Pablo Neruda

Granted one poet’s experience with manual metaphysics doesn’t make a poetics; but I’ve pared my nails to the quick to temper my craft and these shabby prescriptions I learned for myself, at first hand, If you find them uncouth for a poet’s vocation, I agree – no apologies needed! I smile toward the future and…

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Sweetness,always(Dulce siempre)

Why such harsh machinery? Why, to write down the stuff and people of everyday, must poems be dressed up in gold, in old and fearful stone? I want verses of felt or feather which scarcely weigh, mild verses with the intimacy of beds where people have loved and dreamed. I want poems stained by hands…

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A certain weariness [Cierto cansancio]- Pablo Neruda

A certain weariness I don’t want to be tired alone, I want you to grow tired along with me. How can we not be weary of the kind of fine ash which falls on cities in autumn, something which doesn’t quite burn, which collects in jackets and little by little settles, discolouring the heart. I’m…

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To the foot from its child [ Al pie desde su niño ] –Pablo Neruda

The child’s foot is not yet aware it’s a foot, and would like to be a butterfly or an apple. But in time, stones and bits of glass, streets, ladders, and the paths in the rough earth go on teaching the foot that it cannot fly, cannot be a fruit bulging on the branch. Then,…

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