Twenty love poems and a song of despair

Yesterday I read "Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair" by Pablo Neruda, the famous Chilean poet and Nobel laureate. His poems took my breath away. The creative use of language, the passion and emotion of each poem, the images evoked by the words of magic...  I couldn't believe that Neruda wrote these poems when he was only 19.

Here are my favourite poems from the collection.


V. So That You Will Hear Me

So that you will hear me
my words
sometimes grow thin
as the tracks of the 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 than 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 wave 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.


XIII. I Have Gone Marking

I have gone marking the atlas of your body
with crosses of fire.
My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide.
In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst.

Stories to tell you on the shore of evening,
sad and gentle doll, so that you should not be sad.
A swan, a tree, something far away and happy.
The season of grapes, the ripe and fruitful season.

I who lived in a harbour from which I loved you.
The solitude crossed with dream and with silence.
Penned up between the sea and sadness.
Soundless, delirious, between two motionless gondoliers.

Between the lips and the voice something goes dying.
Something with the wings of a bird, something of anguish and oblivion.
The way nets cannot hold water.
My toy doll, only a few drops are left trembling.
Even so, something sings in these fugitive words.
Something sings, something climbs to my ravenous mouth.
Oh to be able to celebrate you with all the words of joy.

Sing, burn, flee, like a belfry at the hands of a madman.
My sad tenderness, what comes over you all at once?
When I have reached the most awesome and the coldest summit
my heart closes like a nocturnal flower.


XIV. Every Day You Play

Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
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.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.

The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

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.

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.


Amazing. I'm going to check out some more of Neruda's work when I get the chance.

G.

Untitled, Anonymous

I don't know what this poem is called, or who wrote it, but it speaks to me, quietly but powerfully amidst the other roaring voices in my life right now.

"왜 울고 있느냐
오늘도 같은 죄에서 넘어졌기에
그렇게 죄책감에 쓰러져 울고 있구나

왜 울고 있느냐
오늘도 나와 함꼐 동행하기 원했으나
그러지 못함으로 자책하며 울고 있구나

왜 울고 있느냐
너도 모르게 자꾸만 교만하여 지는
너의 마음때문에 괴로워 울고 있구나

왜 울고 있느냐
자꾸 유혹에 쓰러지고 죄를 짓게 되어
연약한 네 자신때문에 속상해 울고 있구나

왜 울고 있느냐
내가 너를 씻겨 주었음에도 자꾸만 더러운 모습으로
내 앞에 오는 것이 부끄럽고 미안해서 울고 있구나

울지 말아라, 내 아이야
네가 나를 향해 나아오려는 마음을
내가 알고 있단다

울지 말아라, 내 아이야
네가 연약한 너의 육신으로 인해 괴로워 하고 있음을
내가 알고 있단다

울지 말아라, 내 아이야
네가 나를 닮아가려고 수백번, 수천번
노력하고 있음을 내가 알고 있단다

울지 말아라, 내 아이야
네가 나를 사랑하고 있는 마음을
내가 알고 있단다

나도 너를 사랑한단다
내가 너를 죄로부터 지킬 것이며
내가 너를 악한 영으로부터 지킬 것이며
내가 너의 약한 육신에 힘을 줄 것이며
내가 너의 쓰러진 영혼에 손을 내밀어 붙잡아 줄 것이며
내가 너로 하여금 길을 잃지 않도록 붙들어 줄 것이란다

눈물을 닦아라, 내 아이야
너의 마음을
내가 다 알고 있단다."

I'm not going to translate this because it'll be poor and won't do justice to the poem. It's basically about a person crying out of frustration, guilt, shame and anger at not being able to live up to the standards that s/he knows is necessary in a life lived with God, and God comforting him/her, saying that He knows his/her heart for God and efforts to become more Christ-like. Ultimately, it's not my own doing that counts, but the fact that God, out of love and mercy, makes me better than I could ever be on my own.

Have a wonderful day.

G.