Pablo Neruda
Ode To an Artichoke
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;
The Light Wraps You
The light wraps you in its mortal flame. Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way Against the old propellers of the twighlight That revolves around you. Speechless, my friend, Alone in the loneliness of this
Your Feet
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
XVII (Thinking, Tangling Shadows…)
Thinking, tangling shadows in the deep solitude. You are far away too, oh farther than anyone. Thinking, freeing birds, dissolving images, Burying lamps. Belfry of fogs, how far away, up there! Stifling laments, milling
Clenched Soul
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
Drunk As Drunk
Drunk as drunk on turpentine From your open kisses, Your wet body wedged Between my wet body and the strake Of our boat that is made of flowers, Feasted, we guide it – our
Ode To a Chestnut on the Ground
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
XVII (I do not love you…)
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,
Love
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
Ode To Wine
Day-colored wine, Night-colored wine, Wine with purple feet Or wine with topaz blood, Wine, Starry child Of earth, Wine, smooth As a golden sword, Soft As lascivious velvet, Wine, spiral-seashelled And full of wonder,
If You Forget Me
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
Love Sonnet XVII
I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz Or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
Always
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 crave your mouth, your voice, your hair
Don’t go far off, not even for a day Don’t go far off, not even for a day, Because I don’t know how to say it – a day is long And I will
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
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