{"id":5519,"date":"2016-11-23T09:01:52","date_gmt":"2016-11-23T16:01:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/?p=5519"},"modified":"2016-11-23T09:56:19","modified_gmt":"2016-11-23T16:56:19","slug":"pablo-neruda-poetry","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/2016\/11\/23\/pablo-neruda-poetry\/","title":{"rendered":"Pablo Neruda – Poetry"},"content":{"rendered":"

Poetry
\nby Pablo Neruda<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

English version by Anthony Kerrigan<\/font><\/p>\n

And it was at that age\u2026 Poetry arrived
\nin search of me. I don\u2019t know, I don\u2019t know where
\nit came from, from winter or a river.
\nI don\u2019t know how or when,
\nno, they were not voices, they were not
\nwords, nor silence,
\nbut from a street I was summoned,
\nfrom the branches of night,
\nabruptly from the others,
\namong violent fires
\nor returning alone,
\nthere I was without a face
\nand it touched me.<\/p>\n

I did not know what to say, my mouth
\nhad no way
\nwith names
\nmy eyes were blind,
\nand something started in my soul,
\nfever or forgotten wings,
\nand I made my own way,
\ndeciphering
\nthat fire
\nand I wrote the first faint line,
\nfaint, without substance, pure
\nnonsense,
\npure wisdom
\nof someone who knows nothing,
\nand suddenly I saw
\nthe heavens
\nunfastened
\nand open,
\nplanets,
\npalpitating planations,
\nshadow perforated,
\nriddled
\nwith arrows, fire and flowers,
\nthe winding night, the universe.<\/p>\n

And I, infinitesimal being,
\ndrunk with the great starry
\nvoid,
\nlikeness, image of
\nmystery,
\nI felt myself a pure part
\nof the abyss,
\nI wheeled with the stars,
\nmy heart broke free on the open sky.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/a> \u2014 from Pablo Neruda: Selected Poems<\/a>, by Pablo Neruda \/ Translated by Anthony Kerrigan<\/font><\/p>\n


\/ Image by futurowoman<\/a> \/<\/em><\/font><\/p>\n

I often extol the virtue of silence and profound inner stillness, but today, in honor of the International Day of Words, let\u2019s honor the healing and transformative power of words. The International Day of Words was started by a South American organization to remind us all how essential dialog, communication \u2014 words \u2014 are if we are to avoid violence.<\/p>\n

Think about this beyond our surface platitudes about communication and peace for a moment. Violence only erupts when we feel unable to speak or be heard. The violence reflex occurs when words not being exchanged. Words are the preventative medicine against violence.<\/p>\n

Of course, the dilemma is that it is never one way. All parties must be listening as well as talking. But when expression is suppressed and the pathways of communication are shut down, that\u2019s the time to duck.<\/p>\n

Poetry is the pathway to peace. We\u2019re talking real words, deep words, not chatter. Words, and more generally all forms of expression that give voice to our hopes and humanity, are the sign of well-being within society.<\/p>\n

So a few words by Neruda for us today in honor of the words that unleash us, that speak through us, that the world waits to hear spoken\u2026<\/p>\n

=<\/p>\n

The autobiography of a poet and his art.<\/p>\n

And it was at that age\u2026 Poetry arrived
\nin search of me.<\/i><\/p>\n

It isn\u2019t that he sought poetry but, rather, that poetry sought him. He was simply watching the world. In watching, he lost himself\u2013<\/p>\n

there I was without a face
\nand it touched me.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u2013and poetry came to him.<\/p>\n

Every art beneath its surface craft is about seeing. And true seeing requires selflessness. (I use seeing in the widest sense of deep perception. Music and hearing fit comfortably within my definition of \u201cseeing\u201d too.) The ego-self always \u2014 always \u2014 colors and fogs our vision. Deep art requires stepping free from the ego\u2019s blinders, to see honestly and fully. The ancient schools would say, only when we see \u2014 without self \u2014 do we have something to say. Only then is the artist ready.<\/p>\n

and something started in my soul,
\nfever or forgotten wings,
\nand I made my own way,
\ndeciphering
\nthat fire<\/i><\/p>\n

The path of the artist is also the path of awakening.<\/p>\n

Egolessness, spiritual awakening, and art\u2026 This raises an obvious question: Why then do so many great artists embody just the opposite, exhibiting immense egos and imbalanced lives? Not everyone is taught to approach their art as a path of clarity and awakening, but there is still the artist\u2019s desperate need to see beyond the limits of the ego. The result is that each artist develops his or her own unique way to lurch briefly free from ego to catch those pure moments of inspiration and vision. <\/p>\n

and suddenly I saw
\nthe heavens
\nunfastened
\nand open,
\nplanets,
\npalpitating planations,
\nshadow perforated,
\nriddled
\nwith arrows, fire and flowers,
\nthe winding night, the universe.<\/i><\/p>\n

But such an aggressive, chaotic approach becomes traumatic for the awareness, and the individual must then counterbalance by reinforcing the ego once again. This also explains why too many visionaries and artists turn to drink and other narcotics: to cope with these violent swings of consciousness.<\/p>\n

Better to learn meditation and stillness and patience. Most of all, one must know the naked self. That\u2019s how to stand whole before the immense vision.<\/p>\n

Actually, you don\u2019t just stand there, you step into it \u2014 a fulfillment, an overflowing, an expansion, a merging.<\/p>\n

And I, infinitesimal being,
\ndrunk with the great starry
\nvoid,
\nlikeness, image of
\nmystery,
\nI felt myself a pure part
\nof the abyss,
\nI wheeled with the stars,
\nmy heart broke free on the open sky.<\/i><\/p>\n

That mystery then seeks you out, your arm, your hand, and the pen it holds.<\/p>\n

and I wrote the first faint line,
\nfaint, without substance, pure
\nnonsense,
\npure wisdom\u2026<\/i><\/p>\n


\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/a>Recommended Books: Pablo Neruda<\/font><\/b><\/p>\n\n

<\/p>\n

\n\n\n
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The Book of Questions<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nNeruda: Selected Poems<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nOn the Blue Shore of Silence: Poems of the Sea<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nPablo Neruda: Selected Poems<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nExtravagaria: A Bilingual Edition<\/a><\/small><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
More Books >><\/a><\/i><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n

<\/center>
\n<\/p>\n\n\n
\n\"Pablo<\/a>\n<\/td>\n\nPablo Neruda<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n

Chile (1904 \u2013 1973) Timeline<\/a>
\nSecular or Eclectic<\/a><\/a>
\n<\/a><\/a><\/em>\n<\/td>\n

<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n

More poetry by Pablo Neruda<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Poetry by Pablo Neruda English version by Anthony Kerrigan And it was at that age\u2026 Poetry arrived in search of me. I don\u2019t know, I don\u2019t know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don\u2019t know how or when, no, they were not voices, they were not words, nor silence, but from […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[2013,2011,595,628,1446,2012,2014],"class_list":["post-5519","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","tag-communication","tag-international-day-of-words","tag-pablo-neruda","tag-peace","tag-poetry-2","tag-power-of-words","tag-violence"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5519","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5519"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5519\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5521,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5519\/revisions\/5521"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5519"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5519"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5519"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}