Cien sonetos de amor

100 Love Sonnets

 

 

By

 

Pablo Neruda

 

Translated by Stephen Tapscott

 

University of Texas Press

Austin

 

Paper, ISBN 0-292-78140-7

222 pages, $12.95

 

For 20th century love poetry in English, perhaps only Kenneth Rexroth s Sacramental Acts can rival Pablo Neruda s Cien sonetos de amor. Neruda s love poetry is powerful:

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

 

And where does Neruda take us?

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

 

Translator Stephen Tapscott notes that Quitratue in 1875 was a subtribe of 160, derived from the Araucanians, and that the name now applies to an area of desolate volcanic and glacial highlands. This landscape of the mind cannot be seen in the inside cover photograph of Neruda and Matilde Urrutia in their fifties, a birch tree behind them and woods around them, standing with their bodies touching, he with his pleasant smile, chin resting on her head, eyes nearly closed, as if the scent of her and the woods is the same; and she, too, smiling, her hand on his chest, his hands in his pockets. First published in Buenos Aires in 1960, then in 1986 in Austin, the depth of these sonnets goes deep into our own experience:

But I forgot that your hands fed the roots,

watering the tangled roses,

till your fingerprints bloomed

full, in a natural peace.

 

Composed of the traditional 14 lines, but in two quatrains, then two stanzas of three lines each, they also rebuke those who would have cast the poet out:

They re liars, those who say I lost the moon,

who foretold a future like a public desert for me,

who gossiped so much with their cold tongues:

they tried to ban the flower of the universe.

 

Neruda also knows the repressing power of silence, of time no good alone, of waiting for the one person impossible to live without:

Out of sheer taciturnity the ceiling listens

to the fall of the ancient leafless rain,

to feathers, to whatever the night imprisoned . . .

 

He separated from Delia del Carril, his wife of 18 years, in 1955, and began to live with Matilda Urrutia that same year. Tapscott notes that Out of delicacy for the feelings of Delia del Carril, Neruda withheld the publication of The Captain s Verses, addressed to Matilda, for some time. Awarded the Nobel Prize in 1971, he died in 1973 during the week the CIA-sponsored coup overthrew Allende. He spent his childhood in a volcanic, rainy and snow-capped wilderness and frontier called the Frontera, near the town of Temuco. It shows in his imagery.

. . . we are only one dark space,

a chalice filling with celestial ashes,

a drop in the pulse of a long slow river.

 

From 1939 on, he spent much of his time on Isla Negra, his house overlooking the sea. His house was La Chascona. Matilda joined him there.

It s good to feel you close in the night, Love,

invisible in your sleep, earnestly nocturnal,

while I untangle my confusions

like bewildered nets.

 

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