12.07.2021 – 14:50
Nobel laureate Pablo Neruda was born on July 12, 1904, in Chile. His poetry is a combination of love, feeling and emotions that explodes in the heart of the reader. It is incredible how, reading his poems, the verses create such a strong sensibility in us. Neruda was one of the most influential Chilean poets of his time, and beyond, in history. He left behind verses, poems, phrases and ideas full of love and disappointment. Verses that only he could write, as such…/Konica.al
In fact, Pablo Neruda was called Naphtali Reyes Basoalto. He was born in Parral, Chile and died on September 23, 1973. Neruda was not only rewarded and appreciated for what he wrote, but also for the way he accomplished it. He came across the surname “Neruda” by chance in a magazine and, surprisingly, Neruda was another writer of Czech origin, writing beautiful ballads, among others.
In 1971, he was awarded the NOBEL for Literature and two years later, in 1973, the poet passed away.
Neruda’s style was unquestionable
He wrote, focusing on all the senses: hearing, smell, sight, etc. With this, he sought the description of a scene or feeling as natural as possible, in order to convey this truth to the reader and to make it enter his poetry or writing. Neruda was precise in finding suitable words, which would excite the reader, especially for inanimate things, which are more difficult to describe. I have used metaphors and many comparisons to create detailed and emotional descriptions of people, things, nature and feelings. Surrealism has a lot of influence in his descriptions, as he used rarer and more difficult expressions to describe really simple things like lost love, night magic, etc. The personification of inanimate things in his poetry is also distinguished, when he speaks with a narrative like Bolivar in “A song about Bolivar”, death in “The heights of Machu Picchu”, or the sea in “Chamber for the sea”, a personification that increases the effects and universality of his poetry, for Neruda has given life, emotion, and spirit to all things in the world. Regardless of who we are, history and personal experiences, when we read Neruda we find poems, which seem to have been written especially for us. Awakens the feeling, that certain verses speak for us. To read Neruda’s poetry means to let go of oneself, has no brakes, is invasive and never stops. When you finish reading, the verses are deeply ingrained in you. An incomparable poet, who manages to fascinate us not only with words, but also with moments….
Below, we are giving the poem that conveys a message of hope, that penetrates the darkness, but above all an invitation to live someone’s life in the name of a daily rebirth.
I can write verses…
Tonight I can write the saddest verses.
To write, for example: “The night is dripping with stars
And the blue celestial bodies tremble in the distance.
In the heart of the sky the night wind whirls, sings.
Tonight the verses are terribly sad.
I loved her and sometimes and she loved me.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I hugged him under the sky, under the open sky.
He loved me, but I also loved him from time to time.
How could I not love those big eyes that looked at me so deeply?
Tonight I can write some of the saddest verses.
When I think I no longer have it. I realize I lost it.
This endless night gets bigger without it
And the verses fall on the soul like dew on the grass.
What does it matter that my love could not hold it!
The whole star is the night, only she with me is no more.
That’s it. A voice sings over there. Further in the distance.
Yes the soul is desperate that I lost it.
I ask for her look, as if I want to approach her.
My heart loves her, but she is not with me.
Night as before: whitewash the same trees.
We used to be together, but now we are not like before.
I do not love her, no, but I loved her so much,
And the voice of the wind I asked to hear her voice.
Another, another will be, but once only mine had been,
With her voice, her body clean. With her endless eyes.
I don’t love her anymore, it’s true, but maybe I love her,
How short is love, how long – forgetfulness!
Because on such a night I had embraced him.
And my soul suffers that I lost it.
At least let this be the last pain she brings me,
And these last lines that I am writing about.