When I got tired of copying love poems from the Chinese and Japanese into urgent, wretched note cards to lovers who were unattainable (and I'm a genius at finding unattainable characters to pine after)... that's when I turned to Pablo Neruda. He's even better than Asian poets at crafting throbbing, passionate, wounded phrases of affection:

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrence
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

and:

No one can stop the river of your hands,
your eyes and their sleepiness, my dearest.
You are the trembling of time, which passes
between the vertical light and the darkening sky.

and:

From the stormy archipelagoes I brought
my windy accordian, waves of crazy rain,
the habitual slowness of natural things:
they made up my wild heart.

Imagine for a moment being the unsuspecting recipient of such transcribed scribblings. You thought you were just getting a nice shag, and now you're getting Neruda by notecard, shoved into the mail slot of your door, or left under your windshield wiper at the parking garage. At least I never called in the middle of the night and left Neruda recitations on the answering machine. Okay, maybe I did once. But there had been a great deal of tequila involved.

Not everything he wrote was tortured. Some of it was just beautiful:

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;...

...so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

and:

because love cannot always fly without resting,
our lives return to the wall, to the rocks of the sea:
our kisses head back home where they belong.

and:

By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two
together in their sleep will defeat the darkness

Luckily I got over the phase where I copied tragic poetry into notecards to express my unrequited passions. Now I've moved on to mix CDs. I swear, I'm a caricature even of myself. Emo mommy. Pardon me while I don a pirate blouse and walk moodily across the moors on a stormy day.

Pablo, however, is lovely.

pablo be horny

No comprendo la fijación de este hombre con los panes pero okay

"Κι αυτή η φορά ήταν σαν ποτέ και πάντα:
πάμε εκεί που δεν περιμένει τίποτα
και θα βρούμε ολ' αυτά που περιμένουν."

''Γεμάτη θλίψη αγνή αγροικά η στέγη
βροχές πανάρχαιες ξέφυλλες να πέφτουν,
φτερά κι ό,τι έχει η νύχτα φυλακίσει:

κι έτσι σε καρτερώ σαν έρμο σπίτι
να γυρίσεις και να με κατοικήσεις.
Αλλιώς τα παραθύρια με πονάνε''.

je refuse de noter le livre d’un violeur assumé

le recueil n’est pas mauvais bien qu’assez redondant, certains poèmes sont très beaux mais la réutilisation constante des mêmes thèmes ternit un tant soit peu l’ensemble. et neruda me dégoûte

10/10

I have been consuming poetry in the last few months at an inordinate rate. I enter phases -- cycles in my life where it's easier to read poetry than prose; more importantly, where my life demands poetry more than it does prose. It's silly, in that context, to add long passages of my boring prose to describe what Neruda does perfectly in poems. All I can add is, if you haven't read Neruda, or haven't read him lately, do your soul a favour and pick up this little book, even if you borrow it from the library, and go sit quietly for an hour.


How many times, love, I loved you without seeing you
and maybe without recollection,
not recognizing your glance, not looking at you, a centaur,
in adverse regions, in a burning midday:
you were just the scent of grains I love.

Perhaps I saw you, I imagined you in passing lifting a glass
in Angol, by the light of the moon in June,
or you were the waist of that guitar
I played in the darkness, and it sounded like the excessive seas.

I loved you without knowing it, and I looked for your memory.
In the empty houses I entered with a lantern to steal your portrait.
But I already knew how you were. Suddenly

while you were there with me I touched you and my life stopped:
before my eyes you were, ruling me, and you reign.
Like a bonfire in the forests, fire is your kingdom.

````````````````
Cuántas veces, amor, te amé sin verte y tal vez sin recuerdo,
sin reconocer tu mirada, sin mirarte, centaura
en regiones contrarias, en un mediodía quemante:
eras sólo el aroma de los cereales que amo.

Tal vez te vi, te supuse al pasar levantando una copa
en Angol, a la luz de la luna de junio,
o eras tú la cintura de aquella guitarra
que toqué en las tinieblas y sonó como el mar desmedido.

Te amé sin que yo lo supiera, y busqué tu memoria.
En las casas vacías entré con linterna a robar tu retrato.
Pero yo ya sabía cómo era. De pronto

mientras ibas conmigo te toqué y se detuvo mi vida:
frente a mis ojos estabas, reinándome, y reinas.
Como hoguera en los bosques el fuego es tu reino.


````````````````````

PS This is a lovely edition which includes paintings by Gabriela Campos.

هذا النيرودا رائع.
ورغم أن ترجمة القصائد تفقدها السر اللغوي الذي يسري فيها إلا أنا قصائد بابلو فيها شيء أكثر من اللغة،لعله الصدق والموسيقى

القصيدة الرابعة والأربعون :
اعلمي بأني لا أحبك وأني أحبك
لأن كائن الحياة مزدوج كالمرأة
لأن الكلام هو جناح الصمت
ولأن في النار شطرًا من البرد.

أحبك ولا أحبك، فكأنما بين يدي
مفاتيح السعادة
ومصيرًا تاعسًا
ومصيرًا ملؤه القلق.

أنا لا أحبك ..لأبدأ في حبك
لأتمكن من أن أبدأاللانهاية مجدداً
ولكني لا أكف أبدًا عن حبك

حبي وجدان لحبك
لهذا أحبك حين لا أحبك
ولهذا أحبك حين أحبك

==============
القصيدة الحادية والثلاثين:
بإكليل من غار الجنوب
وبصعتر لوتا البري
يا ملكة صغيرة لعظامي، أتوجك
وليكن لك أبدًا هذا التاج
المولود من الأرض، ومن أوراق البخور
==============

لن يعرف أحد أن اللطف وحده
صنع شيئًا فشيئًا بلورات صلبة كالمدن
وأن الدم فتح أنفاقاً تعيسة
دون أن تتغل مملكته على الشتاء
==============

لهذا يا حبيبتي، ثغرك، بشرتتك
ضياؤك وعذاباتك هي الميراث
الحي، هبات المطر المقدسة، عطايا الطبيعة


أعتقد أن تذوق قصائد كهذه بلغتها الأم سبب كاف لوحده لتعلم اللغات

Uno dei libri di Neruda più belli di sempre.
Ho iniziato a leggere poesie proprio grazie a Neruda e confermo: questi versi sono pura arte.
Quanta bellezza tra questi versi, l'immensità.

"Se Me Esqueceres

Quero que saibas
uma coisa.

Sabes como é:
se olho
a lua de cristal, o ramo vermelho
do lento outono à minha janela,
se toco
junto do lume
a impalpável cinza
ou o enrugado corpo da lenha,
tudo me leva para ti,
como se tudo o que existe,
aromas, luz, metais,
fosse pequenos barcos que navegam
até às tuas ilhas que me esperam.

Mas agora,
se pouco a pouco me deixas de amar
deixarei de te amar pouco a pouco.

Se de súbito
me esqueceres
não me procures,
porque já te terei esquecido.

Se julgas que é vasto e louco
o vento de bandeiras
que passa pela minha vida
e te resolves
a deixar-me na margem
do coração em que tenho raízes,
pensa
que nesse dia,
a essa hora
levantarei os braços
e as minhas raízes sairão
em busca de outra terra.

Porém
se todos os dias,
a toda a hora,
te sentes destinada a mim
com doçura implacável,
se todos os dias uma flor
uma flor te sobe aos lábios à minha procura,
ai meu amor, ai minha amada,
em mim todo esse fogo se repete,
em mim nada se apaga nem se esquece,
o meu amor alimenta-se do teu amor,
e enquanto viveres estará nos teus braços
sem sair dos meus".

"Eu Simplesmente Amo-te
Eu amo-te sem saber como, ou quando, ou a partir de onde. Eu simplesmente amo-te, sem problemas ou orgulho: eu amo-te desta maneira porque não conheço qualquer outra forma de amar sem ser esta, onde não existe eu ou tu, tão intimamente que a tua mão sobre o meu peito é a minha mão, tão intimamente que quando adormeço os teus olhos fecham-se".

He is deeply in love and the poetries are very romantic and that's beautiful. He really loves his wife. But I got tired of some of them. It was a bit redundant and exaggerated for me. I have two favorites(page 19 and 105). It was ok but I dont't want to read it again.

" Σε θέλω γιατί μόνο εσένα θέλω,
σε μισώ μα γι' αγάπη σου προσπέφτω,
κι ειν' της αθώας αγάπης μου το μέτρο
σαν τυφλός που αγαπά για να μη σε βλέπω."

"Μόνος στην ιστορία αυτή πεθαίνω
και πεθαίνω απ' αγάπη αφού σε θέλω,
σε θέλω, αγάπη, ώς το αίμα και ώς το τέλος"

" Καμιά άλλη δε θα κοιμηθεί με τα όνειρα μου, αγάπη.
Θα πλέεις, θα πλέουμε αντάμα μες στα νερά του χρόνου.
Καμιά δε θ' αρμενίσει στον ίσκιο πια μαζί μου,
μόνο εσύ πανταζώντανη, πάντα ήλιος και φεγγάρι."

Αφιερωμένο.

Έμπνευση. Ταύτιση.