A beautiful book by my favorite poet that was a gift from my closest friends. A treasure that sits proudly on my bookshelves.

I just found this book, of all things, half-priced at a Borders going out of business. What a glorious discovery! All sea-related poems in English and Spanish with accompanying artwork. A wonderful book that I'll read over and over again.

A window into Neruda's Chilean soul, trapped between the Andes and the Pacific, one that craves constant movement, and yet yearns for a home. Beautiful and invigorating.
My favorite poem is Fiesta's End Stanza XII.

As the subtitle says, this is a collection of Pablo Neruda's poems about the sea that was put together to celebrate his centenary. I picked it up to fulfill Book Riot's 2017 Read Harder Challenge category, "Read a collection of poetry in translation on a theme other than love." I'm really glad I did. True to the challenge's goal, it got me to read something I would not have otherwise and it expanded my horizons. I'm not usually one for poetry, but the poems are beautiful and show how much the sea near Neruda's home in Isla Negra meant to him. It reminded me why I love being near bodies of water as well. I find it really nice that each poem has the original Spanish next to its English translation and each one is also accompanied by a work of art. This really helped enhance the reading experience. I liked seeing Neruda's original words and the art made them come alive. All things considered, this is a very nice collection of poetry that is both beautiful to read and look at.

A short collection but beautiful book with perfect translations.

beautiful book

Breathtaking. I'd never read Neruda's work before, but someone suggested it to me, said that there were layers to it that they believed I would admire, verses from it that reminded them of my writing, and that they believed I would fall in love. And dear Lord, I may have done so.

There's always something I've admired about translations, especially those from the Latin American languages. There's a swirling flow to them, a diction that moves smoothly and rests in your mind, that sounds beautiful read silently or aloud. And many of my favorite collections end up being those which are/were translated into English at some point.

That said, this collection specifically holds a special place in my heart. As my friend suggested, there were many beautiful lines and memorable images. But this collection landed gently and tenderly in my heart and reminded me of home. I could read these poems and remember the sensation of sand between my toes, the smell of an ocean breeze, the way the salt stung my eyes, and the feeling of unending peace. There was something here in Neruda's writing, that not only brought the emotion and soul of his poems to life, but also his setting--a fact that, to me, is deeply admirable.

Neruda is, perhaps, the greatest of all the 20th century poets, having won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1971 and the World Peace Prize in 1950. This small bilingual volume brings together poems whose focus is the ocean, but each one speaks of so much more. I feel so privileged to be able to read the poems in their original Spanish, but for someone who has not mastered that language, the translations of Alastair Reid are excellent, capturing the power and beauty of the images throughout. Neruda's descriptions are so real that one can smell the sea, hear the waves crashing on the beach, and sea the play of light across the water. Each poem is accompanied by an abstract water color by Mary Heebner, whose works reflect the mood of the verses perfectly.

It’s not simply the shells crunched as if some shivering planet were giving signs of its gradual death

The wounded fish flapped in the light / harsh flag of an uncaring sea / butterfly of bloodstain and salt

The white war of the foam

Short collection of poems by Neruda about the sea. Perfect topic for his dreamy style of imagery.

Beautiful.

The Soliloquy of the Waves

Yes, but here I am alone.
A wave
builds up,
perhaps it says its name, I don’t understand,
it mutters, humps in its load
of movement and foam
and withdraws. Who
can I ask what it said to me?
Who among the waves can I name?
And I wait.
Once again the clearness approached,
the soft numbers
rose in foam
and I didn’t know what to call them.
So they whispered away,
seeped into the mouth of the sand.
Time obliterated all lips
with the patience of shadow and
the orange kiss
of summer.
I stayed alone,
unable to respond to what the world
was obviously offering me,
listening to
that richness spreading itself,
the mysterious grapes
of salt, love unknown,
and in the fading day
only a rumor remained,
further away each time,
until everything that was able to
changed itself into silence.