Pablo Neruda

The artichoke Of delicate heart Erect In its battle-dress, builds Its minimal cupola; Keeps Stark In its scallop of Scales. Around it, Demoniac vegetables Bristle their thicknesses, Devise Tendrils and belfries, The bulb’s agitations;

When I cannot look at your face I look at your feet. Your feet of arched bone, Your hard little feet. I know that they support you, And that your sweet weight Rises upon

We have lost even this twilight. No one saw us this evening hand in hand While the blue night dropped on the world. I have seen from my window The fiesta of sunset in

From bristly foliage You fell Complete, polished wood, gleaming mahogany, As perfect As a violin newly Born of the treetops, That falling Offers its sealed-in gifts, The hidden sweetness That grew in secret Amid

What’s wrong with you, with us, What’s happening to us? Ah our love is a harsh cord That binds us wounding us And if we want To leave our wound, To separate, It makes

I want you to know One thing. You know how this is: If I look At the crystal moon, at the red branch Of the slow autumn at my window, If I touch Near

I am not jealous Of what came before me. Come with a man On your shoulders, Come with a hundred men in your hair, Come with a thousand men between your breasts and your

I do not love you except because I love you; I go from loving to not loving you, From waiting to not waiting for you My heart moves from cold to fire. I love

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, ‘The night is starry And the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’ The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight

The young maricones and the horny muchachas, The big fat widows delirious from insomnia, The young wives thirty hours’ pregnant, And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night, Like a collar of

America, from a grain Of maize you grew To crown With spacious lands The ocean foam. A grain of maize was your geography. From the grain A green lance rose, Was covered with gold,

The artichoke With a tender heart Dressed up like a warrior, Standing at attention, it built A small helmet Under its scales It remained Unshakeable, By its side The crazy vegetables Uncurled Their tendrills

The street Filled with tomatoes, Midday, Summer, Light is Halved Like A Tomato, Its juice Runs Through the streets. In December, Unabated, The tomato Invades The kitchen, It enters at lunchtime, Takes Its ease

It so happens I am sick of being a man. And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie houses Dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt Steering my way in

How neatly a cat sleeps, Sleeps with its paws and its posture, Sleeps with its wicked claws, And with its unfeeling blood, Sleeps with ALL the rings a series Of burnt circles which have

From blossoms Released By the moonlight, From an Aroma of exasperated Love, Steeped in fragrance, Yellowness Drifted from the lemon tree, And from its plantarium Lemons descended to the earth. Tender yield! The coasts,

There are cemeteries that are lonely, Graves full of bones that do not make a sound, The heart moving through a tunnel, In it darkness, darkness, darkness, Like a shipwreck we die going into

This salt In the saltcellar I once saw in the salt mines. I know You won’t Believe me, But It sings, Salt sings, the skin Of the salt mines Sings With a mouth smothered

My dog has died. I buried him in the garden Next to a rusted old machine. Some day I’ll join him right there, But now he’s gone with his shaggy coat, His bad manners

Naked you are simple as one of your hands; Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round. You’ve moon-lines, apple pathways Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat. Naked you are blue as a

You are the daughter of the sea, oregano’s first cousin. Swimmer, your body is pure as the water; Cook, your blood is quick as the soil. Everything you do is full of flowers, rich

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars, And the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.” The night wind whirls in the sky and