Why do I want this man to stay beside my pillow?

   The sea: A recurring theme in        Neruda's poems -http://www.flickr.com/photos/mybluemuse/880800389/
The sea: A recurring theme in Neruda's poems -http://www.flickr.com/photos/mybluemuse/880800389/
   My dog has died.
   I buried him in the garden
   next to a rusted old machine.
   Some day I'll join him right there,
   but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
   his bad manners and his cold nose,
   and I, the materialist, who never believed
   in any promised heaven in the sky
   for any human being,
   I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
   Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
   where my dog waits for my arrival
   waving his fan-like tail in friendship.
   Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
   of having lost a companion
   who was never servile.
   His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
   withholding its authority,
   was the friendship of a star, aloof,
   with no more intimacy than was called for,
   with no exaggerations:
   he never climbed all over my clothes
   filling me full of his hair or his mange,
   he never rubbed up against my knee
   like other dogs obsessed with sex.
   No, my dog used to gaze at me,
   paying me the attention I need,
   the attention required
   to make a vain person like me understand
   that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
   but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
   he'd keep on gazing at me
   with a look that reserved for me alone
   all his sweet and shaggy life,
   always near me, never troubling me,
   and asking nothing.
   Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
   as we walked together on the shores of the sea
   in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
   where the wintering birds filled the sky
   and my hairy dog was jumping about
   full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
   my wandering dog, sniffing away
   with his golden tail held high,
   face to face with the ocean's spray.
   Joyful, joyful, joyful,
   as only dogs know how to be happy
   with only the autonomy
   of their shameless spirit.
   There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
   and we don't now and never did lie to each other.
   So now he's gone and I buried him,
   and that's all there is to it.        

   A Lemon
   Out of lemon flowers
   on the moonlight, love's
   lashed and insatiable
   sodden with fragrance,
   the lemon tree's yellow
   the lemons
   move down
   from the tree's planetarium
   Delicate merchandise!
   The harbors are big with it-
   for the light and the
   barbarous gold.
   We open
   the halves
   of a miracle,
   and a clotting of acids
   into the starry
   original juices,
   irreducible, changeless,
   so the freshness lives on
   in a lemon,
   in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
   the proportions, arcane and acerb.
   Cutting the lemon
   the knife
   leaves a little cathedral:
   alcoves unguessed by the eye
   that open acidulous glass
   to the light; topazes
   riding the droplets,
   aromatic facades.
   So, while the hand
   holds the cut of the lemon,
   half a world
   on a trencher,
   the gold of the universe
   to your touch:
   a cup yellow
   with miracles,
   a breast and a nipple
   perfuming the earth;
   a flashing made fruitage,
   the diminutive fire of a planet.    

A timeless voice

Why do I want this man to stay beside my pillow?

In one of those funny “Truth or Consequence” games in anniversaries or Christmas parties I became the “It”. Music was played and the players had to move around through a big circle and after several playful mock stops, finally the music was off and every player grabbed a partner. I failed to grab a partner so I was asked to choose between “Truth” or “Consequence”. I chose “Truth” and gave everybody a wink. The emcee asked this question: Who do you want to be beside your pillow at night? Without a thought, I barked: Pablo Neruda! Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto is his real name. He is a Chilean poet! The hall got rowdy and to restore the calm, I said: “Ok, I will tell you why I want this man to be near my pillow at night. Just near my pillow, I winked again. Listen everyone, please:

A Dog has died.............................>

Drum roll….Shouts of more more more…Then I read another poem by Neruda:

At gatherings where there is a possibility for sharing a small time performance, I bring a poem or two of my favorite poets and read poetry like all my life depends on it! Pablo Neruda is among my favorite ones. "Isla Negra", a Neruda collection written in Spanish and English has occupied the space beside my pillow for a long time and when I need the poetic fervor stirred in me, Neruda's poetry does the task. Here's a Neruda poem that makes hurdles on the road easier for me to overcome:

Canto XII from the heights of Macchi Picchu

Arise to birth with me, my brother.

Give me your hand out of the depths

sown by your sorrows.

You will not return from these stone fastnesses.

You will not emerge from subterranean time.

Your rasping voice will not come back,

nor your pierced eyes rise from their sockets.

Look at me from the depths of the earth,

tiller of fields, weaver, reticent shepherd,

groom of totemic guanacos,

mason high on your treacherous scaffolding,

iceman of Andean tears,

jeweler with crushed fingers,

farmer anxious among his seedlings,

potter wasted among his clays--

bring to the cup of this new life

your ancient buried sorrows.

Show me your blood and your furrow;

say to me: here I was scourged

because a gem was dull or because the earth

failed to give up in time its tithe of corn or stone.

Point out to me the rock on which you stumbled,

the wood they used to crucify your body.

Strike the old flints

to kindle ancient lamps, light up the whips

glued to your wounds throughout the centuries

and light the axes gleaming with your blood.

I come to speak for your dead mouths.

Throughout the earth

let dead lips congregate,

out of the depths spin this long night to me

as if I rode at anchor here with you.

And tell me everything, tell chain by chain,

and link by link, and step by step;

sharpen the knives you kept hidden away,

thrust them into my breast, into my hands,

like a torrent of sunbursts,

an Amazon of buried jaguars,

and leave me cry: hours, days and years,

blind ages, stellar centuries.

And give me silence, give me water, hope.

Give me the struggle, the iron, the volcanoes.

Let bodies cling like magnets to my body.

Come quickly to my veins and to my mouth.

Speak through my speech, and through my blood.

Many activists love Neruda’s poems but as far as I’m concerned it’s not just Neruda’s concern for justice that attracts me. It is his total love for beauty that seizes me by the arms. Listening to his poems of love, longing, loneliness, celebration, anger, trivia and anything about life makes me see myself in a child’s eyes of wonder watching the full moon, the sunset, the wilted grass, the stones on the highway…. anything like I am a child seeing things for the first time. When I first read his “Ode to a Lemon”, I immediately rushed to the kitchen to cut a lemon and enjoy the cathedral-like design of the two halves of the fruit. A simple subject as a lemon tackled by Neruda brings to a reader’s mind a world of beauty and introspection and thanksgiving.

If Gabriela Mistral, the poet who greatly influenced Neruda as a young poet, and Pablo Neruda were alive today and were in a TV talk show, they would certainly be asked the question: “Why are both of you Nobel laureates?”. The TV viewers could be having the poetic moment of their lives. What a treasure these two Chileans are!

Here’s a sample of Gabriela Mistral’s poem:

To See Him Again

Never, never again?

Not on nights filled with quivering stars,

or during dawn's maiden brightness

or afternoons of sacrifice?

Or at the edge of a pale path

that encircles the farmlands,

or upon the rim of a trembling fountain,

whitened by a shimmering moon?

Or beneath the forest's

luxuriant, raveled tresses

where, calling his name,

I was overtaken by the night?

Not in the grotto that returns

the echo of my cry?

Oh no. To see him again --

it would not matter where --

in heaven's deadwater

or inside the boiling vortex,

under serene moons or in bloodless fright!

To be with him...

every springtime and winter,

united in one anguished knot

around his bloody neck!

Pablo Neruda reading poetry

 The Nobel Laureate in his elements
The Nobel Laureate in his elements

Gabriela Mistral

The Chilean Poet who had a great influence on Pablo Neruda
The Chilean Poet who had a great influence on Pablo Neruda

Poem 20

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Comments 10 comments

franciaonline profile image

franciaonline 6 years ago from Philippines Author

Hi DjBryle,

It's good to know that you too love Neruda!

Thanks for dropping by.

DjBryle profile image

DjBryle 6 years ago from Somewhere in the LINES of your MIND, and HOPEFULLY at the RIPPLES of your HEART. =)

Hey! I got so mesmerized with this hub, I must admit, Pablo Neruda fascinated me since eternity. I love I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You and If You Forget Me... yet I must admit all of his compositions will always be my favorite! =) I love this hub, it has a very catchy title, very creative presentation and a very thoughtful way of giving tribute for a well loved and admired man of talents. Voted up! =)

franciaonline profile image

franciaonline 7 years ago from Philippines Author

Hi Iphigenia,

More than the very diverse themes of his poetry, what I love most about Neruda is his lyricism.

You may also want to read Neruda's Nobel acceptance speech through the link below.

http://cs80.wordpress.com/about/pablo-neruda-nobel... I'm sorry my hyperlink

isn't working right now but you'll find Neruda's speech in the above site.

Thanks for finding the time to visit my page.

Iphigenia 7 years ago

Thank yu for a great introduction to Neruda. I shall have to get some of those recordings.

franciaonline profile image

franciaonline 7 years ago from Philippines Author

Oh, I should get the soundtrack to Il Postino. Thanks for the information.

Cris A profile image

Cris A 7 years ago from Manila, Philippines


I thank you for the link but I have the soundtrack to Il Postino. Do you have a copy? If you don't get one. Julia Roberts, the late Natasha Richardson among many others recorded reading of Neruda's poems. And yes, Madonna's version is on there, too. :D

franciaonline profile image

franciaonline 7 years ago from Philippines Author

Hi Benjimester,

Yes, the "Canto...." is a moving poem.

Thank you for dropping by.

Benjimester profile image

Benjimester 7 years ago from San Diego, California

I think I liked the Canto the best. Neruda was such an interesting person. It would be really cool to read him in the original sometime. Nice selections you have.

franciaonline profile image

franciaonline 7 years ago from Philippines Author

Kindred spirit indeed! If this link works, you can listen to your favorite Neruda poem read by Madonna right in this space. Thanks for being the first friend to drop by.

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Cris A profile image

Cris A 7 years ago from Manila, Philippines


Nice tribute and clever title. I must admit, your title had me and I gave in to my curiosity. And yes I would not mind sharing my pillow with THE man himself. Btw, my most (most, considering all are favourites!) favourite would be If You Forget Me. Now I have to drowm myself in the poems you posted above! Thanks :D

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