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Résidence sur la terre
« Dans les années 40, en une période où presque tous les poètes suivaient une voie lyrique sans surprise, il tombe sur une génération sud-américaine stupéfaite, émerveillée ou furieuse, une énorme alluvion de mots chargés de matière épaisse, de pierres et de lichens, de sperme sidéral, de vents du large et de mouettes de fin du monde, une nomenclature de bois et de métaux, de peignes et de femmes, de falaises et de bourrasques, et tout cela nous arrive, comme tant d'autres fois, de l'autre côté du monde, où un poète regarde par-dessus la mer son lointain Chili et le comprend et le connaît tellement mieux que d'autres qui ont le nez dessus. Parce que le Chili des Résidences c'est déjà le monde latino-américain embrassé dans sa totalité par une poésie toute -puissante et c'est aussi la planète entière, la somme des mers et des choses avec, en son centre, un homme solitaire, le vieil homme parmi les ruines d'une histoire qui se dégonfle not with a bang but a whimper, le vieil homme naissant à sa véritable jeunesse, à sa virilité conquise vers après vers, peine après peine, le vieil homme laissant derrière lui le catalogue frénétique des amours et des souffrances, des plongées sans issue dans le magma de l'individu qui réside sur terre comme Robinson sur son île, l'homme Neruda se dresse, enfin libre et nu, il regarde devant lui et il voit un peuple en lutte, il entre dans la guerre d'Espagne comme on entre dans la mer à bout de sueur et de poussière, Pablo peut écrire L'Espagne au cœur, Pablo est déjà parmi les hommes, le Chant Général bat dans son sang, il sait déjà, lui, que nous ne sommes pas seuls, que no man is an island, que nous ne serons plus jamais seuls sur l'île Terre. »
Julio Cortázar
Julio Cortázar
224 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1933
197 people are currently reading
4394 people want to read
About the author
Pablo Neruda
1,082 books9,620 followersPablo Neruda, born Ricardo Eliécer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto in 1904 in Parral, Chile, was a poet, diplomat, and politician, widely considered one of the most influential literary figures of the 20th century. From an early age, he showed a deep passion for poetry, publishing his first works as a teenager. He adopted the pen name Pablo Neruda to avoid disapproval from his father, who discouraged his literary ambitions. His breakthrough came with Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada (Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, 1924), a collection of deeply emotional and sensual poetry that gained international recognition and remains one of his most celebrated works.
Neruda’s career took him beyond literature into diplomacy, a path that allowed him to travel extensively and engage with political movements around the world. Beginning in 1927, he served in various consular posts in Asia and later in Spain, where he witnessed the Spanish Civil War and became an outspoken advocate for the Republican cause. His experiences led him to embrace communism, a commitment that would shape much of his later poetry and political activism. His collection España en el corazón (Spain in Our Hearts, 1937) reflected his deep sorrow over the war and marked a shift toward politically engaged writing.
Returning to Chile, he was elected to the Senate in 1945 as a member of the Communist Party. However, his vocal opposition to the repressive policies of President Gabriel Gonzalez Videla led to his exile. During this period, he traveled through various countries, including Argentina, Mexico, and the Soviet Union, further cementing his status as a global literary and political figure. It was during these years that he wrote Canto General (1950), an epic work chronicling Latin American history and the struggles of its people.
Neruda’s return to Chile in 1952 marked a new phase in his life, balancing political activity with a prolific literary output. He remained a staunch supporter of socialist ideals and later developed a close relationship with Salvador Allende, who appointed him as Chile’s ambassador to France in 1970. The following year, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, recognized for the scope and impact of his poetry. His later years were marked by illness, and he died in 1973, just days after the military coup that overthrew Allende. His legacy endures, not only in his vast body of work but also in his influence on literature, political thought, and the cultural identity of Latin America.
Neruda’s career took him beyond literature into diplomacy, a path that allowed him to travel extensively and engage with political movements around the world. Beginning in 1927, he served in various consular posts in Asia and later in Spain, where he witnessed the Spanish Civil War and became an outspoken advocate for the Republican cause. His experiences led him to embrace communism, a commitment that would shape much of his later poetry and political activism. His collection España en el corazón (Spain in Our Hearts, 1937) reflected his deep sorrow over the war and marked a shift toward politically engaged writing.
Returning to Chile, he was elected to the Senate in 1945 as a member of the Communist Party. However, his vocal opposition to the repressive policies of President Gabriel Gonzalez Videla led to his exile. During this period, he traveled through various countries, including Argentina, Mexico, and the Soviet Union, further cementing his status as a global literary and political figure. It was during these years that he wrote Canto General (1950), an epic work chronicling Latin American history and the struggles of its people.
Neruda’s return to Chile in 1952 marked a new phase in his life, balancing political activity with a prolific literary output. He remained a staunch supporter of socialist ideals and later developed a close relationship with Salvador Allende, who appointed him as Chile’s ambassador to France in 1970. The following year, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, recognized for the scope and impact of his poetry. His later years were marked by illness, and he died in 1973, just days after the military coup that overthrew Allende. His legacy endures, not only in his vast body of work but also in his influence on literature, political thought, and the cultural identity of Latin America.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 199 reviews
May 30, 2017
For the 1st half of the book * * *
but for the 2nd half. * * * *
This man is one of the most influential poet of all times with his subtle poetry, realistic approach, beautiful style & thought-provoking stanzas.
I am alone among rickety substances,
the rain falls upon me and it seems like me,
like me with its madness,
alone in the dead world,
rejected as it falls,
and without persistent shape.
I look for you,
I look for your image among the medals
that the gray sky models and abandons,
I do not know who you are
but I owe you so much
that the earth is filled
with my bitter treasure.
but for the 2nd half. * * * *
This man is one of the most influential poet of all times with his subtle poetry, realistic approach, beautiful style & thought-provoking stanzas.
I am alone among rickety substances,
the rain falls upon me and it seems like me,
like me with its madness,
alone in the dead world,
rejected as it falls,
and without persistent shape.
I look for you,
I look for your image among the medals
that the gray sky models and abandons,
I do not know who you are
but I owe you so much
that the earth is filled
with my bitter treasure.
June 24, 2017
I could brew a pot of coffee or two and read Neruda for hours, sift through image after image, some in crackling color, some in black and white, some with dead and bleeding soldiers, vulgar war, and some a simple heartbeat you feel in your own soul.
April 21, 2012
I've read this many times, and every single time I feel like I've found some new gem. What amazes me most about this book is the English translation on one side and the Spanish translation on the other.
I'm a total sucker for emotional, provoking poetry, and this book of poetry was written during a time of exile for Neruda. Neruda has a very intriguing voice, and he puts you RIGHT THERE. One of my favorites.
Slow Lament
"Into the night of the heart
your name drops slowly
and moves in silence and falls
and breaks and spreads its water.
Something wishes for its slight harm
and its infinite and short esteem
like the step of a lost one
suddenly heard.
Suddenly, suddenly listened to
and spread in the heart
with sad insistence and increase
like a cold autumnal dream.
The thick wheel of the earth,
its tire moist with oblivion,
spins, cutting time
into inaccessible halves.
Its hard goblets cover your heart
split upon the cold earth
with its poor blue sparks
fling in the voice of the rain."
Tell me that's not beautiful. It's beautiful.
I'm a total sucker for emotional, provoking poetry, and this book of poetry was written during a time of exile for Neruda. Neruda has a very intriguing voice, and he puts you RIGHT THERE. One of my favorites.
Slow Lament
"Into the night of the heart
your name drops slowly
and moves in silence and falls
and breaks and spreads its water.
Something wishes for its slight harm
and its infinite and short esteem
like the step of a lost one
suddenly heard.
Suddenly, suddenly listened to
and spread in the heart
with sad insistence and increase
like a cold autumnal dream.
The thick wheel of the earth,
its tire moist with oblivion,
spins, cutting time
into inaccessible halves.
Its hard goblets cover your heart
split upon the cold earth
with its poor blue sparks
fling in the voice of the rain."
Tell me that's not beautiful. It's beautiful.
September 13, 2017
Francisco Umbral prefería este poemario a «Poeta en Nueva York», de Lorca; yo, no (en absoluto).
A Borges le hacía mucha gracia el final de «Oda a Federico García Lorca», y decía preferir la elegía que le escribió Antonio Machado (yo también, y la de Cernuda, y con mucho [insoportable, el falso patetismo de la de Neruda, con esas tonterías como las de la primerísima estrofa, sin ir más lejos]). Ese verso gayer, tan tonto, tan súper hetero, «de melancólico varón varonil» (para que no quepa la más mínima sombra de duda sobre el macho alfa liróforo que es Pablón), debe de ser uno de los peores momentos de toda la obra de Neruda, y de la historia de la poesía en general.
A Borges le hacía mucha gracia el final de «Oda a Federico García Lorca», y decía preferir la elegía que le escribió Antonio Machado (yo también, y la de Cernuda, y con mucho [insoportable, el falso patetismo de la de Neruda, con esas tonterías como las de la primerísima estrofa, sin ir más lejos]). Ese verso gayer, tan tonto, tan súper hetero, «de melancólico varón varonil» (para que no quepa la más mínima sombra de duda sobre el macho alfa liróforo que es Pablón), debe de ser uno de los peores momentos de toda la obra de Neruda, y de la historia de la poesía en general.
July 28, 2019
Não tenho a inteligência necessária para entender o significado destes poemas, nem um mínimo de vocação para sacrifícios vãos. Por isso, não vou ler até ao fim.
_____________
Prémio Nobel da Literatura 1971
Pablo Neruda nasceu no Chile em 12 de julho de 1904 e morreu no Chile em 23 de setembro de 1973.
_____________
Prémio Nobel da Literatura 1971
Pablo Neruda nasceu no Chile em 12 de julho de 1904 e morreu no Chile em 23 de setembro de 1973.
April 2, 2015
Its is a region, I have already spoken
of this region so lonely,
where the earth is filled with ocean,
and there is no one but a horse's hoof prints,
there is no one but the wind, there is no one
but the rain falling over the waters of the sea,
no one but the rain growing over the sea.
of this region so lonely,
where the earth is filled with ocean,
and there is no one but a horse's hoof prints,
there is no one but the wind, there is no one
but the rain falling over the waters of the sea,
no one but the rain growing over the sea.
October 8, 2013
4,5/5 rozhodně se jedná o hodně milé překvapení. ke sbírce se pravděpodobně ještě někdy vrátím...
August 10, 2025
Me cuesta mucho hacer una reseña de este libro porque lo agarré hace meses, volví a él, lo dejé otra vez... no tengo en la mente la impresión completa.
Me gustaron mucho los poemas corporales, en los que hay un ojo, un brazo o la carne corrompida.
Sin embargo, también me encontré con versos o imagenes trilladas que rompían la magia.
En general, me gustó mucho
Me gustaron mucho los poemas corporales, en los que hay un ojo, un brazo o la carne corrompida.
Sin embargo, también me encontré con versos o imagenes trilladas que rompían la magia.
En general, me gustó mucho
October 30, 2024
¿Para qué sirven los versos si no es para el rocío?
July 29, 2024
7.5/10
"Vejo os sonhos secretos
admiro os dias derradeiros,
e também as origens e também as recordações,
como uma pálpebra atrozmente levantada à força
estou a olhar.
E então há este som:
um ruído rubro de ossos,
um colar-se de carne
e pernas amarelas como espigas a juntar-se.
Escuto entre o disparo dos beijos,
escuto, sacudido entre respirações e soluços.
Estou a olhar, a ouvir,
com metade da alma no mar e metade da alma na terra,
e com as duas metades da alma olho o mundo."
Excerto do poema "Água Sexual"
***
"Sozinho, vejo, às vezes,
ataúdes à vela
zarpar com defuntos pálidos, com mulheres de tranças mortas,
com padeiros brancos como anjos,
com jovens pensativas casadas com notários,
ataúdes subindo o rio vertical dos mortos,
o rio violáceo,
para cima, com velas inchadas pelo rumor da morte,
inchadas pelo rumor silencioso da morte.
À zona do som a morte chega
qual sapato sem pé, como um fato sem homem,
chega a bater com um anel sem pedra e sem dedo,
chega a gritar sem boca, sem língua, sem garganta.
Porém seus passos soam
e o seu vestido soa, silente, como árvore."
Excerto do poema "Só a Morte"
"Vejo os sonhos secretos
admiro os dias derradeiros,
e também as origens e também as recordações,
como uma pálpebra atrozmente levantada à força
estou a olhar.
E então há este som:
um ruído rubro de ossos,
um colar-se de carne
e pernas amarelas como espigas a juntar-se.
Escuto entre o disparo dos beijos,
escuto, sacudido entre respirações e soluços.
Estou a olhar, a ouvir,
com metade da alma no mar e metade da alma na terra,
e com as duas metades da alma olho o mundo."
Excerto do poema "Água Sexual"
***
"Sozinho, vejo, às vezes,
ataúdes à vela
zarpar com defuntos pálidos, com mulheres de tranças mortas,
com padeiros brancos como anjos,
com jovens pensativas casadas com notários,
ataúdes subindo o rio vertical dos mortos,
o rio violáceo,
para cima, com velas inchadas pelo rumor da morte,
inchadas pelo rumor silencioso da morte.
À zona do som a morte chega
qual sapato sem pé, como um fato sem homem,
chega a bater com um anel sem pedra e sem dedo,
chega a gritar sem boca, sem língua, sem garganta.
Porém seus passos soam
e o seu vestido soa, silente, como árvore."
Excerto do poema "Só a Morte"
May 16, 2025
mandreta
February 18, 2018
Deberé volver a esta poesía algún día.
December 16, 2009
After finishing 2666 I started reading the books Bolaño loved and thought I'd start with poetry. Having known more about Pablo Neruda than having known his work first-hand, I decided to start with this collection. When asked what his favorite poem by Neruda was, Bolaño said, "almost any in RESIDENCE ON EARTH."
I forget that appreciating poetry in another language is quite different from appreciating prose in another language, and I do feel a barrier to the texts of these poems. What comes across in English is still searing, lonely, and imaginative, but I feel like I'm only getting half, at best, of what is really here.
I also decided not to try and go through the book all at once but pick it up and put it down again a little more intermittently. In the past week I've gone through the first of the three parts and will continue dipping into it over the next few months.
I forget that appreciating poetry in another language is quite different from appreciating prose in another language, and I do feel a barrier to the texts of these poems. What comes across in English is still searing, lonely, and imaginative, but I feel like I'm only getting half, at best, of what is really here.
I also decided not to try and go through the book all at once but pick it up and put it down again a little more intermittently. In the past week I've gone through the first of the three parts and will continue dipping into it over the next few months.
July 12, 2016
Aşk ve coşkuyla yazılmış yoğun bir metafor şöleni.
...
Gizlice geçer pusuya yatmış günler,
ama düşerler senin ışıktan sesine.
Ah, aşkın hanımı, dinlenişine senin
kurdum ben düşümü, sessiz duruşumu.
...
(Bağlaşma (Sonat), s. 27)
January 1, 2021
But, like earth's memory, like the stony
splendor of metal and silence,
is your victory, people, fatherland, and grain.
Your riddled banner advances
like your breast above the scars
of time and earth.
October 24, 2024
Lo he tenido que devorar porque cómo poetiza lo inexpresable: habitar un mundo inhabitable, incierto en el k sin embargo “el horizonte de la sangre tiembla, hay algo / algo sin duda agita los rosales”
Un libro para leer en otoño en las calles frías de madrid, en el metro para entender la miseria.
Encontrado en la biblioteca de Bubu.
“Difícilmente llamo a la realidad, como el perro, y también aúllo”
“Qué pobre esperanza amar, / con tan débil llama y tan fugitivo fuego? / Contra qué levantar el hacha hambrienta? / De qué materia desposeer, huir de qué rayo?”
“Acércame tu ausencia hasta el fondo, / pesadamente, tapándote los ojos, / crúzame tu existencia, suponiendo / que mi corazón está destruido”
“Después de mucho (…)/ amo lo tenaz que aún sobrevive en mis ojos / oigo en mi corazón mis pasos de jinete / muerdo el fuego dormido y la sal arruinada, / y de noche / detenido entre sombras que crecen y alas que tiemblan/ me siento ser”
“Tienen existencia los trajes, color, forma, designio, / y profundo lugar en nuestros mitos, demasiado lugar, / demasiados muebles y demasiadas habitaciones hay en el mundo, / y mi cuerpo vive entre y bajo tantas cosas abatido/ con un pensamiento fijo de esclavitud y de cadenas”
“Sobrevivo en medio del mar, / solo y tan locamente herido, / tan solamente persistiendo, / heridamente abandonado”
Barcarola el poema más bonito que se ha compuesto en el mundo entero : “Si solamente me tocaras el corazón / si solamente pusieras tu boca en mi corazón/ si pusieras tu lengua como una flecha roja / allí donde mi corazón polvoriento golpea / si soplaras en mi corazón, cerca del mar, llorando // Si existieras de pronto, en una costa lúgubre/ rodeada por el día muerto// Alguien vendría, sopla con furia / que suene como sirena de barco roto, / como lamento”
Walking around !!!!!! y su “Sucede que me canso de ser hombre”
Enfermedades en mi casa en la que “no hay sino llanto, nada más que llanto, / porque solo sufrir, solamente sufrir / y nada más que llanto.”: “Estoy cansado de una gota / estoy herido en solamente un pétalo (…) escribo este poema que solo es un lamento / solamente un lamento”
Oda con un lamento esta vez el poema más bonito y también más triste que se ha escrito nunca: “Hay mucha muerte, muchos acontecimientos funerarios / en mis desamparadas pasiones y desolados besos// Mientras me visto, mientras/ interminablemente me miro en los espejos y en los vidrios, / oigo que alguien me sigue llamándome a sollozos / con una triste voz podrida por el tiempo// Tu estas sobre la tierra, llena / de dientes y relámpagos/ Tu propagas los besos y matas las hormigas/ Tú lloras de salud, de cebolla, de abeja/ de abecedario ardiendo”
Y por último Oda a Federico García Lorca que qué voy a decir… te amo neruda
Un libro para leer en otoño en las calles frías de madrid, en el metro para entender la miseria.
Encontrado en la biblioteca de Bubu.
“Difícilmente llamo a la realidad, como el perro, y también aúllo”
“Qué pobre esperanza amar, / con tan débil llama y tan fugitivo fuego? / Contra qué levantar el hacha hambrienta? / De qué materia desposeer, huir de qué rayo?”
“Acércame tu ausencia hasta el fondo, / pesadamente, tapándote los ojos, / crúzame tu existencia, suponiendo / que mi corazón está destruido”
“Después de mucho (…)/ amo lo tenaz que aún sobrevive en mis ojos / oigo en mi corazón mis pasos de jinete / muerdo el fuego dormido y la sal arruinada, / y de noche / detenido entre sombras que crecen y alas que tiemblan/ me siento ser”
“Tienen existencia los trajes, color, forma, designio, / y profundo lugar en nuestros mitos, demasiado lugar, / demasiados muebles y demasiadas habitaciones hay en el mundo, / y mi cuerpo vive entre y bajo tantas cosas abatido/ con un pensamiento fijo de esclavitud y de cadenas”
“Sobrevivo en medio del mar, / solo y tan locamente herido, / tan solamente persistiendo, / heridamente abandonado”
Barcarola el poema más bonito que se ha compuesto en el mundo entero : “Si solamente me tocaras el corazón / si solamente pusieras tu boca en mi corazón/ si pusieras tu lengua como una flecha roja / allí donde mi corazón polvoriento golpea / si soplaras en mi corazón, cerca del mar, llorando // Si existieras de pronto, en una costa lúgubre/ rodeada por el día muerto// Alguien vendría, sopla con furia / que suene como sirena de barco roto, / como lamento”
Walking around !!!!!! y su “Sucede que me canso de ser hombre”
Enfermedades en mi casa en la que “no hay sino llanto, nada más que llanto, / porque solo sufrir, solamente sufrir / y nada más que llanto.”: “Estoy cansado de una gota / estoy herido en solamente un pétalo (…) escribo este poema que solo es un lamento / solamente un lamento”
Oda con un lamento esta vez el poema más bonito y también más triste que se ha escrito nunca: “Hay mucha muerte, muchos acontecimientos funerarios / en mis desamparadas pasiones y desolados besos// Mientras me visto, mientras/ interminablemente me miro en los espejos y en los vidrios, / oigo que alguien me sigue llamándome a sollozos / con una triste voz podrida por el tiempo// Tu estas sobre la tierra, llena / de dientes y relámpagos/ Tu propagas los besos y matas las hormigas/ Tú lloras de salud, de cebolla, de abeja/ de abecedario ardiendo”
Y por último Oda a Federico García Lorca que qué voy a decir… te amo neruda
June 12, 2022
"Tú estás de pie sobre la tierra, llena
de dientes y relámpagos.
Tú propagas los besos y matas las hormigas.
Tú lloras de salud, de cebolla, de abeja,
de abecedario ardiendo.
Tú eres como una espada azul y verde y ondulas al tocarte, como un río".
Excelente poemario.
Tenía una imagen un poco mala de Neruda, pensé que su obra giraba en torno al romance meloso que en la poesía es tan recurrente, pero me he encontrado algo totalmente diferente. Las analogías y simbolismos que utiliza son de gran belleza. Algo curioso es que muchos de los poemas son bastante complejos y hasta difíciles de comprender, lo que los hace aun más atractivos.
Espero con ansias leer algo más de Neruda.
de dientes y relámpagos.
Tú propagas los besos y matas las hormigas.
Tú lloras de salud, de cebolla, de abeja,
de abecedario ardiendo.
Tú eres como una espada azul y verde y ondulas al tocarte, como un río".
Excelente poemario.
Tenía una imagen un poco mala de Neruda, pensé que su obra giraba en torno al romance meloso que en la poesía es tan recurrente, pero me he encontrado algo totalmente diferente. Las analogías y simbolismos que utiliza son de gran belleza. Algo curioso es que muchos de los poemas son bastante complejos y hasta difíciles de comprender, lo que los hace aun más atractivos.
Espero con ansias leer algo más de Neruda.
July 25, 2018
Este libro es más pies de página, introducciones y comentarios que poesía. Sin todo eso, no pasaría de las 100 páginas.
En fin, los poemas muestran a un Neruda en camino a serlo, es decir, su estilo, su voz, apenas se muestra aquí y eso es refrescante.
4/5
En fin, los poemas muestran a un Neruda en camino a serlo, es decir, su estilo, su voz, apenas se muestra aquí y eso es refrescante.
4/5
June 20, 2022
La verdad es que un poemario que ha pasado al principio sin pena ni gloria a convertirse en un desgarro. Es verdad que entremedias hay buenos poemas, pero es la segunda parte de él que es increíble y maravillosa.
October 22, 2023
Quizás la palabra que más se repite a lo largo del libro es “llorar”. A pesar de la consabida ridiculez de la poesía de Neruda, Residencia en la tierra es un cúmulo de imágenes que logran sobrevivir a la escupidera neorromántica. Alguna vez dijo: “Quién huye del mal gusto cae en el hielo”. Dale las gracias al frío entonces, Vate, porque la saliva de tus sinestesias se congeló –y menos mal–.
March 13, 2021
3.5
en algunos no entendí nada, otros meh pero otros tantos me gustaron mucho
en algunos no entendí nada, otros meh pero otros tantos me gustaron mucho
September 29, 2023
Deine Augen verhüllend, bringe mir langsam
dein Fernsein nah, bis an den Grund,
durchdringe mich mit deinem Dasein , ahnend,
daß mein Herz zugrunde gerichtet ist.
dein Fernsein nah, bis an den Grund,
durchdringe mich mit deinem Dasein , ahnend,
daß mein Herz zugrunde gerichtet ist.
March 13, 2025
vamos no me jodas, pero era humano?
March 20, 2017
'Residencia en la tierra' se opone en su significado a 'Tentativa del hombre infinito' y 'El habitante y su esperanza' en que en este poemario, Neruda amarra al hombre en una tierra que parece ser que está por acabarse. Tanto en 'Tentativa' como en "El habitante', Neruda pone de manifiesto ya incluso en el título su idea de elevar al hombre del mundanal suelo y lanzarlo al espacio y a otros mundos. En 'Residencia', además de tenerlo atado, hace constantes referencia a una Tierra marchita que dentro de muy poco acabará hecha polvo. Hay constantes referencias a colores que no expresan otra cosa que dolor y muerte. El color negro paso a un segundo plano y son el azul, el verde y el rojo los que ocupan el foco de la negatividad Nerudiana.
February 24, 2011
For me, Neruda's poetry is nourishment of the richest and most inspired sort - and in Residence on Earth its beautiful, lyrical melodies ring nearly as sublime in Donald Walsh's sterling translations as in the Spanish of the Chilean Master. Off-and-on my favorite collection of Neruda's genius, one that never sits for long on my bookshelves.
The day of the luckless, the pale day peers out
with a chill and piercing smell, with its forces gray,
without rattles, the dawn oozing everywhere:
it is a shipwreck in a void, surrounded by tears.
Because the moist, silent shadow departed from so many places,
from so many vain cavilings, so many earthly places
where it must have occupied even the design of the roots,
from so many sharp and self-defending shapes.
I weep amid invasion, among confusion,
among the swelling taste, lending an ear
to the pure circulation, to the increase
making pathless ways for what arrives,
what comes forth dressed in chains and carnations,
I dream, enduring my mortal remains.
There is nothing precipitous, or gay, or proud in form,
everything appears, taking shape with obvious poverty,
the light of the earth comes from its eyelids
not like the stroke of a bell but rather like tears:
the texture of the day, its feeble canvas,
serves as a bandage for the patients, serves to make signs
in a farewell, behind the absence:
it is the color that wants only to replace,
to cover, swallow, conquer, make distances.
I am alone among rickety substances,
the rain falls upon me and it seems like me,
like me with its madness, alone in the dead world,
rejected as it falls, and without persistent shape.
The day of the luckless, the pale day peers out
with a chill and piercing smell, with its forces gray,
without rattles, the dawn oozing everywhere:
it is a shipwreck in a void, surrounded by tears.
Because the moist, silent shadow departed from so many places,
from so many vain cavilings, so many earthly places
where it must have occupied even the design of the roots,
from so many sharp and self-defending shapes.
I weep amid invasion, among confusion,
among the swelling taste, lending an ear
to the pure circulation, to the increase
making pathless ways for what arrives,
what comes forth dressed in chains and carnations,
I dream, enduring my mortal remains.
There is nothing precipitous, or gay, or proud in form,
everything appears, taking shape with obvious poverty,
the light of the earth comes from its eyelids
not like the stroke of a bell but rather like tears:
the texture of the day, its feeble canvas,
serves as a bandage for the patients, serves to make signs
in a farewell, behind the absence:
it is the color that wants only to replace,
to cover, swallow, conquer, make distances.
I am alone among rickety substances,
the rain falls upon me and it seems like me,
like me with its madness, alone in the dead world,
rejected as it falls, and without persistent shape.
February 21, 2013
Certainly Neruda is one of the greatest poets in any language. This, I believe, is his magnum opus. Really three collections in one, it ranges over a vast terrain of love, endurance, teleology, politics, mourning and renewal. It is clear that the isolation he felt during his time abroad as a diplomat provided him the impetus to dive into primal regions in ways few are ever capable of. Nearly every line is stunning, a surprise that provides not just a source of thought but a new profound experience of something nearly on the other side of utterance. One feels his poems as spiritual insights that push up through earth like budding bulbs buried in earth during the spring awakening. And that is what’s so powerful about them: they seem to unite opposites, not merely ideationally but as visceral realizations. This is a collection I will be returning to again and again as one of the vital enduring sources.
January 21, 2019
Un gran descubrimiento. Nunca fui capaz de terminarme ''Veinte Poemas de Amor y una Canción Desesperada'' por lo que no me esperaba en absoluto que un poemario de Neruda fuese capaz de hacerme sentir tantas emociones. En esta obra, Neruda intenta romper con su poesía anterior en la que sentía que nunca decía todo lo que realmente quería decir y se lanza a la aventura de encontrar un nuevo camino poético sin dejar atrás su esencia y sus imágenes recurrentes (especialmente aquellas que le evocan a su infancia). ''Residencia en la Tierra'' es Neruda en estado puro: plasma sus verdaderos anhelos, sus frustraciones, sus miedos más profundos y sus recuerdos más lejanos.
May 18, 2009
I have a hard time reviewing poetry as I find poetry more visceral than cerebral, especially when it comes to Pablo Neruda. Even when he discusses his politics, or his environment, his words evoke such emotion in me. His poetry is not just about love for another woman as a lot of poetry does, and occasionally there is the disdainful poem which only illustrates to me his humanity.
Neruda is a poet to be experienced, not taught. Do yourself the favor of reading something by him.
Neruda is a poet to be experienced, not taught. Do yourself the favor of reading something by him.
August 18, 2022
Tenía asociado a Pablo Neruda con su archiconocida obra '20 poemas de amor y una canción desesperada', y cuando me he encontrado con estos poemas suyos tan misoginos, y horribles en muchos aspectos. Así como, cuando he descubierto rasgos de su personalidad y datos biográficos de él que despiden huéspedes, no he podido disfrutar nada del libro, porque no había nada de lo que disfrutar en él.
March 5, 2021
Meh ://
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