تتميّز أشعاره بارتباطها بالطبيعة بشكل كبير!

من أجمل القصائد وأقربهنّ إلى قلبي قصيدة "أستطيع أن أكتب الأشعار" ..
يقول:

"أستطيع أن أكتب الأشعار الأكثر حزناً هذه الليلة.
أن أفكر بأنّها ليست لي. أن أشعر بأنّي فقدتها.
أنْ أصغي إلى امتداد الليل، والأكثر امتداداً مع غيابها.
والشِعر يسقط على الروح كما الندى على العشب.
ماذا يهم أنّ حبّيَ لم يقدر على الحفاظ عليها.
الليلة ملأى بالنجوم وهي ليست معي.
هذا هو كلُّ شيء. من البعيد أحدٌ يغنّي. من البعيد.
روحي ليست راضيةً بأنّي أضعتُها.
وكما لأُقرّبها مني تبحث عنها نظراتي.
قلبي يبحث عنها، وهي ليست معي.
ﻓﻲ الليلة نفسها التي تبيَضُّ فيها الأشجار نفسها،
نحن، اللذَيْن كنّا آنذاك، لم نعد كما كُنّا."

دوستانِ گرانقدر، این کتاب از اشعار «پابلو نرودا» تشکیل شده و شامل بیست و یک شعر میباشد که در میان این اشعار، نقاشی هایی از «پیکاسو» نیز به چشم میخورد... متأسفانه ترجمۀ نه چندان خوب، از لذتِ خواندنِ این اشعارِ عاشقانه میکاهد
به انتخاب جملاتی از میان این اشعار را برایتان در زیر مینویسم
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‎من نظاره میکنم از دور به کلماتم
بیشتر ازآنِ تو هستند تا ازآنِ من
از دردِ کهنۀ من بالا میروند چون پیچکها
**********************
خمشده رویِ عصرها، تورها می آویزم، تورهایِ غمگینی
به دریا که تکان ها دارد به چشمهایِ اقیانوسیِ تو
**********************
پاهایِ تو را چراغِ جانِ من برافروخته میسازد
شرابِ ترشِ من به لبانِ تو شیرین است
آه.. اِی دروگرِ آوازِ شامگاهیِ من
خواب هایِ عزلت زده ام، چه تو را ازآنِ من میدانند
**********************
راهِ مرا با کمانِ امیدِ خود نشانه بگیر
و من، در هذیان، فوجِ تیرهایم را رها خواهم کرد
همه سو، میانِ مه گونِ تو را میبینم
و سکوتِ تو ساعتِ غمزدهِ مرا میگیرد
و در تو با بازوانِ سنگیِ شفافت
بوسه هایم لنگر میفکند، آرزویِ نمورم آشیان میگیرد
**********************
دوستش ندارم دیگر، مسلّم است، امّا
شاید که دوستش دارم
چه کوتاهست عشق
چه درازست فراموشی
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امیدوارم این انتخابها را پسندیده باشید
«پیروز باشید و ایرانی»

I took my time reading this, choosing to savor the succulent, vivid, tactile words. I must say, these poems are luscious! I feel their imagery as much as visualize it. Phrases such as "In the moist night my garment of kisses trembles..." A garment of kisses. How delightful! (I want one!)

I also love how he is constantly mixing ideas of fire and water together, as if with love somehow they feed off each other where they should cancel each other out. "Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning." "...I go mounded on my one wave,/lunar, solar, burning and cold all at once." It is a delicate balance that is dynamic as the flames of passion grow and the cresting waves of excitement rise and crash in.

As a side note, I love that the poem is shown in it's original language first and on the opposing page. It's intriguingly seductive to read the verse in it's original form and hear it's fluidity and elegance. Then, too, having the Picasso illustrations intermingled with Neruda's vibrant voice adds volume to the juxtaposition of his colliding passions.

This is a lovely little tome that will envelop you and draw you back into it's pages with words like, "You undermine the horizon with your absence," calling out to the core of you.

"Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace. My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road! Dark riverbeds where the eternal thirst flows, and weariness follows, and infinite ache.”

Published back in 1924, Neruda was only 19 years old. I read the English translation first, but I think poetry should be experienced in its original language. I do not understand Spanish, so I had a friend read it to me and translate it in his own words. So much sexier in Spanish! ♡

"I want to do with you what spring does with cherry trees."

Este libro, mas que de amor, habla es de pasiones fugaces y amantes secretas, y el dolor que puede ocasionar el mismo, mucho mas duradero que la misma relación. En estos 20 poemas Pablo no nos describe una sola mujer, el evoca todos sus amores y compañeras de delirio o arrebato de su pasado, logrando plasmar en papel y tinta el sentimiento de un amor lejano, vivido, disfrutado, y que, tal vez, aun lastima. Esa herida abierta que todavía no se esta muy seguro si ha cerrado.

Algunos de los poemas que me lograron conmover verdaderamente fueron, «Te recuerdo como eras» y «Hemos perdido aun» enuncian el recuerdo de una mujer lejana y distante. «Para mi corazón» comenta de los amores que te dejan fluir y en vez de oprimir, liberan y «Puedo escribir los versos» enuncia el final de una relación, esa astilla constante para el alma y su ultimo soplo de inspiración.

Realmente es muy hermoso como un hombre puede transformar un verdadero sentimiento en palabras (a pesar de que era mujeriego) y hacernos sentir sus desventuras, agravios y hasta satisfacciones. Ademas, la riqueza de sus comparaciones y sus versos, es escultural.

En su poema No. XII esta mi verso favorito que dice:
«Para mi corazón basta tu pecho,
para tu libertad bastan mis alas.
Desde mi boca llegará hasta el cielo,
lo que estaba dormido sobre tu alma» (Neruda, 1924: 61).

Εδώ σ'αγαπάω εγώ!
Δε πα να σε κρύβει όσο θέλει ο ορίζοντας - ματαιοπονεί!
Εσένα σ'αγαπάω εγώ,επιμένω.
Ακόμα και μέσα στη ψύχρα των γύρω πραγμάτων.
Κάθε τόσο φεύγουν τα φιλιά μου
και πάνε μαζί με τα καράβια εκείνα,
τα ποντοπόρα, και φτάνουν περ' απ' το τέρμα, στα εκείθε.

دعونا اذن من العشرين قصيدة حب والأغنية اليائسة ولنكتفي من " نيرودا" بهذا البيت ..
" لا تشبهين أحداً منذ أحببتك " ....

This is a gorgeous little volume of poetry of love, longing and loss as only Pablo Neruda could write it, beautifully printed on fine glossy paper, with ten full color paintings. If you are in love with a lover of poetry, I highly recommend this edition as a gift. And if (despite your gift) s/he returns your love only briefly and then flees into the night, well, this would be the book ...

Ew! Poetry!

Twenty short love poems by renowned Pablo Neruda. Coincidentally I think I must've read this like twenty years ago. My first poetry book, and sadly not my last.

I think Neruda is actually quite good, his fame precedes him; it's my issue, I just hate poetry. The only one I liked is number XVIII. “Here I Love You.”

And by like I mean it was the only one that didn’t make me barf uncontrollably.



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n  PERSONAL NOTEn:
[1924] [60p] [Poetry] [Conditional Recommendable]
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Poesía ¡Pero qué asco!

Veinte poemas cortos de amor por el renombrado Pablo Neruda. Coincidentemente creo que leí esto casi veinte años atrás. Mi primer libro de poesía, y tristemente no el último.

De hecho creo que Neruda es bastante bueno, su fama lo precede; es mi problema, es sólo que yo odio la poesía. El único que me gustó es 18. “Aquí Te Amo.”

Y por gustar quiero decir que fue el único que no me hizo vomitar incontrolablemente.



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n  NOTA PERSONALn:
[1924] [60p] [Poesía] [Recomendable Condicional]
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It's weird if someone saw me reading poetry in public, why? I never ever enjoyed reading poetry since the day I was born. The day that my Elementary teacher forced me to memorize an Evangelical Hymn, All Things Bright and Beautiful - in which James Herriot entitled his books - and to my 3rd Year High School teacher who required us to memorize Annabelle Lee by Edgar Allan Poe to pass her exam and so on.

If I have the chance to change my past, I want to change my love to poetry. I'm sure if anybody here read Neruda's beautiful poems, they will love them and they will never forget every single word he sang. I might also ask my teachers to change their syllabus and add good poets like Neruda and the others. I don't know why teachers are forced to follow text books?

Who is Pablo Neruda? I never heard of him but when one of the Flippers volunteered to be a moderator for the month of February and chose Neruda's poetry I was forced to buy his small book and read it. It takes me a while to feed myself with poetry, but it takes only a minute to finish a poem and it takes hour to feel the joy and sadness of every words.

Back to my question, Pablo Neruda or Ricardo Eliecer Reyes was a poetic genius and he was awarded because of his ability to write good poems in a very young age. On his 20 years of existence, he published his first book and loved by many, it was a success. Because his father opposed to his writing ideas, he was forced to change his name to Pablo Neruda, from a historical novelist Jan Neruda, to avoid his father's disapproval.

Pablo Neruda practice Modernism on his poem. Modernism, it hailed the fragmentation of daily life and the emphasis individuals experience. It takes only a few years for Modernism to be lost and forgotten by anyone. If you read his poem, it was simple and easy to read. Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair a collection of poems of love, regret and passion. Below are the two (2) poems I loved from his collection.

nVIII - White Bee
White bee, you buzz in my soul, drunk with honey
and your flight winds in slow spirals of smoke.

I am the one without hope, the word without echoes,
he who lost everything and he who had everything.

Last hawser, in you creaks my last longing.
In my barren land you are the final rose.

Ah you who are silent!

Let your deep eyes close. There the night flutters.
Ah your body, a frightened statue, naked.

You have deep eyes in which the night flails.
Cool arms of flowers and a lap of rose.

Your breasts seem like white snails.
A butterfly of shadow has come to sleep on your belly.

Ah you who are silent!

Have you tried looking at the window and you saw the woman you love in white, dancing, jolly, and happy like there is no tomorrow. You only wish is to be with her and fall in your deepest dream of touching her body. Maybe Neruda felt joy and sadness writing his poems especially the last one, the most lonely and my least favorite.

nI - Body of a Woman
Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
when you surrender, you stretch out like the world.
My body, savage and pleasant, undermines you
and makes a son leap in the bottom of the earth.

I was lonely as a tunnel. Birds flew from me.
And night invaded me with her powerful army.
To survive I forged you like a weapon,
like an arrow for my bow, or a stone for my sling.

But now the hour of revenge falls, and I love you.
Body of skin, of moss, of firm and thirsty milk!
And the cups of your breasts! And your eyes full of absence!
And the roses of your mound! And your voice slow and sad!

Body of my woman, I will live on through your marvelousness,
My thirst, my desire without end, my wavering road!
Dark river beds down which the eternal thirst is flowing,
and the fatigue is flowing, and the grief without shore.

You are in a dark room with someone you love, looking at her body with passion. Touching every angle and the only light who guides you are the grayish light of the old maiden, moon. This must be a simplest poem on his collection and I really enjoyed the way she explained the body of a woman like you draw a woman in a canvas.


The book also include Pablo Picasso's art of couples and nude women. This is one of Pablo Picasso's art, being animated and trying to depict two lovers in a sense of portraying it magically.

Rating - Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda, 3 Sweets and the night I saw a nude woman sleeping under the beautiful goddess of moon. (I don't read much about poems and I don't know if I have the right to rate this book. In some point I really enjoyed reading it! Recommended to everyone who loves to fall in love, another problem for me, I can't relate.)

Challenges:
Book #22 for 2011
Book #14 for Off the Shelf!

n  n

“n  The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of twilight
that revolves around you.n”

Neruda is one of the poets who taught me to love poetry the way it is; without over-analysing or trying to critically delve deeper below the words, as we were taught in school. The first collection that I read of him, he wrote this at the age of 17, and that’s 2 years younger than me, now. When I read this collection for the first time, and, even before I read it, I was actually startled by the audacity of Neruda. And I’m not exaggerating. Neruda was actually one of the first poets to explore sexual imagery and eroticism in his work and become accepted for it. Luckily he wasn’t born in India, though his path wasn’t what you call easy.

“n  To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.n”

In this rather short collection of twenty-one poems, Neruda quite masterfully amalgamated the quaint Chilean panorama with his personal reminiscences and the product is a dazzlingly amorous verse, which on the whole, delineates desire and despair as opposite sides of the same coin. One of the recurring themes, undoubtedly is a tinge of unadulterated passion, which also is the main reason behind the controversies among critics and readers alike.

Get down to the subject matter, and ask a teen of 19 what the book is about, except the aphrodisiac charm (the sad part is actually that a poet of such a calibre came renowned due to the scandal and controversies that his poems gave rise to, and among most of the precocious youth he’s an overrated author of erotica). One guy, who categorises anyone reading books as pseudo-intellectual, says:

“Well, the love poems ain’t that special, they are just tales of infatuation: the guy talkin’ bout his lover’s beauty over and over until you get bored. He speaks of white bees…he says: “Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs”… actually he teaches to flirt. “The Song of Despair” is basically he, talking about how sad he is for having lost his woman, and comparing her to the sea. The lone-lorne creature stands on the shore, feeling lonely because all the ships have set sail, and remembers his long-lost love. He also describes how hot and heavy their relationship was and compares her to the sea because everything sank into her. He’s actually trying not to sulk after being dumped.”

I will leave that to you to think. (I didn’t create that, just removed the slanguage.)

As for Neruda himself, he admitted himself to be astounded at the success of this book in specific. He brooded on “why this book, a book of love-sadness, of love-pain, continues to be read by so many people, by so many young people”. According to him, maybe it was that “Perhaps this book represents the youthful posing of many enigmas; perhaps it represents the answers to those enigmas.” (Eric Guibert, 2015)

I personally consider this one to be a delightful introduction to the legendary poet. Definitely not his best, but to use the common phrase, best served as hors d’oeuvre. Just don’t go in there expecting just erotic thrills. And try it with the Spanish parallel text, if you can.

n  Clasping my arms like a climbing plant
the leaves garnered your voice, that was slow and at peace.
Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning.
Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul.n

می توانم امشب غمناک ترین سطرها را بنویسم.
مثلا بنویسم: ” شب شکسته است
وَ تکه تکه می شوند آن ستارگان در دور دست و بر باد می روند.”

شب- باد، در آسمان می پیچد و می خواند.
می توانم امشب غمناک ترین سطرها را بنویسم.
عاشق اش بودم و گاهی هم عاشق ام می شد.

در شبی این چنین به آغوش اش کشیدم.
بوسیدم اش بسیار و بسیار زیر آسمان بی انتها.

عاشق ام بود و گاهی هم عاشق اش می شدم.
چه گونه می توانستم عاشق آن چشمان درشتِ خاموش اش نباشم.

می توانم امشب غمناک ترین سطرها را بنویسم.
برای درکِ این که ندارم اش، برای حسِ این که گم اش کرده ام.

می شنوم این شب بلند را، که بی او طولانی تر.
بر روح می نشیند این سطرها، مثل شبنم که بر علف.

دیگر چه اهمیت دارد، که نتواستم نگه اش دارم.
شب شکسته ست و او کنارم نیست.

این تمام ماجراست. کسی در دور دست می خواند. در دور دست،
روح ام را یارای نبودن اش نیست.

که انگار در تقلای یافتن اش چشمانم دو دو می زند.
که قلبم می جویدش: اوکنارم نیست.

شبی شبیه بر همان شاخ ساران به صبح می رسد.
مای آن زمان، شبیه حالِِ ما نیست.

بی گمان، عاشقش نیستم اکنون، اما چه گونه زمانی بودم.
برای رسیدنِ به او، صدایم، به تقلای جستجوی باد است.

بوسه های دیگران بر لبانش، چون بوسه های من.
صدایش، تن مرمرین اش، چشمان بی انتهایش.

بی گمان، عاشق اش نیستم اکنون شاید اما باشم.
عشق کوتاه است؛ از یاد بردن اش چه طولانی.

از آن شب ها که در آغوش می کشیدم اش دیگر،
روحم را یارای نبودن اش نیست.

هرچند این واپسین عذابی است که مرا دچارش می کند،
و این واپسین سطرهایی ست که برایش می نویسم.