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Always - P. Neruda

Always ~ Pablo Neruda

Facing you
I am not jealous.

Come with a man
at your back,
come with a hundred men in your hair,
come with a thousand men between your bosom and your feet,
come like a river
filled with drowned men
that meets the furious sea,
the eternal foam, the weather.

Bring them all
where I wait for you;
we shall always be alone,
we shall always be, you and I,
alone upon the earth
to begin life.

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Sonnet XVII - P. Neruda

Sonnet XVII ~ Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were a rose made of salt or topaz
or an arrow of carnations spreading fire:
I love you the way certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you like the plant that never blooms,
but conceals within itself the light of those flowers;
and, thanks to your love, the darkness of my body
houses the suffocating aroma that arose from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, when, or where from;
I love you straightforwardly, with neither problems nor pride:
I love you thus, not knowing how to love you otherwise

than this way whereby neither 'you' nor 'I' exist
so close that your hand on my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes grow heavy when I tire.

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Dead Gallop - P. Neruda

Dead Gallop ~ Pablo Neruda

Like ashes, like seas peopling themselves,
in the submerged slowness, in the shapelessness,
or as one hears from the crest of the roads
the crossed bells crossing,
having that sound now sundered from the metal,
confused, ponderous, turning to dust
in the very milling of the too distant forms,
either remembered or not seen,
and the perfume of the plums that rolling on the ground
rot in time, infinitely green.

All that so swift, so living,
yet motionless, like the pulley wild within itself,
those motor wheels in short.
Existing like the dry stitches in the tree's seams,
silent, all around, in such a way,
all the limbs mixing their tails.
But from where, through where, on what shore?
The constant, uncertain surrounding, so silent,
like the lilacs around the convent
or death's coming to the tongue of the ox
that stumbles to the ground, guard down, with horns that
struggle to blow.

Therefore, in the stillness, stopping, to perceive,
then, like an immense fluttering, above
like dead bees or numbers,
ah, what my pale heart cannot embrace,
in multitudes, in tears scarcely shed,
and human efforts, anguish,
black deeds suddenly discovered
like ice, vast disorder,
oceanic, to me who enter singing
as if with a sword among the defenseless.

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Almost Out of the Sky - P. Neruda

Almost Out Of the Sky ~ Pablo Neruda

Almost out of the sky, half of the moon
anchors between two mountains.
Turning, wandering night, the digger of eyes.
Let's see how many stars are smashed in the pool.

It makes a cross of mourning between my eyes, and runs away.
Forge of blue metals, nights of stilled combats,
my heart revolves like a crazy wheel.
Girl who have come from so far, been brought from so far,
sometimes your glance flashes out under the sky.
Rumbling, storm, cyclone of fury,
you cross above my heart without stopping.
Wind from the tombs carries off, wrecks, scatters your sleepy root.

The big trees on the other side of her, uprooted.
But you, cloudless girl, question of smoke, corn tassel.
You were what the wind was making with illuminated leaves.
Behind the nocturnal mountains, white lily of conflagration,
ah, I can say nothing! You were made of everything.

Longing that sliced my breast into pieces,
it is time to take another road, on which she does not smile.

Storm that buried the bells, muddy swirl of torments,
why touch her now, why make her sad.

Oh to follow the road that leads away from everything,
without anguish, death, winter waiting along it
with their eyes open through the dew.

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Sonnet XLV - P. Neruda

Sonnet XLV ~ Pablo Neruda

Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because –
because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don’t leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don’t leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you’ll have gone so far
I’ll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

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XX: Tonight I Can Write - P. Neruda

Poem XX ~ Pablo Neruda

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 I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think I do not have her. To feel I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to reach her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, and forgetting is so long.

Because throught nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain she makes me suffer
and these the last verses I write for her.

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Birth - P. Neruda

Birth ~ Pablo Neruda

We will never remember dying.

We were so patient
about being,
noting down
the numbers, the days,
the years and the months,
the hair, the mouths we kissed,
and that moment of dying:
we surrender it without a note,
we give it to others as remembrance
or we give it simply to water,
to water, to air, to time.
Nor do we keep
the memory of our birth,
though being born was important and fresh:
and now you don't even remember one detail,
and you haven't kept even a branch
of the first light.

It's well known that in the room
or in the woods
or in the hut in the fishermen's district
or in the crackling canefields
there is a very unusual silence,
a moment solemn as wood,
and a woman gets ready to give birth.

It's well known that we were born.

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Sonnet XXIV - P. Neruda

Sonnet XXIV ~ Pablo Neruda

Love, love, the clouds went up the tower of the sky
like triumphant washerwomen, and it all
glowed in blue, all like a single star,
the sea, the ship, the day were all exiled together.

Come see the cherries of the water in the weather,
the round key to the universe, which is so quick;
come touch the fire of this momentary blue;
before its petals wither.

There's nothing but light, quantities, clusters,
space opened by the graces of the wind
till it gives up the final secret of the foam.

Among so many blues-- heavenly blues, sunken blues--
our eyes are a little confused: they can hardly divine
the powers of the air, the keys to the secrets in the sea.

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XVI: In My Sky at Twilight - P. Neruda

In My Sky at Twilight ~ Pablo Neruda

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.

The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
My sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depths of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.

You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.

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You Will Remember - P. Neruda

You Will Remember ~ Pablo Neruda

You will remember that leaping stream
where sweet aromas rose and trembled,
and sometimes a bird, wearing water
and slowness, its winter feathers.

You will remember those gifts from the earth:
indelible scents, gold clay,
weeds in the thicket and crazy roots,
magical thorns like swords.

You'll remember the bouquet you picked,
shadows and silent water,
bouquet like a foam-covered stone.

That time was like never, and like always.
So we go there, where nothing is waiting;
we find everything waiting there.

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