Come to the orchard in Spring

"Even though all it takes to fill a life is the sun, the land and a poem." --Kikuchi Masaou.

Posts tagged Neruda

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“Poetry”

And it was at that age … Poetry arrived

in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don’t know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.

Pablo Neruda

Filed under Poetry Pablo Neruda writting void nothing coming discovery poem beautiful drunk myself loose wind heart form universe

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If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

 -

I want you to know

one thing.

 -

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

 -

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

 -

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

 -

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

 -

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

(via naivetybutyouth-deactivated2013)

Filed under Pablo Neruda Poem Poetry If You Forget Me If you forget lift roots move on love destiny arms still don't

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Tonight I Can Write by Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

-

Write, for example, ‘The night is starry

and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’

 -

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

 -

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

 -

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

 -

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

 -

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

 -

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

 -

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is starry and she is not with me.

 -

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

 -

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

 -

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

 -

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

 -

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.

Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

 -

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

 -

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

 -

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

Filed under Pablo Neruda Tonight I can write the saddest lines