Reply to Poem 14th of Pablo Neruda
Reply to Poem 14th of Pablo Neruda
Spring does to cherry trees
The same you do with my frosted heart.
You flourish me, grow me, mature me...
Then, you ignore me and forget me.
I still love you. Do you know it, or do you divine it?
Wild strawberry and nettle that hurts you are.
Cat eyed woman, as farther away you are, the most
the windows of my room and my silly sheets needs you.
For reading Neruda is what I want you for.
To do it quietly looking at you directly to your eyes
To say to you white bee buzzing and to write the saddest verses
of this evening and the ones of the dawn.
When everybody had been gone,
When I had thrown my sad nets to oblivion
Next to me is where I want to see you and where I need you the most.
As a balsa coming to mooring by itself
There's still time to do it.
Sailboat captain I am of scarce seas and beaches.
As castaways that have not yet lost their boat
The world awaits us beyond the ring of this bay.
On the other side of the ocean is where paradise is.
You'd have to be ready to raise anchors
And start a new journey with me.
Woman of nacre, salt and white sand body
I love you, as you are. That simple. The way you are I love you.
I got used to you, to you and to the way you approach me
Without saying a word, or making any noise and without being noticed.
What do I want a valley full of roses for if geraniums are what I like the most?
Wild geraniums and wild honeysuckles too.
Clothes are a nuisance when we are alone.
When our skin is in touch we become, you and I.
When we grab the universe piece by piece
the sea gets calm and the wind stay still.
Let´s divine each other again, as when we were young.
Me too, I want to do with you
what spring does to cherry trees.
Jose F. Viveros
Poem #14 by Pablo Neruda
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 gray 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.
Comments
Post a Comment