Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Day 11: "Tonight I can Write" by Pablo Neruda

Along with Fernando Pessoa, Pablo Neruda was considered one of the most representative poets of the twentieth century by Harold Bloom. Neruda, a Chilean, wrote many love poems (perhaps his most famous collection is his Veinte poemas de amor y una canciĆ³n desesperada), but is noted for his use of expressive imagery and brilliant, thought often melancholy, word choice. "Tonight I Can Write" is one of the twenty love poems from the aforementioned collection, and is one of the most brilliantly written poems of melancholy in any language. The translation by W.S. Merwin keeps much of the feeling and emotion of the original Spanish to give the reader a sense of the depression felt by the speaker.

TONIGHT I CAN WRITE
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 one 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 that I do not have her. To feel that 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 touch 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, forgetting is so long.

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

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Translated by W.S. Merwin
Tomorrow: A special pre-Nobel poetry extravaganza.

1 comment:

  1. Hello! This is a very wonderful blog you have going here. I believe I played against you at the Georgia Tech tourny this weekend? Your blog was linked on the Quizbowl Resource Center page? Anyways, I really just stumbled across this, but I'm very glad I did because I am a huge poetry fan! Keep posting!

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