Poetry – Pablo Neruda

Poetry is not just about reading and rhyming words, when you take a moment to think about it, you can find poetry in just about anything in life. Think about the poetry of commuting, and trains glidding artistically to and from the station, you get lost in the color of life, a sea of people. Poetry is sometimes about the essence of things and what they mean to us. Poetry is this mysterious woman that has prompted every great poet to write about her. I find poems about poetry inspiring and insightful about the people who write them.

Poetry by Pablo Neruda seems to describe his first poetic encounter and how it was almost instinct to him, “…something started in my soul/fever or forgotten wings/and I made my own way.” I get the feeling of urgency, a sort of literary ecstacy, as if he can’t seem to get the words out fast enough. At the end he seems to relate poetry, or art, as being one with the universe, “and I, infinitesimal being…felt myself a pure part of the abyss.” What are your thoughts? As always – Stay with Sharon and The Write Talk!

Poetry

And it was at that age … Poetry arrived                                                                                            in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where                                                                          it came from, from winter or a river.                                                                                                   I don’t know how or when,                                                                                                                  no they were not voices, they were not                                                                                        words, nor silence,                                                                                                                               but from a street I was summoned,                                                                                                    from the branches of night,                                                                                                          abruptly from the others,                                                                                                                among violent fires                                                                                                                               or returning alone,                                                                                                                              there I was without a face                                                                                                                      and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth                                                                                          had no way with names,                                                                                                                     my eyes were blind,                                                                                                                            and something started in my soul,                                                                                                fever or forgotten wings,                                                                                                                      and I made my own way,                                                                                                            deciphering                                                                                                                                          that fire,                                                                                                                                                   and I wrote the first faint line,                                                                                                       faint, without substance, pure                                                                                                    nonsense,                                                                                                                                               pure wisdom                                                                                                                                           of someone who knows nothing,                                                                                                           and suddenly I saw the heavens                                                                                             unfastened                                                                                                                                             and open,                                                                                                                                         planets,                                                                                                                                       palpitating plantations,                                                                                                               shadow perforated,                                                                                                                         riddled                                                                                                                                                  with arrows, fire and flowers,                                                                                                            the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,                                                                                                               drunk with the great starry                                                                                                             void,                                                                                                                                                 likeness, image of                                                                                                                          mystery,                                                                                                                                                  felt myself a pure part                                                                                                                              of the abyss,                                                                                                                                               I wheeled with the stars,                                                                                                                    my heart broke loose on the wind

Pablo Neruda