Monday, February 27, 2012

Tuesday Poem--Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda


Sonnet XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or 
                                    pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Pablo Neruda   (1950)

5 comments:

  1. Dear Melissa - would you believe I read this selfsame poem just yesterday?

    For me the lines

    'I love you as a certain dark things are to be loved,
    in secret, between the shadow and the soul'

    strike like a gong.

    ( ( ( (( O )) ) ) )

    L, C x

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  2. neruda is magic, and weaves his spells in such a way that you dont need a translater or a guide. you follow him willingly, suspend all your own belief systems, trust him completely.

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  3. Ah, could Neruda ever disappoint? The scent of Demeter, the feel of the gritty earth, the love and mystery of dark, dark places of the soul, of earth. I feel the same way about his poetry... without knowing how, or when, or from where.

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  4. Okay, Melissa and Claire, I ALSO just read this poem....

    Strange and marvelous connections!

    xo

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  5. Dear Claire, of COURSE you were reading this particular Neruda poem. How could you not be?

    Susan, one does fall into the guidance of Neruda, he takes your hand and you walk through the poem together. What could be easier or more magical than that?

    Dear Jayne, I love that 'I love you as certain dark things are to be loved.' and of course its Demeter, the dark place of the earth, the soul, and how it all comes organically, easily, 'without knowing how, or when, or from where.'

    T.,, and of course you were reading this Neruda at the same time. It's kismet, magic, serendipitous. I'm not a bit surprised. Are you? xo

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