Neruda has been a favorite poet of mine since I discovered his slim volume Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair years ago. Partly what I love about him is the earthy, concrete quality of his poetry. There is nothing ethereal or effervescent about his love poetry. It is occasionally dark, often fleshy, and always rooted in the reality of everyday life and objects - like his book Ode to Common Things.
For February, I decided to re-read Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair as well as a compilation of Neruda poems by Mary Heebner and Alastair Reid (translator) entitled, simply, Intimacies, as a way to celebrate this month of love. I've read and re-read Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair many times, but it is one of those collections that I know I will return to again and again. The language and imagery is just as fresh and evocative as when Neruda penned his poems in 1924. Every time I return to it, a new poem catches my eye or a line makes my breath catch in my throat.
My copies of Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair and Intimacies are not just intellectually stimulating; they are also visually captivating. Each poem in Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair is matched with a sensual, pencil drawing by Pablo Picasso. Intimacies pairs various love poems by Neruda with coppery "elusive as water, yet sculptural" nudes by artist Mary Heebner.
Below are two of my favorite poems - one from each collection:
"So That You Will Hear Me"
So that you will hear me
my words
sometimes grow thin
as the tracks of gulls on the beaches.
Necklace, drunken bell
for your hands smooth as grapes.
And I watch my words from a long way off.
They are more yours than mine.
They climb on my old suffering like ivy.
It climbs the same way on damp walls.
You are to blame for this cruel sport.
They are fleeing from my dark lair.
You fill everything, you fill everything.
Before you they peopled the solitude that you occupy,
and they are more used to my sadness then you are.
Now I want them to say what I want to say to you
to make you hear as I want you to hear me.
The wind of anguish still hauls on them as usual.
Sometimes hurricanes of dreams still knock them over.
You listen to other voices in my painful voice.
Lament of old mouths, blood of old supplications.
Love me, companion. Don't forsake me. Follow me.
Follow me, companion, on this way of anguish.
But my words become stained with your love.
You occupy everything, you occupy everything.
I am making them into an endless necklace
for your white hands, smooth as grapes.
I love the effect of the repetition of "You fill everything" and "You occupy everything." It is as if the speaker of the poem is in quiet awe of his lover. I relate to this poem because, although I am wordy, I have difficulty expressing deep rooted emotion to those I love, and I understand Neruda completely when he writes, "Now I want them to say what I want to say to you / to make you hear as I want you to hear me." I understand that desire for your words to carry more than just their explicit meaning and for that subtext to be understood by the receiver.
from Intimacies: Poems of Love
"Love"
So many days, oh so many days
seeing you so tangible and so close,
how do I pay, with what do I pay?
The bloodthirsty spring
has awakened in the woods.
The foxes start from their earths,
the serpents drink the dew,
and I go with you in the leaves
between the pines and the silence,
asking myself how and when
I will have to pay for my luck.
Of everything I have seen,
it's you I want to go on seeing;
of everything I've touched,
it's your flesh I want to go on touching.
I love your orange laughter.
I am moved by the sight of you sleeping.
What am I to do, love, loved one?
I don't know how others love
or how people loved in the past.
I live, watching you, loving you.
Being in love is my nature.
You please me more each afternoon.
Where is she? I keep on asking
if your eyes disappear.
How long she's taking! I think, and I'm hurt.
I feel poor, foolish and sad,
and you arrive and you are lightning
glancing off the peach trees.
That's why I love you and yet not why.
There are so many reasons, and yet so few,
for love has to be so,
involving and general,
particular and terrifying,
joyful and grieving,
flowering like the stars,
and measureless as a kiss.
That's why I love you and yet not why.
There are so many reasons, and yet so few,
for love has to be so,
involving and general,
particular and terrifying,
joyful and grieving,
flowering like the stars,
and measureless as a kiss.
As I noted previously, I love Neruda's use of repetition - this time an entire stanza. It is always so intentional, and in this poem, it serves to highlight the lines "That's why I love you and yet not why. / There are so many reasons, and yet so few." The repetition of the catalog that follows underscores these are the reasons and yet they are not. I cannot name them all and even the ones I can name are constantly changing. Also, the stanza which begins "Of everything I have seen, / it's you I want to go on seeing; / of everything I've touched, / it's your flesh I want to go on touching." strikes me as one of the simplest yet most romantic expressions of love I've ever read.
Neruda was a tremendous poetic and political influence in his native Chile, and I encourage you if you have not to read some of his other work and even check into his history. He is a fascinating man with an uncanny ability to express universal observations and emotions in a unique way.
So many days, oh so many days
seeing you so tangible and so close,
how do I pay, with what do I pay?
The bloodthirsty spring
has awakened in the woods.
The foxes start from their earths,
the serpents drink the dew,
and I go with you in the leaves
between the pines and the silence,
asking myself how and when
I will have to pay for my luck.
Of everything I have seen,
it's you I want to go on seeing;
of everything I've touched,
it's your flesh I want to go on touching.
I love your orange laughter.
I am moved by the sight of you sleeping.
What am I to do, love, loved one?
I don't know how others love
or how people loved in the past.
I live, watching you, loving you.
Being in love is my nature.
You please me more each afternoon.
Where is she? I keep on asking
if your eyes disappear.
How long she's taking! I think, and I'm hurt.
I feel poor, foolish and sad,
and you arrive and you are lightning
glancing off the peach trees.
That's why I love you and yet not why.
There are so many reasons, and yet so few,
for love has to be so,
involving and general,
particular and terrifying,
joyful and grieving,
flowering like the stars,
and measureless as a kiss.
That's why I love you and yet not why.
There are so many reasons, and yet so few,
for love has to be so,
involving and general,
particular and terrifying,
joyful and grieving,
flowering like the stars,
and measureless as a kiss.
As I noted previously, I love Neruda's use of repetition - this time an entire stanza. It is always so intentional, and in this poem, it serves to highlight the lines "That's why I love you and yet not why. / There are so many reasons, and yet so few." The repetition of the catalog that follows underscores these are the reasons and yet they are not. I cannot name them all and even the ones I can name are constantly changing. Also, the stanza which begins "Of everything I have seen, / it's you I want to go on seeing; / of everything I've touched, / it's your flesh I want to go on touching." strikes me as one of the simplest yet most romantic expressions of love I've ever read.
Neruda was a tremendous poetic and political influence in his native Chile, and I encourage you if you have not to read some of his other work and even check into his history. He is a fascinating man with an uncanny ability to express universal observations and emotions in a unique way.
