Clenched Soul
We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.
I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.
Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.
I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.
Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?
The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.
Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.
Commentary
Guest poem submitted by a contributor who wishes to remain anonymous:
Pablo Neruda is one of my favourite poets. His poetry has a curious ethereal quality to it, a haunting sadnesss. This is one of his most brilliant poems, conveying the wistfulness ever so tenderly. In a way I would call him the Van Gogh of poetry – a brilliant artist drawing on the most poignant of pictures and capturing them in a web of words. His poetry lives, lives in the true sense of the word.
Minstrels Links
Pablo Neruda:
Poem #164, Bird
Poem #422, Sonnet XVII: Love
Poem #605, The Saddest Poem
Poem #816, I’m Explaining a Few Things
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From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.
Melissa Towner · 14 November 2001
Dear Folks –
When you publish a poem in translation could you please try to publish the translator’s name as well? So much of the poem as we experience it is the translator’s work. I have found that I really admire W.S. Merwin’s translations of Neruda but have not been able to get ahold of much of it. I wonder if this is one of his translations?
Thanks,
Melissa Towner
Maureen Faulkner · 17 April 2002
i luv this poem. it captures all of love.