I found this Argentine edition from 1960 for five reais in a thrift store, which of course made me happy.

Going back to Neruda, the book is a breakthrough, going through four phases. Each of them instills different phases of the amorous relationship, whether in a temporal aspect (the type of relationship we have throughout life) or in a spatial aspect (a single relationship going through the weather of morning, noon, afternoon and night). In short, it is brilliant.

The discovery of this book in the thrift store was like a little treasure hunt. I was browsing through the shelves when this particular edition caught my eye. The price was a steal at just five reais. As I delved into the pages of Neruda's work, I was immediately captivated by its beauty and depth. The four phases described in the book offer a unique perspective on love and relationships, making it a truly remarkable read.

I want to live all that I loved,

and in you, who I loved more than anything,

everything that I cherished and held dear.

Life is a journey filled with countless experiences and emotions,

and among them, my love for you stands out as the most precious.

I long to walk this path of life with you by my side,

sharing every moment, every joy, and every sorrow.

Your presence brings a warmth and light to my world that nothing else can replace.

With you, I feel complete, as if all the pieces of my life have finally fallen into place.

I will continue to love you with all my heart,

through thick and thin, for all eternity.

Di Pagi, aku melihat gairah cinta yang meluap dan berkelimpahan untuk seorang Matilde. Seperti sepasang remaja yang jatuh cinta dan mengarahkan seluruh emosinya pada sang pujaan hati. Aku dapat membayangkan bagaimana mereka saling memandang dengan mata penuh cinta, bagaimana mereka tertawa bersama-sama, dan bagaimana mereka merasakan setiap detik bersama sebagai sesuatu yang sangat berharga.

Lalu di Senja, sang pujangga mulai menikmati ketenangan dan keromantisan cintanya laksana senja itu sendiri. Dengan senyuman lembut pada bibirnya, ia mengintai langit yang berubah warna menjadi merah muda dan oranye. Cintanya seperti angin lembut yang mengalir melalui tubuhnya, membawa dengannya rasa tenang dan kebahagiaan.

Memasuki Petang, aku takut. Cinta sang pujangga seakan tak terkendali dan takut akan sesuatu yang tak terlihat namun seperti bayangan terus mengikutinya. Aku bisa merasakan ketakutan itu mengalir melalui darahnya, membuatnya merasa gelisah dan tidak tenang. Namun, aku juga tahu bahwa cinta sering kali membawa dengannya rasa takut, karena kita selalu khawatir akan kehilangan sesuatu yang sangat berharga bagi kita.

Dan aku tahu di Malam bahwa sang pujangga akhirnya bisa menerima ketakutan cintanya itu. Berusaha mengekalkan waktu tersisa yang ia miliki dan menuliskannya dengan indah. Dengan tangan yang gemetar, ia menulis setiap kata dengan penuh perasaan, mencoba untuk menyimpan setiap momen bersama dengan Matilde dalam bentuk puisi. Dan aku tahu bahwa cinta itu akan terus hidup dalam puisi-puisi itu, bahkan setelah mereka telah pergi.

Aku tak ingin tawamu, atau jejak langkahmu sangsai;
aku tak ingin warisan kebahagiaanku mati;
jangan memanggil ke arah dadaku: aku tak di sana.
Hiduplah dalam ketakhadiranku bak di sebuah rumah.

Ketakhadiran adalah sejenis rumah besar
di sana kau melangkah lewati dinding-dindingnya,
lukisan-lukisan yang tergantung dalam udara tipis.

Ketakhadiran adalah sejenis rumah yang transparan
sehingga bahkan meski sudah mati aku akan melihatmu di sana,
dan bila kau sengsara, Kekasih, aku akan mati kedua kalinya.

Probably my most favorite poet of contemporary times is Neruda. He has a remarkable ability to use language and nature to bring out the truthfulness of various aspects such as beauty, desire, love, and lust. The way he compares love to simple and pure things in nature with such honesty makes me truly wish I knew Spanish so that I could read his writings in his native language.

Moreover, Neruda divides his sonnets into the categories of morning, afternoon, and night. Each of these categories infiltrates new or different dimensions of love. His declarations of love are not always happy or unrealistic. I believe the'morning' sonnets describe the beginning of love with someone. The 'afternoon' sonnets are more honest and discerning of his object of love. And in the 'evening' sonnets, it's almost as if love has finally made a full circle. His works are blissfully honest, simple, and filled with raw romanticism. Te amo!

A beautiful collection of poems. Each one is very lovely on its own, and some are truly exceptional. However, taken as a whole, the poems are a bit redundant both in terms of style and the rhetorical figures used.

The collection showcases a range of emotions and themes, but the similarity in the way they are presented can make it feel a bit repetitive. There are certain poetic devices that are used frequently, which might have been more effective if they were used more sparingly.

Despite this, there are still many gems in the collection that are worth reading and enjoying. The poets have shown great skill and creativity in their individual works, and it is clear that they have a passion for the art of poetry. Overall, while the collection may have some flaws, it is still a worthwhile addition to any poetry lover's library.

Cleaning up my currently reading list is an important task for me.

I often find myself with a stack of books that I have started but not yet finished.

By going through this list, I can assess which books are truly worth my time and which ones I may need to set aside for now.

It also helps me to prioritize my reading and ensure that I am focusing on the books that will have the greatest impact on my knowledge and personal growth.

Sometimes, I may discover that a book that I thought would be interesting is actually not holding my attention, and it's better to move on to something else.

Cleaning up my reading list allows me to make room for new and exciting books that I can't wait to explore.

Overall, it's a process that helps me to stay organized and make the most of my reading time.

Poetry that touches the melancholy heart, I was glad to choose to read it in autumn.

In autumn, the world seems to take on a certain sadness. The leaves turn yellow and fall, as if they are诉说着 the passage of time. It is in this season that poetry with a touch of melancholy becomes even more poignant.

When I read such poetry, it's as if I can feel the emotions of the poet directly. The words seem to dance on the page, expressing the deepest feelings of the human heart. It's a kind of spiritual resonance that makes me feel understood and comforted.

Autumn is a season of reflection and introspection, and melancholy poetry is the perfect companion. It allows me to explore my own emotions and find beauty in the sadness. So, I will continue to choose to read such poetry in autumn, and let it touch my heart and soul.

Review: Total Romanticism of Poet Neruda

If only I had read Neruda's sonnets before, perhaps my first love journey (while sitting in the elementary school bench) would have been smooth without "clapping one hand" because I only felt the tremors of love without being able to express it, let alone through poetry. If there was a moon, in my heart I would say: you, you are my moon. If I was looking at the sky, I would say: you, my love for you is as high as the sky. Just like that. Only in my heart, without being able to discuss it. If I had known this sonnet, perhaps I would have imitated one of the stanzas of Neruda's sonnet to court my admiration:

I love a handful of earth that is none other than you. / Because its grassy plains, as vast as a planet, / I have no other star. You are my reflection / On a doubled universe. (sonnet XVI, p. 18)

If now I write such a poem to a girl who loves soap operas, surely I will get the answer: exaggerated, you! :-)

That's how I imagine Neruda writing these sonnets with the outpouring of his soul's emotions. These 100 sonnets were written to his true love, his wife Matilde Urrutia. These sonnets are in the form of praise and admiration for the woman with "melon lips" and a "slender body like a grain of naked wheat". Maybe several times Neruda left the痕迹 of tears of happiness and longing when writing the sonnets in this book. I can imagine each grain of Neruda's tears rolling from his eyelids as big as onions. Hahaha. For example, the following two stanzas of a sonnet:

Fire the moonlight with your fragrance / Cover all the doors with your hair. / Just don't forget, when I wake up crying / It's because in my dream I'm like a lost child. (sonnet XXI, p. 23)

Matilde, my mistress, leave your lips half open: / Because that final kiss will stay with me / It will still linger, forever, on your mouth / So that the kiss goes with me too, into my death. (sonnet XCCIII, p. 103)

I finished reading this book "Ciuman Hujan" in about one hour. Everything is good. But what impressed me the most, precisely what I remember the most from this small book, is sonnet XX. I was attracted to this sonnet because it is written in a rather naughty, funny, and sarcastic way; yet it is also sublime at the same time.

My bad mistress, you are a disordered dream. / My beautiful one, you are as beautiful as the wind. / Bad: your mouth is big enough for two mouths. / Beautiful: your kisses are as fresh as new melons.

Bad: where have you hidden your breasts? / They are too small, like two grains of wheat. / I prefer to see two moons crossing your chest, / Two great towers.

Bad: the sea doesn't even contain things like your fingernails. / Beautiful: flower after flower, star after star, wave after wave, / Mistress, I have made a list of your body:

My bad mistress, I love your golden hips; / My beautiful one, I love the wrinkles on your forehead. / My dear: I love your clarity, your darkness.

At first, I thought: that a great poet is also an ordinary human being who often makes dichotomies. I once imagined that "the bad one" was for the wife he divorced, perhaps Maryka Antonietta Hagenaar Vogelzang or Delia Del Carril; while "the beautiful one" was his new wife: Matilde, the Chilean singer who took care of Neruda when he was sick during his visit to Mexico in 1945. (Neruda's love life also strengthens my assumption: that "great men" often have problems with love that is not one! Hahaha.)

However, I have changed my mind when I reached the last line of this sonnet. My dear: I love your clarity, your badness,. As we often hear: that to love means to accept the good and the bad, the strengths and weaknesses of one's partner. That's大概 what I got from this sonnet.

***
Pablo Neruda is a Communist poet from the Third World, precisely from Chile. The original title of this collection of sonnets is Cien sonetos de Amor, which was then translated by Tia Setiadi into Indonesian with the title Ciuman Hujan: Seratus Soneta Cinta. This book is translated from a secondary source, which is English: 100 Love Sonnets, translated by Stephen Tapscott.

Poet Neruda is highly respected by world-class writers and poets. Allegedly, the philosopher-writer Jean Paul Sartre refused to accept the Nobel Prize in 1964, one of the reasons being Pablo Neruda. According to Sartre, the poet Pablo Neruda was more worthy of receiving the Nobel. Only 7 years later, in 1971, Neruda received this most precious and prestigious award. Even the novelist, also a Nobel Prize winner, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, considered that Neruda was the greatest poet of the 20th century.

Neruda's poetic style in these sonnets can be classified into the romantic style genre. The romantic style is characterized by the poet being identical to the poem he writes. While for Sapardi, who doesn't like the romantic style, the poet is only a medium/intermediary for the emergence of the poem as the "conscience of nature". The romantic poet places the poem as the most individual expression of feelings and emotions, but not the deepest. Simply put, Sapardi sees the romantics as lacking self-control. For another critic, these sonnets are not for the public.

However, I don't think so. Precisely, I don't care about that criticism. Even though there are some melancholic-genital-individual manifestations, for me it is also a way to break through the fullness of oneself. And I enjoy this collection of books. So, if asked, which is better between classical-romantic poetry and contemporary poetry? I don't want to make a dichotomy. It is enough for me to say that both are equally interesting. Interesting to study and appreciate.

***
Tia Setiadi, the translator and adapter of this book, in my opinion, has successfully presented this book. Although there are some minor flaws in the translation of this book. First, this book is translated from a secondary source: English. Ideally, it should be translated from the original language, which is Spanish. But since my English is just so-so, and I don't understand Spanish, I don't want to nitpick further hehehe. Second, as written by Ronny Agustinus, there is one word that doesn't make sense like "mawar-bergaram". Actually, this phrase seems to mean rosa de sal, which is commonly called "Japanese rose" by flower lovers. Third, misspellings of some words - according to Rony - among others; Sarte should be Sartre, Robert Prost should be Robert Frost, gangang should be ganggang.

Nevertheless, the presence of Neruda's sonnets has added to the literary treasure in this country. Therefore, it is fitting that we welcome the arrival of this translated poetry. There are many things we can learn from "Ciuman Hujan", which I see as: The Total Romanticism of Poet Neruda.***


PS:

1. This book is suitable for single men whose love is always rejected: these 100 sonnets can be a good reference to know how to court more outrageously; for women who like to be courted can also try Neruda-style courtship. Also for those who are almost crazy because of a broken heart; go under the rindang tree, read these sonnets with tears as big as onions. Hahaha.

2. Muchas gracias Juan Pablo Agung who sent this book. If only you were a woman and wanted it; not just a kiss of rain, but a kiss of a volcano would I give you. Hahaha

Sepasang napas cintaku, sebab aku harus mencintaimu:

itu sebabnya aku mencintaimu saat kau tidak mencintai,

dan aku mencintaimu ketika apa pun yang lain kucintai.

I was idly reading "100 Sonnets of Love" as it was lying on the coffee table in the living room. Only my younger sister and mother have a collection of poetry books. And seeing the name Neruda, I thought it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. After all, I have heard countless praises for Neruda's poems but have never read them.


As clearly written in the title and description, this book contains 100 love sonnets from Neruda to his wife, Matilde. Beautifully translated by Aan Mansyur, the reader is drawn into how Neruda loved Matilde. At least that's what I felt while reading "100 Sonnets of Love". Divided into three parts: Morning, Afternoon, and Night, these sonnets seem to have their own nuances.

Dalam kisah ini akulah satu-satunya orang yang akan mati--

semata aku. Aku mati oleh cinta karena aku mencintaimu, karena mencintaimu, Kekasih, dalam kobar darah dan api.

There is a touching feeling and a desire to experience how great love can be to produce such beautiful sonnets. Matilde must be a lucky woman. Through "100 Sonnets of Love", I want to be Matilde and I want to be Neruda: to fall deeply in love with the right person.

Is the rose naked,

Or is that her only dress?

You won't believe how beautiful the images these two short lines conjure in my head. It's as if I can see intricate rose blooms, their luscious, red petals gently spinning in the dark. The red folds of silk seem to be dragging on the floor, leading to the dark chambers of a secret lover.

There are lone cemeteries,

tombs full of soundless bones,

the heart threading a tunnel,

a dark, dark tunnel:

like a wreck we die to the very core,

as if drowning at the heart

or collapsing inside from skin to soul

Now that is just so sad. Quietly, movingly, eerily sad.

Love is a war of lightning,

and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness

Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity,

your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages,

If this is not beautiful, sexy poetry I don't what is.

And of course, my hands-down, all-time favorite, these unbearably romantic lines to his muse and wife:

It was beautiful to live

when you lived!

The world is bluer and of the earth

at night when I sleep

enormous, within your small hands

Now I know how it feels to fall in love with words, with beautiful, beautiful, sexy and romantic words. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadows and the soul. And to have my heart broken by it: I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her and sometimes she loved me too. Although this may be the last pain she causes me, and this may be the last poem I write for her.

There is nothing like sublime poetry to feed the soul. And there is something in Neruda's art that simply captures and never let goes, something dark, and delicate, and powerful. I'm no poet so I do not know what is this called. I just know it's beautiful and alluring. I think it's mortal love.

When I grew weary of copying love poems from Chinese and Japanese sources onto urgent, wretched note cards for lovers who were completely out of my reach (and I seem to have a knack for finding those unattainable individuals to pine after), that was precisely when I turned to Pablo Neruda. He surpasses Asian poets in his ability to craft those throbbing, passionate, and 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 also:

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.

Just imagine for a moment being the unsuspecting recipient of such transcribed scribblings. You thought you were simply in for a nice encounter, and now you're getting Neruda via notecard, either shoved into the mail slot of your door or left under your windshield wiper in the parking garage. At least I never called in the middle of the night and left Neruda recitations on the answering machine. Well, okay, maybe I did that once. But there was a whole lot of tequila involved.

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

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

Fortunately, I've overcome the phase where I copied tragic poetry onto notecards to express my unrequited passions. Now I've advanced to making mix CDs. I swear, I'm a caricature even of myself. The emo mommy. Pardon me while I don a pirate blouse and walk moodily across the moors on a stormy day.

Pablo, however, is truly lovely.

At around midnight last night, the poetic Italian film 'The Postman' was rebroadcast. Besides the title character, the film's second main character is the poet Pablo Neruda, who lived in exile outside Chile in the 1950s. However, the storyline on a small Italian island that the film shows is fictional. What brings Neruda and the fisherman Mario Ruoppolo together is that so much mail arrives for the poet up on the mountain that a special postman – by bicycle – has to be hired to deliver the mail, and since Mario longs for a change in his life, it becomes him.

The two unequal figures, Neruda and Mario, develop a friendship based on Mario's insatiable hunger to be initiated into the world of poetry, especially its use of metaphors. During the film, there are several references to the Italian 13th-century poet Dante, and if one has said A for Alighieri, then one must inevitably also say B for Beatrice. Mario's passion for the figurative language helps him win the favor of the local beauty, a woman named: Beatrice.

'The Postman' from 1994 created new attention for Neruda, who otherwise died in 1973. It was undoubtedly the film that led me to Neruda's celebration of love in a full hundred sonnets in a 1959 poetry collection, which was published in Danish in 2011 under the title 'Hundred Love Sonnets'. They are written to his third wife, Matilde Urrutia, who was the equivalent of Dante's Beatrice in Neruda's life.

The Danish edition is rewritten in a freer/more prosaic language than the original Spanish. In terms of form, however, the Danish edition adheres to the sonnet's fourteen-line form, where two four-line stanzas are opposed to two three-line stanzas. In other words, quatrains against tercets, typically dealing with a "you" in the former against an "I" in the latter: "If your eyes did not have their color from the moon, […] I would, o beloved, never love you!"

Grown up at the foot of the Andes Mountains' volcanoes and near swampy forest areas, Neruda carried a lot of nature impressions with him into poetry as the reservoir from which everything could be expressed in endless amounts of figurative language that was no doubt animated by eroticism but also colored by (the communist's) social indignation. He praised the woman as a sexual being and a natural phenomenon, cf. the bombastic opening: "Matilde, I call you plant or stone or vine, you are what grows from the earth and endures constantly". Trees, water, and earth are recurring metaphors for Matilde, but they are surpassed by grain, more specifically wheat, which is referred to about fifty times in the form of: bread, flour, grain loft, grain moth, grain chamber, bread grain, wheat market, wheat grain, seed grain, wheat-like, etc.

Grain is a common symbol of fertility and resurrection, but the exaggerated use in connection with Matilde as Mother Earth contributes to an archaic naturalization of the woman – also taking into account the time difference between the 1950s and the present. The passion manages – despite all its pathos – to culminate in monotony, precisely because Neruda is not familiar with one of today's slogans: Less is more.

I got the sonnets as a wedding gift back in 2013. I consumed them in such a way that my husband, in the role of kitchen writer, read the swollen Latin American love poems aloud to me when it was my turn to cook. A humorous encounter when "wheat" (= Matilde) met wheat (in my prosaic cooking). In between, we listened to the sonnets during the subsequent meal; they have namely been set to music by Morten Lauridsen (1 piece) and Michael Bojesen (5 pieces).

So yes, I have had the pleasure of Neruda, even though he is really far, far too much.