“Neruda’s lyricism wakes us up, even in the face of death, to the connections we have with our land, inner and outer.”— Los Angeles Times Book Review The first authorized English translation of Aún , considered among Neruda’s finest long poems. More aware than ever of his imminent death, these 28 cantos—written during two intensely lyrical days—launch the poet on a personal expedition in search of his deepest roots. It is a soaring tribute to the Chilean people, their history and survival that invokes the Araucanian Indians, the conquistadors who tried to enslave them, folklore, the people and places of his childhood and the sights and smells of the marketplace. As in the best poetry, Neruda’s particulars become profoundly universal. With an introduction by William O’Daly.
Pablo 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.
it was my destiny to love and say goodbye. * Each in the most hidden sack kept the lost jewels of memory, * Did the loneliness die that night? Or was I born then, of my solitude?
One long poem that left me teary-eyed and and contemplative. I wondered how I would say goodbye to my country, and recount all the places that touched my soul. I have never been to Chile, but this poem made me fall in love with it. It is not possible to not fall in love with Chile after reading Neruda. I love Chile because of Neruda first, and Allende second.
What can I say, it is utterly and completely beautiful that it hurts me to not know enough Spanish to read it without the English translation. I am quoting a couple of my favorite parts:
and who raise the Chilean flag in cold that it might freeze in wind that it might live in hard rain that it might cry they filled the world with police the hardware stores appeared the umbrellas were the new regional birds
I lived in the shuffle of unborn motherlands, in colonies that didn't know how to be born, with undrawn flags that would soon be bloodied. I lived by the campfire of badly wounded towns, and devoured my own anguish like strange bread.
I got goosebumps just from typing that. Thank you Pablo.
This small collection of Neruda's last words has great power, and the translation keeps that power while being close to a transliteration. Neruda weaves the imagery and themes of a lifetime together with local and national Chilean history to create poetry that is very personal yet universal. William O'Daly's translations retain that poetry as much as any translation can. Here is simplicity with heartbreaking truth:
y yo fui descubriendo, nombrando todas las cosas: fue mi destino amar y despedirme
and I was discovering, naming all these things: it was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
encontré este poemario en una tienda de segunda mano, es una joya. la leí tirada en el césped y aunque no conozco chile, muchos de sus poemas me llegaron como si describiera mi tierra.
Temuco, heart of water, heritage of foxglove: long ago your house in the wood was cradle and bell of my song and fortress of my solitude.
- - - -
We, the mortals, touch the metals, the wind, the ocean shores, the stones, knowing they will go on, inert or burning, and I was discovering, naming all these things: it was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
Pablo Neruda skrev angivelig dette verket over to dager, som en slags hilsen til verden i tiden etter at han ble diagnotisert med kreft. Noen få år etter at boken utkom, døde han.
Jeg har ikke så mye å si om selve boken, men jeg under lesingen av denne og andre diktsamlinger har jeg grunnet noe voldsomt på poesiens plass i verden, og i enda større grad poesiens verdi for meg selv. For jeg finner ingen glede i den, og at denne boken har høstet så mye lovtale står for meg som direkte komisk. Hva ER det folk ikke skjønner?
Så, for å fokusere på poesien i sin alminnelighet: Poetene er for meg altfor følelsesmessig orientert; de legger ut i det vide og det brede om sine sarte emosjoner uten å ofre den intellektuelle dimensjon en tanke. Og disse poesiens blotte følelser penetrerer meg ikke - de er så overfladiske; hvor er dybden? Det dreier seg som regel om fjerne minner, tapt barndom og annet ræl. Jeg ser ordene i en bok, men tillegger dem ingen videre verdi, for det er ordenes oppgave å gi MEG noe, ikke omvendt. Jeg forsøker ikke å sette meg inn i forfatterens hode og se ordene fra deres perspektiv (for dette er umulig), i stedet måles alt jeg leser eller på annet vis inntar av åndelig føde opp mot MEG, og poesien gir meg intet, den krever for mye, hvilket betyr at den ikke står på egne ben og derfor er tom.
Og for å kommentere denne boken, så kan jeg bare si at den var elendig. Lykkeligvis kort, 28 dikt over 30-35 sider, men den inneholdt en overflod av svada om det dikt pleier å handle om: minner, barndom (se ovenfor), patriotisme, hyllester til kjærligheten, naturen og andre skjønne ting ... I etterordet, som for øvrig var mer interessant enn alle sidene før, anbefalte faktisk oversetteren å lese denne boken akkompagnert av et kart over Chile, for liksom å få maksimalt utbytte av dette "enestående" diktverket. Hehe, det var jo litt komisk. Ja, dikt er for spesielt interesserte.
Aún - translated as yet, still, what hasn’t happened but to come. Written in his last days, this collection of poems by Neruda is surprisingly uplifting - death followed by rebirth, dust and stones, waves extending, retreating. The only reason why I rated lower is due to the translation - it seems to line break differently from the Spanish original and tends to reorder phrases into more prose-like rather than preserving the original poems.
At first I was not as impressed by the legendary Neruda as I thought I would be, but this book of poems quickly grew on me. I loved the imagery in the poems and I found myself smiling at some of the funny lines.
Nosotros, los perecederos, tocamos los metales, el viento, las orillas del océano, las piedras, sabiendo que seguirán inmóviles o ardientes, y yo fui descubriendo, nombrando todas las cosas: fue mi destino amar y despiderme.
A book-long poem in 28 parts, Neruda wrote this just before his death. The lines are sparer, and the writing to me seems surer, more definitive than in other books. The voice, ripe.
I love Neruda, but this lacks the pointed lyricism that made his earlier work so great. Nevertheless, this is a collection well worth reading. There are a few standout poems here, and Neruda's reflections on aging, death, and his homeland are clear and insightful. It's a more muted beauty than his earlier work, but there's a surprising grace in that. I have a feeling this will grow on me in subsequent readings.
I had heard about this poet when I was in high school Spanish classes, but it took on more meaning and significance for me when I studied in Chile. Pablo Neruda, a Chilean poet, speaks beautifully about the shape of life and how each stage of life is beautiful, difficult, simplistic, complex, etc. I am in awe as to the beauty and veracity of his words and how he can envoke various emotions in his readers.
A single long poem, forming Neruda's goodbye to Chile. I come out of it realizing that I don't know enough about the country to appreciate it -- too much of it becomes little more than names that mean nothing to me -- and appreciating just how much William O'Daly's translations did improve from this, his first volume.
I assume that, had I known more of Chile, I'd have rated this higher.
I'm going to give Neruda the benefit of the doubt and hope that some of this was lost in translation. It was okay, but didn't stun me or really move me. The line breaks were really dull and again, I'm betting that it's because I read the English translation.
What a powerful little book of poems. Written in just two days with such breath, bravado and poignant lyrical words that I read several of the poems out loud to catch his tone. Beautiful beauty!