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Ah, Love Is A Voyage With Water And A Star, In Drowning Air And Squalls Of Precipitate Bran; Love Is A War Of Lights In The Lightning Flashes, Two Bodies Blasted In A Single Burst Of Honey.

-Pablo Neruda

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Ah, Love Is A

Pablo Neruda

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Ah, Love Is A Voyage With Water And A Star, In Drowning Air And Squalls Of Precipitate Bran; Love Is A War Of Lights In The Lightning Flashes, Two Bodies Blasted In A Single Burst Of Honey.

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This Means That We Have Barely Disembarked Into Life, That We've Only Just Now Been Born, Let's Not Fill Our Mouths With So Many Uncertain Names, With So Many Sad Labels, With So Many Pompous Letters, With So Much Yours And Mine, With So Much Signing Of Papers. I Intend To Confuse Things, To Unite Them, Make Them New-born Intermingle Them, Undress Them, Until The Light Of The World Has The Unity Of The Ocean, A Generous Wholeness, A Fragrance Alive And Crackling.

No, My Dog Used To Gaze At Me, Paying Me The Attention I Need, The Attention Required To Make A Vain Person Like Me Understand That, Being A Dog, He Was Wasting Time, But, With Those Eyes So Much Purer Than Mine, He’d Keep On Gazing At Me With A Look That Reserved For Me Alone All His Sweet And Shaggy Life, Always Near Me, Never Troubling Me, And Asking Nothing.

Tell Me, Is The Rose Naked Or Is That Her Only Dress? Why Do Trees Conceal The Splendor Of Their Roots? Who Hears The Regrets Of The Thieving Automobile? Is There Anything In The World Sadder Than A Train Standing In The Rain?

Love, What A Long Way, To Arrive At A Kiss.

Then I Speak To Her In A Language She Has Never Heard, I Speak To Her In Spanish, In The Tongue Of The Long, Crepuscular Verses Of Díaz Casanueva; In That Language In Which Joaquín Edwards Preaches Nationalism. My Discourse Is Profound; I Speak With Eloquence And Seduction; My Words, More Than From Me, Issue From The Warm Nights, From The Many Solitary Nights On The Red Sea, And When The Tiny Dancer Puts Her Arm Around My Neck, I Understand That She Understands. Magnificent Language!

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?

Like Them You Are Tall And Taciturn, And You Are Sad, All At Once, Like A Voyage.

As If You Were On Fire From Within. The Moon Lives In The Lining Of Your Skin.

I Love You Between Shadow And Soul. I Love You As The Plant That Hasn't Bloomed Yet, And Carries Hidden Within Itself The Light Of Flowers. I Love You Without Knowing How, Or When, Or From Where. Because Of You, The Dense Fragrance That Rises From The Earth Lives In My Body, Rioting With Hunger For The Eternity Of Our Victorious Kisses.

Then Love Knew It Was Called Love. And When I Lifted My Eyes To Your Name, Suddenly Your Heart Showed Me My Way

What Did The Earth Teach The Trees? How To Speak To The Sky.

I Should Like To Sleep Like A Cat, With All The Fur Of Time, With A Tongue Rough As Flint, With The Dry Sex Of Fire; And After Speaking To No One, Stretch Myself Over The World, Over Roofs And Landscapes, With A Passionate Desire To Hunt The Rats In My Dreams.

It Is Not So Much Light That Falls Over The World Extended By Your Body Its Suffocating Snow, As Brightness, Pouring Itself Out Of You, As If You Were Burning Inside. Under Your Skin The Moon Is Alive.

You & I, Love, Together We Ratify The Silence, While The Sea Destroys Its Perpetual Statues, Collapses Its Towers Of Wild Speed And Whiteness: Because In The Weavings Of Those Invisible Fabrics, Galloping Water, Incessant Sand, We Make The Only Permanent Tenderness.

Joyful, Joyful, Joyful, As Only Dogs Know How To Be Happy With Only The Autonomy Of Their Shameless Spirit.

Hate Is Like A Swordfish, Working Through Water Invisibly And Then You See It Coming With Blood Along Its Blade, But Transparency Disarms It.

There's A Country Spread Out In The Sky, A Credulous Carpet Of Rainbows And Crepuscular Plants: I Move Toward It Just A Bit Haggardly, Trampling A Gravedigger's Rubble Still Moist From The Spade To Dream In A Bedlam Of Vegetables.

I No Longer Love Her, That's Certain, But Maybe I Love Her. Love Is So Short, Forgetting Is So Long.

Oh Love, Rose Made Wet By Mermaids And Foams, Fire That Dances And Climbs Up The Invisible Stairs And Awakens The Blood In The Tunnel Of Sleeplessness.

I Have Been A Lucky Man. To Feel The Intimacy Of Brothers Is A Marvelous Thing In Life. To Feel The Love Of People Whom We Love Is A Fire That Feeds Our Life. But To Feel The Affection That Comes From Those Whom We Do Not Know, From Those Unknown To Us, Who Are Watching Over Our Sleep And Solitude, Over Our Dangers And Our Weaknesses – That Is Something Still Greater And More Beautiful Because It Widens Out The Boundaries Of Our Being, And Unites All Living Things.

Latin America Is Very Fond Of The Word "hope." We Like To Be Called The "continent Of Hope." Candidates For Deputy, Senator, President, Call Themselves "candidates Of Hope." This Hope Is Really Something Like A Promise Of Heaven, An Iou Whose Payment Is Always Being Put Off. It Is Put Off Until The Next Legislative Campaign, Until Next Year, Until The Next Century.

Love Is Not About Property, Diamonds And Gifts. It Is About Sharing Your Very Self With The World Around You.

Love Is The Mystery Of Water And A Star.

Our Love Was Born Outside The Walls, In The Wind, In The Night, In The Earth, And That's Why The Clay And The Flower, The Mud And The Roots Know Your Name.

The Night Is Shattered, And The Blue Stars Shiver In The Distance.

What Did The Tree Learn From The Earth To Be Able To Talk With The Sky?

Am I Allowed To Ask My Book / Whether It's True I Wrote It?

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You; I Go From Loving To Not Loving You, From Waiting To Not Waiting For You My Heart Moves From Cold To Fire. I Love You Only Because It's You The One I Love; I Hate You Deeply, And Hating You Bend To You, And The Measure Of My Changing Love For You Is That I Do Not See You But Love You Blindly. Maybe January Light Will Consume My Heart With Its Cruel Ray, Stealing My Key To True Calm. In This Part Of The Story I Am The One Who Dies, The Only One, And I Will Die Of Love Because I Love You, Because I Love You, Love, In Fire And Blood.

Conspirators In Pajamas Who Exchange Deep Kisses For Passwords.

I Am Not Jealous Of What Came Before Me. Come With A Man On Your Shoulders, Come With A Hundred Men In Your Hair, Come With A Thousand Men Between Your Breasts And Your Feet, Come Like A River Full Of Drowned Men Which Flows Down To The Wild Sea, To The Eternal Surf, To Time! Bring Them All To Where I Am Waiting For You; We Shall Always Be Alone, We Shall Always Be You And I Alone On Earth, To Start Our Life!

Megaphone In Which The Wind Passes Singing.

It's Hard To Tell / If We Close Our Eyes Or If Night / Opens In Us Other Starred Eyes, / If It Burrows Into The Wall Of Our Dream / Till Some Other Door Opens. / But The Dream Is Only The Flitting Costume Of One Moment, / Is Spent In One Beat / Of The Darkness, / And Falls At Our Feet, Cast Off / As The Day Stirs And Sails Away With Us.

Love! Love Until The Night Collapses!

And I Watch My Words From A Long Way Off. They Are More Yours Than Mine. They Climb On My Old Suffering Like Ivy. It Climbs The Same Way On Damp Walls. You Are To Blame For This Cruel Sport. They Are Fleeing From My Dark Lair. You Fill Everything, You Fill Everything. Before You They Peopled The Solitude That You Occupy, And They Are More Used To My Sadness Than You Are. Now I Want Them To Say What I Want To Say To You To Make You Hear As I Want You To Hear Me.

He Who Does Not Travel, Who Does Not Read, Who Does Not Listen To Music, Who Does Not Find Grace In Himself, She Who Does Not Find Grace In Herself, Dies Slowly.

Listening To Music

Oh, May Your Silhouette Never Dissolve On The Beach; May Your Eyelids Never Flutter Into The Empty Distance. Don't Leave Me For A Second, My Dearest.

Love Is A War Of Lightning, And Two Bodies Ruined By A Single Sweetness. Kiss By Kiss I Cover Your Tiny Infinity, Your Margins, Your Rivers, Your Diminutive Villages, And A Genital Fire, Transformed By Delight, Slips Through The Narrow Channels Of Blood To Precipitate A Nocturnal Carnation, To Be, And Be Nothing But Light In The Dark.

But From Each Crime Are Born Bullets That Will One Day Seek Out In You Where The Heart Lies.

There Is No Insurmountable Solitude.

I Stood On The Balcony Dark With Mourning... Hoping The Earth Would Spread Its Wings In My Uninhabited Love.

In What Language Does Rain Fall Over Tormented Cities?

So I Love You Because I Know No Other Way Than This: Where I Does Not Exist, Nor You, So Close That Your Hand On My Chest Is My Hand, So Close That Your Eyes Close As I Fall Asleep.

Perhaps The Earth Can Teach Us As When Everything Seems Dead And Later Proves To Be Alive

A Book, A Book Full Of Human Touches, Of Shirts, A Book Without Loneliness, With Men And Tools, A Book Is Victory.

Take Bread Away From Me, If You Wish, Take Air Away, But Do Not Take From Me Your Laughter.

Peace Goes Into The Making Of A Poem As Flour Goes Into The Making Of Bread.

But I Love Your Feet Only Because They Walked Upon The Earth And Upon The Wind And Upon The Waters, Until They Found Me.

You Are Like Night, Calmed, Constellated. Your Silence Is Star-like, As Distant, As True.

In The House Of Poetry Nothing Endures That Is Not Written With Blood To Be Heard With Blood.

Without Doubt I Praise The Wild Excellence.

For Now I Ask No More Than The Justice Of Eating.

I Got Lost In The Night, Without The Light Of Your Eyelids, And When The Night Surrounded Me I Was Born Again: I Was The Owner Of My Own Darkness.

I Hunger For Your Sleek Laugh And Your Hands The Color Of A Furious Harvest. I Want To Eat The Sunbeams Flaring In Your Beauty.

The Darkness Of A Day Elapsed, Of A Day Nourished With Our Sad Blood.

Why Wasn't Christopher Columbus Able To Discover Spain?

Only A Burning Patience Will Lead To The Attainment Of A Splendid Happiness.

Oh Each Successive Night That Comes Has Something In It Of An Abandoned Ember That Is Slowly Burning Out, And It Falls Swathed In Ruins, Surrounded By Funereal Objects.

I Had No More Alphabet Than The Journeying Of The Swallows, The Pure And Tiny Water Of The Small, Fiery Bird That Dances Rising From The Pollen.

The Ardent Hymn That Unites Peoples.

I Don’t Love You As If You Were The Salt-rose, Topaz Or Arrow Of Carnations That Propagate Fire: I Love You As Certain Dark Things Are Loved, Secretly, Between The Shadow And The Soul.

Someday, Somewhere - Anywhere, Unfailingly, You'll Find Yourself, And That, And Only That, Can Be The Happiest Or Bitterest Hour Of Your Life.

Finding Yourself

Green Was The Silence, Wet Was The Light, The Month Of June Trembled Like A Butterfly.

Everything Is Ceremony In The Wild Garden Of Childhood.

I Need The Sea Because It Teaches Me

Let Us Forget With Generosity Those Who Cannot Love Us

When Everything Seems To Be Set To Show Me Off As Intelligent, The Fool I Always Keep Hidden Takes Over All That I Say.

I Am Everybody And Every Time, I Always Call Myself By Your Name.

Donde Termina El Arco Iris, En Tu Alma O En El Horizonte? Where Does The Rainbow End, In Your Soul Or On The Horizon?

If Suddenly You Do Not Exist, If Suddenly You Are Not Living, I Shall Go On Living. I Do Not Dare, I Do Not Dare To Write It, If You Die. I Shall Go On Living.

Wakening From The Dreaming Forest There, The Hazel-sprig Sang Under My Tongue, Its Drifting Fragrance Climbed Up Through My Conscious Mind As If Suddenly The Roots I Had Left Behind Cried Out To Me, The Land I Had Lost With My Childhood - And I Stopped, Wounded By The Wandering Scent.

There Is No Insurmountable Solitude. All Paths Lead To The Same Goal: To Convey To Others What We Are. And We Must Pass Through Solitude And Difficulty, Isolation And Silence In Order To Reach Forth To The Enchanted Place Where We Can Dance Our Clumsy Dance And Sing Our Sorrowful Song - But In This Dance Or In This Song There Are Fulfilled The Most Ancient Rites Of Our Conscience In The Awareness Of Being Human And Of Believing In A Common Destiny.

Who Writes Your Name In Letters Of Smoke Among The Stars Of The South? Oh Let Me Remember You As You Were Before You Existed.

About Me, Nothing Worse They Will Tell You, My Love, Than What I Told You

Pale Blind Diver, Luckless Slinger, Lost Discoverer, In You Everything Sank!

And I, Infinitesimal Being, Drunk With The Great Starry Void, Likeness, Image Of Mystery, I Felt Myself A Pure Part Of The Abyss, I Wheeled With The Stars, My Heart Broke Loose On The Wind.

How Much Does A Man Live, After All?/ Does He Live A Thousand Days, Or One Only? For A Week, Or For Several Centuries?/ How Long Does A Man Spend Dying?/ What Does It Mean To Say 'for Ever'?

We Bear The Sole, Relentless Tenderness.

When I Got The Chance I Asked Them A Slew Of Questions. They Offered To Burn Me; It Was The Only Thing They Knew.

Absence Is A House So Vast That Inside You Will Pass Through Its Walls And Hang Pictures On The Air.

We Are Dust And To Dust Return. In The End We're Neither Air, Nor Fire, Nor Water, Just Dirt, Neither More Nor Less, Just Dirt, And Maybe Some Yellow Flowers.

Love Has To Be…flowering Like The Stars, And Measureless As A Kiss.

How You Must Have Suffered Getting Accustomed To Me, My Savage, Solitary Soul, My Name That Sends Them All Running. So Many Times We Have Seen The Morning Star Burn, Kissing Our Eyes, And Over Our Heads The Grey Light Unwinds In Turning Fans.

Hour Of Nostalgia, Hour Of Happiness, Hour Of Solitude.

This Time Is Difficult. Wait For Me. We Will Live It Out Vividly. Give Me Your Small Hand: We Will Rise And Suffer, We Will Feel, We Will Rejoice. We Are Once More The Pair Who Lived In Bristling Places, In Harsh Nests In The Rock. This Time Is Difficult. Wait For Me With A Basket, With A Shovel, With Your Shoes And Your Clothes. Now We Need Each Other, Not Only For The Carnations' Sake, Not Only To Look For Honey — We Need Our Hands To Wash With, To Make Fire.

If We Were Not So Single-minded About Keeping Our Lives Moving And For Once Could Do Nothing, Perhaps A Huge Silence Might Interrupt This Sadness Of Never Understanding Ourselves And Of Threatening Ourselves With Death Perhaps The World Can Teach Us As When Everything Seems Dead But Later Proves To Be Alive.

Death Arrives Among All That Sound Like A Shoe With No Foot In It, Like A Suit With No Man In It, Comes And Knocks, Using A Ring With No Stone In It, With No Finger In It, Comes And Shouts With No Mouth, With No Tongue,with No Throat. Nevertheless Its Steps Can Be Heard And Its Clothing Makes A Hushed Sound, Like A Tree.

Of Everything I Have Seen, It's You I Want To Go On Seeing: Of Everything I've Touched, It's Your Flesh I Want To Go On Touching. I Love Your Orange Laughter. I Am Moved By The Sight Of You Sleeping. What Am I To Do, Love, Loved One? I Don't Know How Others Love Or How People Loved In The Past. I Live, Watching You, Loving You. Being In Love Is My Nature.

The Tomato Offers Its Gift Of Fiery Color And Cool Completeness.

So The Freshness Lives On In A Lemon, In The Sweet-smelling House Of The Rind, The Proportions, Arcane And Acerb.

Never An Illness, Nor The Absence Of Grandeur, No, Nothing Is Able To Kill The Best In Us, That Kindness, Dear Sir, We Are Afflicted With: Beautiful Is The Flower Of Man, His Conduct, And Every Door Opens On The Beautiful Truth And Never Hides Treacherous Whispers. I Always Gained Something From Making Myself Better, Better Than I Am, Better Than I Was, That Most Subtle Citation: To Recover Some Lost Petal Of The Sadness I Inherited: To Search Once More For The Light That Sings Inside Of Me, The Unwavering Light.

What Can I Say Without Touching The Earth With My Hands?

Love, How Many Roads To Obtain A Kiss.

Once More I Am The Silent One Who Came Out Of The Distance Wrapped In Cold Rain And Bells: I Owe To Earth's Pure Death The Will To Sprout.

From Sorrow To Sorrow Love Crosses Its Islands And Establishes Roots That Are Watered By Weeping.

You Must Know That I Do Not Love And That I Love You, Because Everything Alive Has Its Two Sides; A Word Is One Wing Of Silence, Fire Has Its Cold Half. I Love You In Order To Begin To Love You, To Start Infinity Again And Never To Stop Loving You: That’s Why I Do Not Love You Yet. I Love You, And I Do Not Love You, As If I Held Keys In My Hand: To A Future Of Joy- A Wretched, Muddled Fate- My Love Has Two Lives, In Order To Love You. -sonnet Xliv

Under Your Skin The Moon Is Alive.

You Know How This Is: If I Look At The Crystal Moon, At The Red Branch Of The Slow Autumn At My Window, If I Touch Near The Fire The Impalpable Ash Or The Wrinkled Body Of The Log, Everything Carries Me To You, As If Everything That Exists, Aromas, Light, Metals, Were Little Boats That Sail Toward Those Isles Of Yours That Wait For Me.

In You Is The Illusion Of Each Day. You Arrive Like The Dew To The Cupped Flowers. You Undermine The Horizon With Your Absence. Eternally In Flight Like The Wave.

So I Wait For You Like A Lonely House Till You Will See Me Again And Live In Me. Till Then My Windows Ache.

I Am Made Of Earth, And My Song Made Of Words.

We Open The Halves Of A Miracle, And A Clotting Of Acids Brims Into The Starry Divisions: Creation's Original Juices, Irreducible, Changeless, Alive: So The Freshness Lives On

I Ask Permission To Be Like Everybody Else,like The Rest Of The World And What's More, Like Anybody Else:i Beg You, With All My Heart,if We Are Talking About Me, Since We Are Talking About Me,please Resist Blasting The Trumpet During My Visitand Resign Yourselves To My Quiet Absence.

Each In The Most Hidden Sack Kept The Lost Jewels Of Memory, Intense Love, Secret Nights And Permanent Kisses, The Fragment Of Public Or Private Happiness. A Few, The Wolves, Collected Thighs, Other Men Loved The Dawn Scratching Mountain Ranges Or Ice Floes, Locomotives, Numbers. For Me Happiness Was To Share Singing, Praising, Cursing, Crying With A Thousand Eyes. I Ask Forgiveness For My Bad Ways: My Life Had No Use On Earth.

If Nothing Saves Us From Death, At Least Love Should Save Us From Life

I Am A Book Of Snow, A Spacious Hand, An Open Meadow, A Circle That Waits, I Belong To The Earth And Its Winter.

Here I Love You And The Horizon Hides You In Vain. I Love You Still Among These Cold Things. Sometimes My Kisses Go On Those Heavy Vessels That Cross The Sea Towards No Arrival. I See Myself Forgotten Like Those Old Anchors. The Piers Sadden When The Afternoon Moors There. My Life Grows Tired, Hungry To No Purpose. I Love What I Do Not Have. You Are So Far. My Loathing Wrestles With The Slow Twilights. But Night Comes And Starts To Sing To Me.

My Duty Moves Along With My Song: I Am I Am Not: That Is My Destiny. I Exist Not If I Do Not Attend To The Pain Of Those Who Suffer: They Are My Pains. For I Cannot Be Without Existing For All, For All Who Are Silent And Oppressed, I Come From The People And I Sing For Them: My Poetry Is Song And Punnishment.

Your Wide Eyes Are The Only Light I Know From Extinguished Constellations.

I Want To Do To You What Spring Does With The Cherry Trees.

Let Us Look For Secret Things Somewhere In The World On The Blue Shore Of Silence Or Where The Storm Has Passed Rampaging Like A Train. There The Faint Signs Are Left, Coins Of Time And Water, Debris ,celestial Ash And The Irreplaceable Rapture Of Sharing In The Labour Of Soitude In The Sand.

Place Gifts Of Silver In Our Hands. Give Us This Day Our Daily Fish.

You Can Cut All The Flowers But You Cannot Keep Spring From Coming.

And I Watch My Words From A Long Way Off. They Are More Yours Than Mine. They Climb On My Old Suffering Like Ivy.

La Heradera Del Dia Destruida. (the Heiress Of The Destroyed Day.)

Give Me, For My Life, All Lives, Give Me All The Pain Of Everyone, I'm Going To Turn It Into Hope. Give Me All The Joys, Even The Most Secret, Because Otherwise How Will These Things Be Known? I Have To Tell Them, Give Me The Labors Of Everyday, For That's What I Sing.

Will Our Life Not Be A Tunnel Between Two Vague Clarities? Or Will It Not Be A Clarity Between Two Dark Triangles?

I Stalk Certain Words... I Catch Them In Mid-flight, As They Buzz Past, I Trap Them, Clean Them, Peel Them, I Set Myself In Front Of The Dish, They Have A Crystalline Texture To Me, Vibrant, Ivory, Vegetable, Oily, Like Fruit, Like Algae, Like Agates, Like Olives... I Stir Them, I Shake Them, I Drink Them, I Gulp Them Down, I Mash Them, I Garnish Them... I Leave Them In My Poem Like Stalactites, Like Slivers Of Polished Wood, Like Coals, Like Pickings From A Shipwreck, Gifts From The Waves... Everything Exists In The Word.

And It Follows That I Am, Because You Are: It Follows From 'you Are', That I Am, And We: And, Because Of Love, You Will, I Will, We Will, Come To Be.

Love Is Brief: Forgetting Lasts So Long.

Love Is A War Of Lightning, And Two Bodies Ruined By A Single Sweetness.

I Learned About Life From Life Itself, Love I Learned In A Single Kiss And Could Teach No One Anything Except That I Have Lived With Something In Common Among Men.

All Paths Lead To The Same Goal: To Convey To Others What We Are.

I Do Not Love You-except Because I Love You; I Go From Loving To Not Loving You, From Waiting To Not Waiting For You My Heart Moves From The Cold Into The Fire.

Loving Is A Journey With Water And With Stars, With Smothered Air And Abrupt Storms Of Flour: Loving Is A Clash Of Lightning-bolts And Two Bodies Defeated By A Single Drop Of Honey.

But When I Call For A Hero, Out Comes My Lazy Old Self; So I Never Know Who I Am, Nor How Many I Am Or Will Be. I'd Love To Be Able To Touch A Bell And Summon The Real Me, Because If I Really Need Myself, I Mustn't Disappear.

The Hardest Way Of Learning Is That Of Easy Reading.

And One By One The Nights Between Our Separated Cities Are Joined To The Night That Unites Us.

Long Distance Relationship

Oh To Follow The Road That Leads Away From Everything, Without Anguish, Death, Winter Waiting Along It With Their Eyes Open Through The Dew.

I Move In The University Of The Waves.

It Was At That Age That Poetry Came In Search Of Me.

Take It All Back. Life Is Boring, Except For Flowers, Sunshine, Your Perfect Legs. A Glass Of Cold Water When You Are Really Thirsty. The Way Bodies Fit Together. Fresh And Young And Sweet. Coffee In The Morning. These Are Just Moments. I Struggle With The In-betweens. I Just Want To Never Stop Loving Like There Is Nothing Else To Do, Because What Else Is There To Do?

I Spin On The Circle Of Wave Upon Wave Of The Sea.

Shyness Is A Condition Foreign To The Heart - A Category, A Dimension Which Leads To Loneliness.

And What Has Become Of It, Where Is That Onetime Love? Now It Is The Grave Of A Bird, A Drop Of Black Quartz, A Chunk Of Wood Eroded By The Rain.

To Harden The Earth The Rocks Took Charge: Instantly They Grew Wings: The Rocks That Soared: The Survivors Flew Up The Lightning Bolt, Screamed In The Night, A Watermark, A Violet Sword, A Meteor. The Succulent Sky Had Not Only Clouds, Not Only Space Smelling Of Oxygen, But An Earthly Stone Flashing Here And There Changed Into A Dove, Changed Into A Bell, Into Immensity, Into A Piercing Wind: Into A Phosphorescent Arrow, Into Salt Of The Sky.

Eating Alone Is A Disappointment. But Not Eating Matter More, Is Hollow And Green, Has Thorns Like A Chain Of Fish Hooks, Trailing From The Heart, Clawing At Your Insides. Hunger Feels Like Pincers, Like The Bite Of Crabs; It Burns, Burns, And Has No Fur. Let Us Sit Down Soon To Eat With All Those Who Haven't Eaten; Let Us Spread Great Tablecloths, Put Salt In Lakes Of The World, Set Up Planetary Bakeries, Tables With Strawberries In Snow, And A Plate Like The Moon Itself From Which We Can All Eat. For Now I Ask No More Than The Justice Of Eating.

For Me Writing Is Like Breathing. I Could Not Live Without Breathing And I Could Not Live Without Writing.

I Say Love, And The World Populates Itself With Doves.

While I'm Writing, I'm Far Away; And When I Come Back, I've Gone.

Look Around—there's Only One Thing Of Danger For You Here—poetry.

I Think It Was Very Informative, But A Lot Still Needs To Be Done.

I Believed That The Way Passed Through Man, And That It Was From There That Destiny Had To Emerge.

O Merry, Merry, Merry, Like Only Dogs Know How To Be Happy And Nothing More, With An Absolute Shameless Nature.

In Your Eyes Of Mourning The Land Of Dreams Begins.

The Typewriter Separated Me From A Deeper Intimacy With Poetry, And My Hand Brought Me Closer To That Intimacy Again.

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines...though This Be The Last Pain That She Makes Me Suffer And These The Last Verses That I Write For Her.

Give Me Your Hand Out Of The Depths Sown By Your Sorrows.

I Have Never Thought Of My Life As Divided Between Poetry And Politics.

Give Me Silence, Water, Hope Give Me Struggle, Iron, Volcanoes.

Como Se Reparten El Sol En El Naranjo Las Naranjas? How Do The Oranges Divide Up Sunlight In The Orange Tree?

It Was My Destiny To Love And Say Goodbye.

Tomorrow We Will Only Give Them A Leaf Of The Tree Of Our Love, A Leaf Which Will Fall On The Earth Like If It Had Been Made By Our Lips Like A Kiss Which Falls From Our Invincible Heights To Show The Fire And The Tenderness Of A True Love.

Everything Is So Alive, That I Can Be Alive. Without Moving I Can See It All. In Your Life I See Everything That Lives.

We Came By Night To The Fortunate Isles, And Lay Like Fish Under The Net Of Our Kisses.

By Night, Love, Tie Your Heart To Mine, And The Two Together In Their Sleep Will Defeat The Darkness

With Which Stars Do They Go On Speaking,the Rivers That Never Reach The Sea?

The Best Poet Is The Man Who Delivers Our Daily Bread: The Local Baker.

Your House Sounds Like A Train At Midday, The Wasps Buzz, The Saucepans Sing, The Waterfall Enumerates The Deeds Of The Dew . . .

Two Things Make A Story. The Net And The Air That Falls Through The Net.

Who Hasn't Sharpened The Edge Of His Soul? When, Just As Our Eyes Are Opened, We See Hate, And Just After Learning To Walk, We Are Tripped, And Just For Wanting To Love, We Are Hated, And For No More Than Touching, We Are Hurt, Which Of Us Hasn't Started To Arm Himself, To Make Himself Sharp, Somehow, Like A Knife, To Pay Back The Hurt?

To Feel The Love Of People Whom We Love Is A Fire That Feeds Our Life.

Why Do Trees Conceal The Splendor Of Their Roots?

I Stroll Along Serenely, With My Eyes, My Shoes, My Rage, Forgetting Everything.

Political Poetry Is More Profoundly Emotional Than Any Other-at Least As Much As Love Poetry-and Cannot Be Forced Because Then It Becomes Vulgar And Unacceptable. It Is Necessary First To Pan Though All Other Poetry In Order To Become A Political Poet.

I Want To See The Thirst Inside The Syllables I Want To Touch The Fire In The Sound: I Want To Feel The Darkness Of The Cry. I Want Words As Rough As Virgin Rocks.” - Verb.

A Child Who Does Not Play Is Not A Child, But The Man Who Doesn't Play Has Lost Forever The Child Who Lived In Him And Who He Will Miss Terribly.

If You Should Ask Me Where I've Been All This Time I Have To Say "things Happen." I Have To Dwell On Stones Darkening The Earth, On The River Ruined In Its Own Duration: I Know Nothing Save Things The Birds Have Lost, The Sea I Left Behind, Or My Sister Crying. Why This Abundance Of Places? Why Does Day Lock With Day? Why The Dark Night Swilling Round In Our Mouths? And Why The Dead?

As Slippery As Smooth Grapes, Words Exploding In The Light Like Dormant Seeds Waiting In The Vaults Of Vocabulary, Alive Again, And Giving Life: Once Again The Heart Distills Them.

When Your Hands Leap Towards Mine, Love, What Do They Bring Me In Flight?

I'm Not Me But Living Matter Fermenting And Forming Its Own Shapes In The Fruitfulness Of Every Day.

The Birds Of Night Peck At The First Stars That Flash Like My Soul When I Love You.

I Love You Without Knowing How, Or When, Or From Where. I Love You Simply, Without Problems Or Pride: I Love You In This Way Because I Do Not Know Any Other Way Of Loving But This, In Which There Is No I Or You, So Intimate That Your Hand Upon My Chest Is My Hand, So Intimate That When I Fall Asleep Your Eyes Close.

Writing Poetry, We Live Among The Wild Beasts, And When We Touch A Man, The Stuff Of Someone In Whom We Believed, And He Goes To Pieces Like A Rotten Pie, You... Gather Together Whatever Can Be Salvaged, While I Cup My Hands Around The Live Coal Of Life.

What Does Autumn Go On Paying For With So Much Yellow Money?

I Want To See Thirst In The Syllables, Tough Fire In The Sound; Feel Through The Dark For The Scream.

Sometimes A Piece Of Sun Burned Like A Coin In My Hand.

To Love Is To Tilt With The Lightning, Two Bodies Routed By A Single Honey's Sweet.

What Will They Say About My Poetry Who Never Touched My Blood?

I Love You As The Plant That Never Blooms But Carries In Itself The Light Of Hidden Flowers; Thanks To Your Love A Certain Solid Fragrence Risen From The Earth, Lives Darkly In My Body. And: No One Can Stop The River Of Your Hands, Your Eyes And Their Sleepiness, My Dearest. You Are The Trembling Of Time, Which Passes Between The Vertical Light And The Darkening Sky. And: From The Stormy Archipelagoes I Brought My Windy Accordian, Waves Of Crazy Rain, The Habitual Slowness Of Natural Things: They Made Up My Wild Heart.

Between Lips And Lips There Are Cities Of Great Ash And Moist Summit, Drops Of When And How, Vague Comings And Goings: Between Lips And Lips As Along A Shore Of Sand And Glass The Wind Passes.

Is 4 The Same 4 For Everybody? Are All Sevens Equal? When The Convict Ponders The Light Is It The Same Light That Shines On You?

On Our Earth, Before Writing Was Invented, Before The Printing Press Was Invented, Poetry Flourished. That Is Why We Know That Poetry Is Like Bread; It Should Be Shared By All, By Scholars And By Peasants, By All Our Vast, Incredible, Extraordinary Family Of Humanity.

Whom Can I Ask What I Came To Make Happen In This World?

There Were Thirst And Hunger, And You Were The Fruit. There Were Grief And The Ruins, And You Were The Miracle.

And I, A Materialist Who Does Not Believe In The Starry Heaven Promised To A Human Being, For This Dog And For Every Dog I Believe In Heaven, Yes, I Believe In A Heaven That I Will Never Enter, But He Waits For Me Wagging His Big Fan Of A Tail So I, Soon To Arrive, Will Feel Welcomed.

I Want To Eat The Sunbeam Flaring In Your Lovely Body... And I Pace Around Hungry, Sniffing The Twilight, Hunting For You, For Your Hot Heart, Like A Puma In The Barrens Of Quitratue.

I Walked Around As You Do, Investigating The Endless Star, And In My Net, During The Night, I Woke Up Naked, The Only Thing Caught, A Fish Trapped Inside The Wind.

Cómo Se Acuerda Con Los Pájaros La Traducción De Sus Idiomas?

Well, Now If Little By Little You Stop Loving Me I Shall Stop Loving You Little By Little If Suddenly You Forget Me Do Not Look For Me For I Shall Already Have Forgotten You If You Think It Long And Mad The Wind Of Banners That Passes Through My Life And You Decide To Leave Me At The Shore Of The Heart Where I Have Roots Remember That On That Day, At That Hour, I Shall Lift My Arms And My Roots Will Set Off To Seek Another Land

I Have Named You Queen. There Are Taller Than You, Taller. There Are Purer Than You, Purer. There Are Lovelier Than You, Lovelier. But You Are The Queen.

We Must Dream Our Way.

She Did Not Speak For Speech Was Unknown To Her.

And That's Why I Have To Go Back To So Many Places There To Find Myself And Constantly Examine Myself With No Witness But The Moon And Then Whistle With Joy, Ambling Over Rocks And Clods Of Earth, With No Task But To Live, With No Family But The Road.

I've Come Within Range Of Hate. Terrifying, Its Tremors, Its Dizzying Obsessions. Hate's Like A Swordfish Invisible In The Water, Knifing Suddenly Into Sight With Blood On Its Blade- Clear Water Misleads You.

I Want To Do For You What The Spring Does For The Cherry Trees

Here I Came To The Very Edge Where Nothing At All Needs Saying, Everything Is Absorbed Through Weather And The Sea, And The Moon Swam Back, Its Rays All Silvered, And Time And Again The Darkness Would Be Broken By The Crash Of A Wave, And Every Day On The Balcony Of The Sea, Wings Open, Fire Is Born, And Everything Is Blue Again Like Morning.

And What Importance Do I Have In The Courtroom Of Oblivion?

Nobody Can Claim The Name Of Pedro, Nobody Is Rosa Or María, All Of Us Are Dust Or Sand, All Of Us Are Rain Under Rain. They Have Spoken To Me Of Venezuelas, Of Chiles And Paraguays; I Have No Idea What They Are Saying. I Know Only The Skin Of The Earth And I Know It Has No Name.

I Built Up These Lumber Piles Of Love, And With Fourteen Boards Each I Built Little Houses, So That Your Eyes, Which I Adore And Sing To, Might Live In Them. Now That I Have Declared The Foundations Of My Love, I Surrender This Century To You: Wooden Sonnets That Rise Only Because You Gave Them Life.

Raw Hatred Took Its Time Making An Outpost Of Its Rage And Prepared For Me A Savage Crown With Rusty, Bloodstained Spikes. It Wasn't Pride That Made Me Keep My Heart At A Distance From Such Terror, Nor Did I Waste On Revenge Or The Pursuit Of Power The Forces That Came From My Selfish Griefs Or My Accumulated Joys. It Was Something Else-my Helplessness.

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