Wrong email address or username
Wrong email address or username
Incorrect verification code
back to top
Search tags: Pablo-Neruda
Load new posts () and activity
Like Reblog Comment
show activity (+)
text 2017-07-17 12:50
12th July 2017
100 Love Sonnets - Pablo Neruda

Love is so short, forgetting is so long. 


Pablo Neruda


Chilean poet Pablo Neruda (born July 12, 1904) preferred to write in green ink because the color was his personal symbol of hope.

Like Reblog Comment
show activity (+)
review 2017-01-20 14:57
Review of Pablo Neruda's Residence on Earth by Alaric Cabiling
Residence on Earth - Pablo Neruda,Donald Devenish Walsh

There are few authors of poetry that span greater relevance through years of publishing unparalleled works of beauty than Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. His Residence on Earth, known in the Spanish as Residencia en la Terra, is an under-appreciated work of behemoth quality that must ultimately bear the burden of being the author’s most unheralded work, simply for the sheer brilliance and incommunicable romance that his love sonnets had fittingly given him due credit for. It is not an impasse therefore that Residence on Earth be revisited for its grandeur, its monumental failure in its lack of commercial viability and its great success at being his most profound and relevant work of poetic brilliance.


The translation to the English language of Residencia en la Terra is done by Donald D. Walsh. And the translation, in all if not most volumes included in said translation, is immaculately rendered. Of course, many poetry lovers the world over have more than a mere fondness for Pablo Neruda’s work. Perhaps iconic throughout contemporary poetry and literature, a former winner of the Nobel Prize, Pablo Neruda has been cited as one of the most consistently admirable writers of the poetry form until his death in 1973. His body of work is some of the most potent, powerful means of artistic expression the world has ever seen.


He writes about his travels to Spain here, and bridges lands together with his native country Chile, once colonized by the former country, he speaks of beauty in both lands unconquered by foreign influence.


“Oh my kinsman, oh guitar player dressed in bees, there can’t be so much shadow in your hair: you come flying.”


Exiled to Mexico as a member of the communist party, his written work surpasses any legacy he is remembered for in politics.


The land he characterizes with such gifted language is a metaphor of itself. Neruda’s love for his country makes manifest in Residencia en la Terra’s mountain ranges, its inexorable landscape, the unforgettable smiles that greet the visitor in the quaint little villages populated by colorful locals. The world is his stage, and all who visit Pablo Neruda’s work finds a union with the land he loves so explicitly.


A nationalist at heart, Neruda attempts the ever-intimidating assignation of writing a vast collection of works thematic in his almost indescribable passion for his native people. Pablo’s inspiration is the untimely dedication he has to living life with an utmost appreciation for beauty paradoxical for its simplicity and virtue.


Yet, one cannot discount the great obscurity that cloaks many of the poems contained in Residencia en la Terra, in comparison to his more famous works. True, the language and style and immediacy his more famous works are known for bring them an unparalleled accessibility towards fans of poetry that love Neruda’s simpler means of expression, but Residence on Earth, finds Pablo Neruda at the height of his writing prowess – the profound symbolism and language distilled in a simple but complex euphemism that describes his heritage.


“Inside my guitar interior there is an old air, dry and resonant, left behind, motionless, like a faithful nutrition, like smoke; an element at rest, a living oil: an essential bird watches over my head: a constant angel lives in my sword.”


Perhaps not as anthemic but is nonetheless deliberately methodical in its characterization of nationalist sovereignty, Residence on Earth lives on in great appreciation by academes and scholars the world over, who can appreciate the dexterity Neruda always maintained with his compositions. The great wind that moves the wind vail, is the same force that drives a man to fulfill his fate, if only for his free will, and defiance towards capture or bondage. Neruda expresses himself with lyrical structure and rhythm, always playful, sometimes pragmatic, but always indefatigable in the crystallization of rich, detailed language.


Chile is not without its great contributions to world poetry and literature, and foremost among them, must be the great Pablo Neruda. Residence on Earth may not be his most sentimental work, but is easily, some of his most relevant. From a trained eye fitting for that of a surgeon, precise in the mapping of a body and its parts, Pablo Neruda skillfully dissects a landscape filled with beauty that is smeared by a love for his craft, a love for poetry, for honesty greater than any man has attempted to rekindle in the expression of such passion for his native land.

Like Reblog Comment
show activity (+)
review 2016-08-03 19:40
Then Come Back: The Lost Neruda - Forrest Gander,Pablo Neruda

Pablo Neruda's poetry is among my favorite. This edition was particularly wonderful as its a collection of previously unpublished works unearthed after Neruda's death. The english versions were translated by Forest Gander, but the real beauty is in the back half of the book, where the original Spanish lives. I'm not fluent in Spanish, but I know enough to be utterly swept away by the enormous beauty of Spanish poetry.

Like Reblog Comment
show activity (+)
review 2016-07-01 10:34
20 Poemas de Amor y Una Canción Desesperada - Pablo Neruda

Pablo Neruda es universal :) .

Muy bonito. Tienen una musicalidad y un ritmo preciosos. Merece la pena leerlos en voz alta.

Pero me pasa algo curioso; unos poemas me encantan y otros, en cambio, me aburren. Eso sí, los que me gustan los puedo leer una vez, y otra, y otra...


Poema 15: Recitado por Alejandro Sanz

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.

Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.

Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.

Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.


Poema 20: Recitado por Álex Ubago

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos."

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el ultimo dolor que ella me causa,
y estos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.
Like Reblog Comment
show activity (+)
photo 2015-05-15 15:11
Source: www.printerinks.com/a-history-of-noms-de-plume-infographic.html
More posts
Your Dashboard view:
Need help?