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Pablo Neruda


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#441 louiesanchez

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Posted 21 December 2009 - 07:22 AM

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.


#442 erato

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Posted 12 January 2010 - 06:40 PM

favorite line:
..like a flower to its perfume, I am bound by my vague memory of you..

#443 dungeonbaby

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Posted 26 January 2010 - 10:39 AM

I liked the W.S. Merwin translation better. The one that goes "Tonight I could write the saddest lines."


Here's the W.S. Merwin translation with that poignant line "Love is so short, forgetting is so long":

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.


#444 artedpro

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Posted 25 August 2010 - 07:57 PM

For Everybody by Pablo Neruda


translated by Jodey Bateman



I can't tell you quickly
What I ought to tell you,
Say man, pardon me, you'll know
That even though you don't listen to my words
I never took time off to weep or sleep
And that I've been with you when I couldn't see you
For a long time and I'll be there till the end.

I understand that many people are thinking,
"Say, what's Pablo doing?" I'm here.
If you look for me on this street
You'll find me with my violin
Ready to sing
And to die.

It's nobody's problem
Not for them, nor for you,
And if you listen well, in the rain,
You will be able to hear
That I come back and go away and stay.
And you'll know when I must leave.

If my words aren't heard
Don't doubt that I'm the one I was.
There is no silence that doesn't end.
When the moment arrives, wait for me,
And let everyone know that I'm coming
To the street, with my violin.

#445 bods1000

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Posted 03 June 2011 - 04:19 PM

Some trivia about Neruda:

Pablo Neruda is just a non-de-plume. Neruda is not even sure if he took his name from the Czech writer Jan Neruda.

Neruda wrote exclusively in green ink, in an ordinary composition book.

Neruda makes elaborate drinks for his guests, he enjoys mixing drinks, though he drinks only Scotch and wine.

Neruda never won the Nobel prize for Literature. This is what he said:
"I am not one of those always arguing whether the prize went to the right person or not. What is important about this prize - if it has any importance - is that it confers a title of respect to the office of writer. That is what is important."

#446 bata

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Posted 04 June 2011 - 11:43 PM

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.

my favorite line in poem XX
true the saddest poem you can write for somebody...


#447 immatureandunstable

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Posted 06 June 2011 - 05:50 PM

Sobrang fan rin ako ni Neruda, at iba pang Latin American poets.

May naglink na ba ng news na ito dito?

http://edition.cnn.c....html?hpt=hp_t2

#448 ADAM

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Posted 07 July 2012 - 09:23 PM

Il Postino.

Great Poetry. Great life. Great mind

#449 aspadeisaspade

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Posted 28 August 2012 - 01:39 PM

great mind and great works

#450 lemon

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Posted 19 February 2014 - 08:29 AM

I suppose everyone here has a copy of the Il Postino album where Neruda's popular work are recited by the likes of Sting, Sammuel L. Jackson, Madonna, Julia Roberts, etc.? Just wondering coz I can upload a copy if you don't have 'em yet. :)

#451 Ephemeral

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Posted 19 October 2014 - 04:33 PM

If You Forget Me

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.

Edited by o-ren-ichii, 19 October 2014 - 04:34 PM.


#452 jekjekero

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Posted 24 February 2015 - 12:18 PM

The Dictators

Pablo Neruda

 

An odor has remained among the sugarcane:

a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating

petal that brings nausea.

Between the coconut palms the graves are full

of ruined bones, of speechless death-rattles.

The delicate dictator is talking

with top hats, gold braid, and collars.

The tiny palace gleams like a watch

and the rapid laughs with gloves on

cross the corridors at times

and join the dead voices

and the blue mouths freshly buried.

The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant

whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth,

whose large blind leaves grow even without light.

Hatred has grown scale on scale,

blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,

with a snout full of ooze and silence. 



#453 jekjekero

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Posted 24 February 2015 - 12:24 PM

CLENCHED SOUL

Pablo Neruda

 

We have lost even this twilight.

No one saw us this evening hand in hand

while the blue night dropped on the world.

 

I have seen from my window

the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

 

Sometimes a piece of sun

burned like a coin in my hand.

 

I remembered you with my soul clenched

in that sadness of mine that you know.

 

Where were you then?

Who else was there?

Saying what?

Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly

when I am sad and feel you are far away?

 

The book fell that always closed at twilight

and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

 

Always, always you recede through the evenings

toward the twilight erasing statues. 



#454 jekjekero

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Posted 24 February 2015 - 12:28 PM

Saddest Poem

Pablo Neruda

 

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

 

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,

and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

 

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

 

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

 

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.

I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

 

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.

How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

 

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.

 

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.

And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

 

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.

The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

 

That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.

My soul is lost without her.

 

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.

My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

 

The same night that whitens the same trees.

We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

 

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.

My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

 

Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once

belonged to my kisses.

Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

 

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.

Love is so short and oblivion so long.

 

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,

my soul is lost without her.

 

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,

and this may be the last poem I write for her.



#455 FleurDeLune

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Posted 06 August 2017 - 11:07 PM

Sonata

 

Neither the heart cut by a piece of glass
in a wasteland of thorns
nor the atrocious waters seen in the corners
of certain houses, waters like eyelids and eyes
can capture your waist in my hands
when my heart lifts its oaks
towards your unbreakable thread of snow.

Nocturnal sugar, spirit
of the crowns,
ransomed
human blood, your kisses
send into exile
and a stroke of water, with remnants of the sea,
neats on the silences that wait for you
surrounding the worn chairs, wearing out doors.

Nights with bright spindles,
divided, material, nothing
but voice, nothing but
naked every day.

Over your breasts of motionless current,
over your legs of firmness and water,
over the permanence and the pride
of your naked hair
I want to be, my love, now that the tears are
thrown
into the raucous baskets where they accumulate,
I want to be, my love, alone with a syllable
of mangled silver, alone with a tip
of your breast of snow.

 

 

-Pablo Neruda

 



#456 Olive&Dust

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Posted 23 May 2018 - 04:57 PM

I shall run his masterpiece afresh for the nth time.

 

 

If You Forget Me

 

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. 






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