Tell me, is the rose naked or is that her only dress? Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots? Who hears the regrets of the thieving automobile? Is there anything in the world sadder than a train standing in the rain? — Pablo Neruda, “III,” The Book of Questions. Translated by William O’Daly.… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
Sonnet LXV Matilde, where are you? Down here I noticed, under my necktie and just above my heart, a certain pang of grief between the ribs, you were gone that quickly. I needed the light of your energy, I looked around, devouring hope. I watched the void without you that is like a house, nothing… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
Nothing But Death There are cemeteries that are lonely, graves full of bones that do not make a sound, the heart moving through a tunnel, in it darkness, darkness, darkness, like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves, as though we were drowning inside our hearts, as though we lived falling out of the skin… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
The heart moving through a tunnel, in it darkness, darkness, darkness, like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves as though we were drowning inside our hearts as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul. —Pablo Neruda, from “Nothing But Death,” Pablo Neruda, Neruda & Vallejo: Selected Poems. Translated and edited… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
My hands lifted it up and I gazed as if the sea were alive in that single drop, as if amid the struggle of the earth and the waters one flower were to raise a small banner of blue flame, of irresistible peace, of indomitable purity.… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
Love, what does it matter that time, the very time that raised two flames, two waving heads of wheat, my body and your gentleness, tomorrow will hold them safe or mill the grain, and with those same unseen fingers erase the identities that separate us, giving us the final victory of being one beneath the… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
Better than any word is the pulse of your scent. — Pablo Neruda, “Ode to a Cluster of Violets,” Odes to Common Things. (Bulfinch; Bilingual edition May 1, 1994) Originally published 1961.