I've been reading Pablo Neruda again after having not done so for quite some time. I am consistently amazed at the brilliance of his imagery, the depth of his vision. Some of the Love Sonnets are a bit trite and reflect a traditionally acceptable degree of "merging" energy that is essentially unhealthy. However, others transcend the purely relative and approach the Beloved in much the same way Rumi might.
Come With Me, I Said, And No One Knew (VII)
Come with me, I said, and no one knew
where, or how my pain throbbed,
no carnations or barcaroles for me,
only a wound that love had opened.
I said it again: Come with me, as if I were dying,
and no one saw the moon that bled in my mouth
or the blood that rose into the silence.
O Love, now we can forget the star that has such thorns!
That is why when I heard your voice repeat
Come with me, it was as if you had let loose
the grief, the love, the fury of a cork-trapped wine
the geysers flooding from deep in its vault:
in my mouth I felt the taste of fire again,
of blood and carnations, of rock and scald.
Tags:
No comments:
Post a Comment