In honor of World Poetry Day. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the universe, and feel What I can neer express, yet cannot all conceal. -- Lord Byron The Well At times you sink, you fall into your hole of silence, into your abyss of proud anger, and you can scarcely return, still bearing remnants of what you found in the depth of your existence. My love, what do you find in your closed well? Seaweed, swamps, rocks? What do you see with blind eyes, bitter and wounded? Darling, you will not find in the well into which you fall what I keep for you on the heights: a bouquet of dewy jasmines, a kiss deeper than your abyss. Do not fear me, do not fall into your rancor again. Shake off my word that came to wound you and let it fly through the open window. It will return to wound me without your guiding it since it was laden with a harsh instant and that instant will be disarmed in my breast. Smile at me radiant if my mouth wounds you. I am not a gentle shepherd like the ones in fairy tales, but a good woodsman who shares with you earth, wind, and mountain thorns. Love me, you, smile at me, help me to be good. Do not wound yourself in me, for it will be useless, Do not wound me because you wound yourself. --Pablo Neruda Love Whats wrong with you, with us, whats 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 a new knot for us and condemns us to drain our blood and burn together. Whats wrong with you? I look at you and I find nothing in you but two eyes like all eyes, a mouth lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful, a body just like those that have slipped beneath my body without leaving any memory. And how empty you went through the world like a wheat-colored jar without air, without sound, without substance! I vainly sought in you depth for my arms that dig, without cease, beneath the earth: beneath your skin, beneath your eyes, nothing, beneath your double breast scarcely raised a current of crystalline order that does not know why it flows singing. Why, why, why, my love, why? --- Pablo Neruda
Posted on: Sat, 22 Mar 2014 00:14:27 +0000
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