a little neruda…

Mmm… in thinking of new beginnings, I always picture a garden in my mind’s eye… sometimes lush and verdant, sometimes made of pebbles in concentric circles. Sometimes an underwater fantasy of kelps swaying in azure swirls, sometimes squat hedgerows perfectly aligned, throwing shadows across creeping moss. But no matter the picture I conjure, the words that come to mind are always the same… Pablo Neruda; that swoon-worthy god of Gods of The Written Word. I have traveled a thousand lifetimes in his poetry, from friendship to lust to full-blown love of the magic he creates. I am more me, a better me for having read and mulled over the rows of flowing passion that he created, seemingly just for the sole purpose of breaking my heart, and then mending it once again.

At this hour of newness, possibility and hope, I leave you with my current favorite from amongst his body of work…

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.

 

There really is nothing I can say to follow that beauty. Good tidings on this; your New Year…

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