Archive for the ‘Pablo Neruda’ Tag

Toward the Treasure of the Grain   Leave a comment

 Southwestern Prickly Poppy-1891 blogWhite Prickly Poppies Have A Natural Crinked Look (Near a High Desert Highway)– Image by kenne

Without

disdain

for the gifts

of the earth,

the capital’s

abundant curves,

or the purple

initial

of wisdom,

you

taught me

to be an American,

you lifted my eyes

to books,

toward

the treasure

of the grain:

broad poet,

across the

clarity

of the plains,

you made me see

the high mountain

as my guardian.

Out of the subterranean

echo

you collected

everything

for me,

everything that grew,

you gathered the harvest

galloping through the alfalfa,

cut the poppies for me,

followed the rivers

to arrive in the kitchen

by afternoon.

— from Ode to Walt Whitman by Pablo Neruda

I Am The Only One That Is Invisible   4 comments

Lummi & MCLACTom Turner — Image by kenne

The poem “Invisible Man,” by Pablo Neruda gets inside me, stirring my very being, mixing the past, present and images of the future. The poem has short lines making it seem longer than it is. Even so, I’m sharing some of Neruda’s powerful lines, which I have read, reread contemplating thoughts of my brother, Tom and existential invisibility.  

“they fire against the people,
which is to say,
against poetry,
but my brother
the poet
was in love,
or was suffering
because all his emotion
is for the sea,
he loves remote ports
for their names,
and he writes about oceans
he doesn’t know,
when life is as full
as an ear of corn with grain
he passes by, never knowing
how to harvest it,
he rides the waves
without ever touching land,
and, occasionally,
he is profoundly moved
and melancholy,
he is too big
to fit inside his skin,
he gets tangled and untangles himself,
he declares he is maudit,
with great difficulty he carries the cross
of darkness,
he believes that he is different from
anyone else in the world,
he eats bread every day
but he’s never seen a
baker
or gone to a meeting
of a baker’s union,
and so my poor brother
is deliberately dark,
he twists and writhes
and finds himself
interesting,
interesting,
that’s the word,
I am no better
than my brother,
but I smile,
because when I walk through the streets
—the only one who does not exist—
life flows around me
like rivers,
I am the only one
who is invisible,
no mysterious shadows,
no gloom and darkness,
everyone speaks to me,
everyone wants to tell me things,
to talk about their relatives,
their misery and
their joy,
everyone passes by, and everyone
tells me something,
look at all the things they do!”

— from Invisible Man by  Pablo Neruda
(Click here to read the complete poem.)

“Where do you go when you’ve already gone?”

— from Tom Turner’s notes

Sabino Canyon Panorama #3   Leave a comment

After the Rain Panorama (1 of 1)-4 blogSabino Canyon Panorama #3 (August 9, 2016) — Image by kenne

Pablo Neruda has written,

“….the forests or beside rivers everything speaks to humans.
The desert does not speak. I could not comprehend its tongue;
its silence….” 

All nature speaks to humans that seek to connect and listen.

— kenne

Deep In The Mountain Woods   Leave a comment

Mushrooms (1 of 1) blogMushrooms — Image by kenne

I look through the hole and saw a landscape like that behind
our home, uncared for, and wild. I moved back a few steps
because I sensed vaguely that something was about to  happen.

— from Childhood and Poetry, by Pablo Neruda

Morning Meditation   6 comments

Man on Rock (1 of 1)-2 Art blogMorning Meditation — Computer Art by kenne

“Give me silence, water, hope . . .”

— Pablo Neruda

######

I don’t believe in age.
All old people
carry
in their eyes,
a child,
and children,
at times
observe us with the
eyes of wise ancients.
Shall we measure
life
in meters or kilometers
or months?
How far since you were born?
How long
must you wander
until
like all men
instead of walking on its surface
we rest below the earth?

— from Ode to Age by Pablo Neruda

Free Flight Into The Wordless   5 comments

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA“Free Flight into the Wordless” — Image by kenne

Poetry is a deep inner calling in man: from it came liturgy, the

psalms, and also the content of religions. The poet confronted

nature’s phenomena and in the early ages called himself a priest,

to safeguard his vocation. . . . Today’s social poet is still a member

of the earliest order of priests. In the old days he made his

pact with the darkness, and now he must interpret the light.

— Pablo Neruda

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