Tags
art, creativity, inspiration, Pablo Neruda, poem, poet, poetry, starry night, writing

One of my favorite poets, again, swept me off my feet, expressing the inexpressible with perfect eloquence.
Poetry
And it was at that age … poetry arrived
in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don’t know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was, without a face,
and it touched me.
I didn’t know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind.
And something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first, faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing;
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire, and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss.
I wheeled with the stars.
My heart broke loose on the wind. Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, trans. W.S. Merwin (Penguin Classics, 2004)
Illustration by Dorothy Lathrop 1891 – 1980 Stars, 1930, ink on illustration board. Illustration for Sarah Teasdale, Stars Tonight, New York: Macmillan Company, 1930.
Wow! What an exquisite poem!
Totally agree!
What an exquisite blog post!!!
Thank you! I’m so glad I found the Lathrop illustration. It illuminates the spirit of the poem so well with a feminine essence.
In accepting the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1971, he (Naruda) declared that “We [writers from the vast expanse of America] are called upon to fill with words the confines of a mute continent, and we become drunk with the task of telling and naming.” The odes reflect what Neruda saw as both an obligation and a privilege―the naming and defining of his world. — Margaret Sayers Peden (Translator, Introduction) Selected Odes of Pablo Neruda (Volume 4) (Latin American Literature and Culture) https://www.amazon.com/Selected-Neruda-American-Literature-Culture/dp/0520269985/.
“Petch” Peden was a friend; her step-daughter was my sweetheart. Throughout her career she brought the work of many great Spanish writers to English readers. Here is an article about her after she was awarded the prestigious PEN/Ralph Manheim Medal for Translation. I also attached last year’s obituary after I found out she had passed. https://theuncarvedblog.com/2012/11/12/found-in-translation-local-literary-legend-finds-her-voice-by-interpreting-the-words-of-others/
Thank you for sharing this Ken. Can’t wait to read!
You’re most welcome, Deborah. Petch Peden was an extraordinary, yet down-to-earth woman. I think you’ll enjoy reading abut her life. She was obviously much loved and appreciated by her many Spanish-speaking writer friends. I’m glad I knew her.
I checked that poem and noticed that the last two lines should look like this at the end of the last stanza:
I wheeled with the stars,
My heart broke loose on the wind.
If you’re interested, you can read Pablo Naruda’s Nobel Prize in Literature 1971 Nobel Lecture, Towards the Splendid City, https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/literature/1971/neruda/lecture/, and his Banquet Speech, https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/literature/1971/neruda/speech/.
Thanks again Ken. I would like to read that. As for that extra line of poetry, I think I like it better without it.
Poetry is powerful…
Indeed!