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Pablo Neruda (1904-1973) has been one of my top five or so poets for inspiration since I discovered poetry and began writing in college classes in the early 1990s. He had an illustrious career, and is considered by some to be the greatest poet in the Spanish language. He is famous for being a very active Communist politician with a turbulent history in his country, Chile. Near the end of his life he won the Nobel prize for literature, in 1971. (He deserves much more than I am summarizing here, and you can read more at the Poetry Foundation.) I know him best for his odes to ordinary things (which inspired me to write an ode to quinoa here and garlic here) and his sensual love poems. There is a sweet film called "Il Postino" in which an exiled Neruda and his love poems help a humble Postman woo the lovely Beatrice. One of my favorites of his love poems is Body of a Woman.
In the poem I post here, Neruda describes not his love for a woman, but for Poetry, when she arrived. For me it felt just like this when I began that first poetry class, and started to write. The universe opened, and the poet began the first faint line, / faint, without substance, pure / nonsense, / pure wisdom / of someone who knows nothing . . .
Poetryby Pablo Neruda
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.
(translated by Alistair Reid)
La poesíade Pablo Neruda
Y FUE a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.
Yo no sabía qué decir, mi boca
no sabía
nombrar,
mis ojos eran ciegos,
y algo golpeaba en mi alma,
fiebre o alas perdidas,
y me fui haciendo solo,
descifrando
aquella quemadura,
y escribí la primera línea vaga,
vaga, sin cuerpo, pura
tontería,
pura sabiduría
del que no sabe nada,
y vi de pronto
el cielo
desgranado
y abierto,
planetas,
plantaciones palpitantes,
la sombra perforada,
acribillada
por flechas, fuego y flores,
la noche arrolladora, el universo.
Y yo, mínimo ser,
ebrio del gran vacío
constelado,
a semejanza, a imagen
del misterio,
me sentí parte pura
del abismo,
rodé con las estrellas,
mi corazón se desató en el viento.
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Neruda was much loved in Peru, and to keep you warm after snuggling with Pablo, I give you Afro-Peruvian singer Susana Baca singing De Los Amores (About Love); lyrics here, and no, the lyrics were not written by Neruda, but by Javier Lazo (who wrote the music too, I think).
-Neruda was much loved in Peru, and to keep you warm after snuggling with Pablo, I give you Afro-Peruvian singer Susana Baca singing De Los Amores (About Love); lyrics here, and no, the lyrics were not written by Neruda, but by Javier Lazo (who wrote the music too, I think).
