Ode to Things

"I have a crazy, crazy love of things,

I like pliers,
and scissors,

I love cups,

and rings,

and bowls--

not to speak of course of hats,

I love all things, not just the grandest,

also the infinitely small,

thimbles and spurs,

plates and flower vases.

Oh yes, the planet is sublime!..."

-Pablo Neruda

The Morning is Full of Storm

"The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer

the clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye.

The wind, travelling,

waving them in its hands.

The numberless heart of the wind beating above our loving silence.

Orchestral and divine,

resounding among the trees

like a language full of wars and songs.

Wind that bears off the dead leaves with a quick raid

and defects the pulsing arrows of the birds.

Winds that toppples her in a wave without spray and

substance without weight, and leaving fires.

Her mass of kisses breaks and sinks,

assailed in the door of the summer's wind."

-Pablo Neruda

I Remember

"I remember you as you were in the last autumn.

You were the grey beret and the still heart.

In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on.

And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.

Clasping my arms like a climbing plant

the leaves garnered your voice,

that was slow and at peace.

Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning.

Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul.

I feel your eyes travelling, and the autumn is far off:

grey beret, voice of a bird, heart like a house towards which

my deep longings migrated and my kisses fell,

happy as embers.

Sky from a ship.

Field from the hills:

Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond!

Beyond your eyes, farther on, the evenings were blazing.

Dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul."

-Pablo Neruda

"I Remember You as You Were"