{"id":8273,"date":"2023-07-07T06:22:25","date_gmt":"2023-07-07T13:22:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/?p=8273"},"modified":"2023-07-07T06:38:37","modified_gmt":"2023-07-07T13:38:37","slug":"pablo-neruda-poetry-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/2023\/07\/07\/pablo-neruda-poetry-2\/","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 Carol Magalhaes<\/a> \/<\/em><\/font><\/p>\n

I often extol the virtue of silence and inner stillness, but today let\u2019s honor the healing and transformative power of words. <\/p>\n

We need to remind ourselves how essential dialog, communication \u2014 words \u2014 are if we hope to lessen the violence in the world.<\/p>\n

This may sound like another platitude about communication and peace but there is something more essential to recognize here. Violence only erupts when we feel unable to speak or be heard. This is true in individuals and it is just as true in nation states. At first this may sound overly simplistic, but it is true \u2014 beneath the emotions and apparent complexities, violence is always an expression of feeling thwarted. The violence reflex occurs when words are 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. Words that matter. Words that speak with the weight of spirit.<\/p>\n

Words, and more generally all forms of expression that give voice to our hopes and humanity, are the sign of well-being within society. Their absence signals violence brewing.<\/p>\n

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

=<\/p>\n

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

The poet doesn\u2019t seek poetry. Poetry seeks him. He is open, waiting, watching. He gives himself to that moment, until he became nameless, faceless\u2013<\/p>\n

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

\u2013and that\u2019s when poetry arrives.<\/p>\n

Every art beneath its surface craft is about witnessing, seeing. And true seeing requires selflessness. (I use \u201cseeing\u201d in the fullest sense of deep perception. Music and listening fit comfortably within my definition of \u201cseeing\u201d too.) The ego-self always fogs our vision. When the ego is in the way, we just see reflections of ourselves, what the awareness has become used to. We see the surfaces of things.<\/p>\n

Deep art requires stepping free from the ego\u2019s blinders, to see honestly and fully. The ancient schools would say that only when we see without self 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

Imbalanced and willful attempts to shake off the limits of mundane perception become traumatic for the psyche. The individual must then counterbalance by reinforcing the ego once again. This is why too many visionaries and artists turn to drink and other narcotics. It is in order to shift the consciousness and then to settle the resulting vertigo.<\/p>\n

Better to cultivate openness, quiet, and wonder. Most of all, one must know the naked self. Only when we come to know who we really are free from the pretenses of the ego, only then are we able stand whole and unshaken before the immense vision.<\/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 floods into us. We become it, and it moves through us, through arm, through 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

The best poets don\u2019t write poetry. They don\u2019t do anything at all. The best poets step aside and let the mystery speak through them.<\/p>\n

May your heart break free on the open sky!<\/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<\/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":[1447,2013,2323,543,595,1446,831,700,2014,753],"class_list":["post-8273","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","tag-art","tag-communication","tag-creative-writing","tag-healing","tag-pablo-neruda","tag-poetry-2","tag-seeing","tag-silence","tag-violence","tag-words"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8273","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=8273"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8273\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8276,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8273\/revisions\/8276"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8273"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8273"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8273"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}