Pablo Neruda · 70 pages
Rating: (39.7K votes)
“I want
To do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”
“Tonight I can write the saddest lines
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.”
“Then love knew it was called love.
And when I lifted my eyes to your name,
suddenly your heart showed me my way”
“I am no longer in love with her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.”
“It was at that age
that poetry came in search of me.”
“Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.”
“And I watch my words from a long way off.
They are more yours than mine.
They climb on my old suffering like ivy.”
“وفي عينيك الحزينتين يبدأ وطن الحلم.”
“There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle.”
“مثل البحر، مثل الزمن. فيكِ غَرِقَ كل شيء!”
“Every day you play with the light of the universe.”
“Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.”
“sometimes i get up at dawn, and even my soul is wet.”
“How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.”
“كم هو قصيرٌ الحب، وكم هو طويلٌ النسيان”
“كنتُ أتذكّرك وروحي تضيق
بهذا الحزن الذي تعرفين.
أين كنتِ آنئذٍ؟
بين أيّ أناس؟
أيّة كلمات كنتِ تقولين؟
لماذا يداهمُني كل هذا الحب
عندما أشعر بالحزن، وأَشعرُ بكِ بعيدة؟”
“Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.”
“تعجبينني حين تصمتين وأنت كالبعيدة.
وأنتِ كأنك تئنّين، فراشة ترفّّ.
وتَسمعينني من بعيد، وصوتي لا يصل إليكِ.
دعيني أصمت مع صمتك.”
“Entre los labios y la voz, algo se va muriendo.
Algo con alas de pájaro, algo de angustia y de olvido”
“نحن، اللذَيْن كنّا آنذاك، لم نعد كما كُنّا”
“The morning is full of storm
in the heart of summer.
The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye,
the wind, travelling, waving them in its hands.
The numberless heart of the wind
beating above our loving silence.
Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees
like a language full of wars and songs.”
“أُحِبُّ ما ليس عندي. كم أنتِ بعيدة.”
“أنا اليائسُ، الكلمةُ بلا أصداء،
الذي فقد كل شيء، وكان لديه كل شيء.”
“لأنّي في ليالٍ مثل هذه أخذتها بين ذراعيّ،
روحي ليست راضيةً بأنّي أضعتُها.”
“Tonight I Can Write
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.”
“وعصافيرُ كانت تنامُ في روحِك
أيقظتُها، وكم فرّتْ وهاجرتْ.”
“The birds of night peck at the first stars
that flash like my soul when I love you.”
“أستطيع أن أكتب الأشعار الأكثر حزناً هذه الليلة.”
“The instruments you have are the right instruments for you, because you’ve been shaped by them. That’s another law.”
“Unspoiled by education, frank and unsuspecting as young an8imals, they came up to school from their meadows, their games, and their dreams. The simple law of life was alone valid for them; the most vital, the most forceful among them was leader; the rest followed him. But little by little, with the weekly portions of tuition, another, artificial set of values was foisted upon them: he who knew his lesson best was termed excellent and ranked foremost, and the rest must emulate him. Little wonder, indeed, if the more vital of them resist it! But they have to knuckle under, for the ideal of the school is the good scholar.--But what an ideal! What ever came of the good scholars in the world?--In the hothouse of the school they do enjoy a short semblance of life, but only the more surely to sink back afterward into mediocrity and insignificance. The world has been bettered only by the bad scholars.”
“I can do oblivion, you know. I can do it better than him. I'd like to see how he likes it if I just disappear from his life without a word. It was okay for him to keep in contact with Georgie and my mum, but not once did he pick up the phone or write to me. Like I was fucking nothing to him. Like I'm nothing to no one.”
“Who here wants to be a writer?' I asked. Everyone in the room raised his hand. 'Why the hell aren't you home writing?' I said, and left the stage.”
“Shut up" he says teasingly. "I know what you're thinking, and that's not why you're here with us"
We walk for a minute. "Why am I?"
Sabin shrugs. "Does there really have to be an answer to that? Sometimes it's just right. You fit. Jesus, kid, can't you feel it? Don't question everything."
I smile. I do feel it. Belonging.”
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