Νερούδα. Παίρνει τη μπάλα! Νερούδα τη μπάλα! Νερούδα σουτάρει και ΓΚΟΟΟΛΛΛ!
Και κάπως έτσι τερματίζει την έκφραση του απόλυτου πόθου!
Απλά, λιτά κι απέριττα.

Υ. Γ. Κάποια γκολ είναι ποίηση και κάποια ποιήματα γκολάρες αφού!

Beautiful, touching poetry!
I would like to be at a meadow, lying down on the cool grass, soft wind passing through the leaves of nearby trees, sun warming my skin, and a voice whispering Neruda's verses...
Or at the beach, lying down at the warm afternoon sun, feet in the water right where the small waves break, and Neruda's poems a whisper in the breeze...
I am in no way an expert in poetry, but this is real poetry; It touches you and takes you where your heart wants to go.

The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.

Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one! 

Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.

In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song birds rose.

You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank! 


Neruda is a magician. Its like he throws his words up in air and they fall back, like rain, endlessly floating around the reader, enchanting him body and soul. His poetry is Beautiful, surreal, haunting and something indescribable, like an ache of a wound long healed.

নেরুদার সঙ্গে আমার পরিচয় পর্বটি ঠিক মনে পড়ছে না। কখন, কিভাবে তাঁর সাথে পরিচয় হলো...সেটা খোঁজতে গিয়ে মনে হচ্ছে চার-পাঁচ টুকরো আলাদা স্মৃতি মিলেমিশে যেন সম্পূর্ণ ভিন্ন এক বিভ্রম তৈরি করছে। অনেক সময় হয় না, কোনো গায়ক বা কবিকে অন্য একজন আপনার সামনে নিয়ে আসে। প্রশংসার ফুলঝুরিতে ভাসিয়ে দেয়, এবং তারপর আপনি তাকে যাচাই করতে গিয়ে নিজেই মুগ্ধতায় আক্রান্ত হয়ে পড়েন। তখন, কবি বা গায়কের সাথে তাঁর আবিষ্কর্তা আপনার ঐ বন্ধুকেও নিজের মগজে গেঁথে নেয়া হয়।

নেরুদাকে এভাবে কেউ আমার সামনে নিয়ে আসে নি। অনেকটা যেন ভালো সাহিত্যের পিছনে দৌঁড়ঝাপ দিতে গিয়ে নিজেই নেরুদায় এসে হোঁচট খেয়েছিলাম। এখন স্মৃতি হাতড়ে দেখছি, নেরুদা আমাকে বারবার মুগ্ধ করেছে। কিন্তু সেই প্রথমবারের মুগ্ধতাকে আলাদা করতে পারছি না। চে' গে'ভারার জীবনী পড়তে গিয়ে কি প্রথমবার নেরুদা পড়েছিলাম? যেখানে তিনি একটা ঝর্না আর নারীকে একাকার করে ফেলেছিলেন? না, কোনো একটা ম্যাগাজিনে উনার একটা কবিতার বাংলা অনুবাদ পড়তে গিয়ে প্রথমবার হোঁচট খেয়েছিলাম? যেখানে একটি জলপরী এসে মাতালদের মধ্যে ঢুকে পড়েছিল? না, ক্লাস এইটে যখন সাগর ভাইয়ের বাড়ি থেকে টি এস এলিয়ট আর নেরুদার দুটো বই লুকিয়ে নিয়ে এসেছিলাম, তখনই আমার নেরুদাকে প্রথম পাঠ? একদম না, একদমই মনে পড়ছে না।

সুতরাং, নেরুদার সাথে আমার অনিয়মিত একটা যোগাযোগ আছে ম্যালাদিনের। ছড়িয়ে ছিটিয়ে এক দু'বার তাঁকে দেখে চমকে গেছি। তাঁর কবিতায় অর্ধেক ডুব দিয়েই অনেক সময় দৌঁড় তুলেছি অন্যদিকে। এবার ভাবলাম একটু পুরো শরীর ভেজানো যাক।

ছোট বই, টানা তিনবার পড়ে ফেলেছি। আমি কবিতা এতো কম পড়েছি যে আমার পড়া কবিদেরকে গুণে শেষ করতে দু'হাতের আঙুলও লাগবে না। সেজন্য বোধহয় খুব সহজে মুগ্ধ হয়ে যাই। মাথা ভর্তি জঞ্জাল নিয়ে পড়তে বসি, আর দু' একটা ভালো কবিতা পড়ার পরই মাথা ফাঁকা হয়ে যায়। নেরুদাকে প্রথমবার বুঝি নি এবং উপভোগ করি নি। দ্বিতীয়বার আবার গোড়া থেকে শুরু করতে গিয়ে অনেক কবিতাকে ভালোবেসে ফেলি। আর তৃতীয়বার পড়তে গিয়ে অই আমার মাথাটা একদম ফাঁকা হয়ে গেল। আচ্ছা, সাদা রংটা এতো সুন্দর কে জানতো! ''হোয়াইট বি'' কবিতাটি পড়ে বোধহয় আমি প্রথমবার সাদা রংকে ঠিক করে দেখলাম।

আমি নেরুদা পড়বো, আরও অনেক বেশি পড়বো। তাঁকে ছাড়া চলবে না বোধহয় সামনে।

I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.(সুন্দর ক্যাপশন হতে পারে ;P)

১ মার্চ, ২০২১

“Tonight I can write the saddest lines
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.”

I'm still drunk on Neruda's poems and to be honest, I'm not sure I'll sober up again anytime soon. The author's words seem to draw you into a kind of trance in which you start to say the poems out loud, creating a mixture of the poet's feelings and yours. You then keep the trance by listening to your own words, Neruda's words spoken through your tongue; the sound that could hypnotize you easily till dawn.

“I am no longer in love with her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.”

So is this masterpiece. A short book whose forgetting is an almost impossible task. Actually, why would anyone want to do it? In the beginning, there is a delightful and impressive introduction written by Cristina García. In her text, she tells us a little about the poet's life, as well as the impact he had on her life. I can clearly understand why he has changed her existence and although I cannot say the same (at least for now), Neruda did make my day and probably my week better.

“It was at that age that poetry came in search of me.”

As Neruda several times recited his poems to thousands of people, I also declaim them out loud today at home. Playing fair, this is a strong habit of mine: most of my acquaintances - at least the ones I care about - have already received an audio of a poem, a chronic or an excerpt of a book. With Neruda's work, however, it came to me even more naturally as if his work was not made to remain still, written in an old sheet of paper. It claimed to be alive once again.

“There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle.”

The miracle of love. The miracle of knowing we are still capable of love even after harsh and painful times. The miracle of realizing there is still hope. An outstanding must-read for anyone who wants to imbibe on poetry.

“Every day you play with the light of the universe.”

I always appreciate good poetry, but alas, good poetry is not easy to find.
The few poems I had read before this collection did not exactly impress me but they were tolerable. This, however? Saying that I didn't like it is an understatement.

1. The excess of metaphors for various bits of the female body was beyond annoying after a while, at times bordering on somewhat disgusting.
2. I did not like the objectification of the lover. No, just no.
3. Some poems felt like a waste of perfectly good paper because they seemed to lead nowhere. They just stopped a random moment when one expected them to continue.

But honestly? The objectification of the women annoyed me the most. I downright hated it.
Neruda's poetry is not my cup of tea. Not recommended.