Pablo Neruda and his many love poems | News

This September 23 marks the 49th anniversary of the physical departure of Chilean poet and politician Pablo Neruda at the age of 69 in the country’s capital.


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Ricardo Eliecer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto was born on July 12, 1904 in Parral, in the city of the south central region of Chile known as Pablo Neruda. He is the only son of Rosa Neftalí Basoalto and José del Carmen Reyes.

On July 8, the signature of Neftalí Reyes appears in the Temuco newspaper La Mañana with an article titled “Enthusiasm and perseverance.” A publication by the poet Pablo Neruda would appear there for the first time.

In 1920, an encounter changes the literary life of the Chilean writer. He meets Gabriela Mistral, who arrives in Temuco as director of the Girls’ Lyceum. In 1954 Neruda will remember this meeting: “… she made me read the first great names of Russian literature that had so much influence on me.”

In 1925 Neruda writes what would be his only novel: The inhabitant and his hope. In June 1934 he traveled to Madrid where he met up with Federico García Lorca and other poets from the generation of ’27, including Rafael Alberti and Miguel Hernández, great friends of the poet.

Here we share some poems that will help you learn more about the poet.

1- Friend, do not die

friend, don’t die

Listen to me these words that come out burning,

and that no one would say if I didn’t say them.

Friend, don’t die.

I am the one who waits for you in the starry night.

Which under the bloody setting sun awaits.

I watch the fruits fall on the dark earth.

I look dance the drops of dew on the grass.

At night to the thick perfume of roses,

when the circle of immense shadows dances.

Under the southern sky, the one that awaits you when

the evening air like a mouth kisses.

Friend, don’t die.

I am the one who cut the rebellious garlands

for the jungle bed fragrant with sun and jungle.

The one who brought yellow hyacinths in his arms.

And torn roses. And bloody poppies.

The one who crossed his arms to wait for you, now.

The guy that broke his arches. The one who bent his arrows.

I am the one who keeps the taste of grapes on my lips.

Fried clusters. Vermilion bites.

He who calls you from the plains sprouted.

I am the one who wishes you at the hour of love.

The afternoon air bends the high branches.

Drunk, my heart. under God, wobble.

The untied river bursts into tears and sometimes

his voice thins and becomes pure and tremulous.

The blue complaint of the water resounds in the evening.

Friend, don’t die!

I am the one who waits for you in the starry night,

on the golden beaches, on the blonde ages.

The one who cut hyacinths for your bed, and roses.

Lying among the grasses I am the

2- Here I stay

I don’t want a divided homeland.

Nor for seven bleeding knives:

I want the light of Chile raised

About the new house built:

We all fit in my land.

3-Tina Modotti has died

Tina Modotti, sister, you don’t sleep, no, you don’t sleep:

maybe your heart hears the rose grow

of yesterday, the last rose of yesterday, the new rose.

Rest sweetly, sister.

The new rose is yours, the earth is yours:

you’ve put on a new suit of deep seed

and your soft silence is filled with roots.

You will not sleep in vain, sister.

Pure is your sweet name, pure is your fragile life:

Of bee, shadow, fire, snow, silence, foam:

Of steel, line, pollen, your railway was built,

your slim frame.

The jackal to the jewel of your sleeping body

still shows the pen and the bloody soul

as if you could, sister, get up,

smiling in the mud

I’m taking you to my country so they don’t touch you,

to my homeland of snow so that your purity

do not reach the murderer, nor the jackal, nor the seller:

you will be calm there.

Do you hear a footstep, a footstep full of footsteps, something

great from the steppe, from the Don, from the cold?

Do you hear a solid soldier’s footstep in the snow?

Sister, it’s your steps.

One day they will pass by your little grave,

before yesterday’s roses fall apart,

They will go see the ones of a day, tomorrow,

where your silence is burning

A world goes to the place where you went, sister,

each day advances the songs of your mouth

in the mouth of the glorious town that you loved.

Your heart was brave.

In the old kitchens of your country, on the routes

dusty, something is said and happens,

something returns to the flame of your golden town,

something wakes up and sings.

They are yours, sister: those who tell you your name today,

those who from everywhere, from the water, from the land,

with your name other names we shut up and say,

because the Fire does not die.

4- Do not blame anyone

Never complain about anyone or anything

because basically you have done

what you wanted in your life.

Accept the difficulty of building yourself

yourself and the courage to start correcting yourself.

The triumph of the true man arises from

the ashes of your mistake.

Never complain about your loneliness or your luck,

face it with courage and accept it.

In one way or another it is the result of

your actions and prove that you always

you have to win..

Do not be bitter about your own failure or

you charge it to another, accept yourself now or

you will continue to justify yourself like a child.

Remember that any moment is

good to start and that neither is

so terrible to give up.

Do not forget that the cause of your present

is your past as well as the cause of your

future will be your present.

Learn from the bold, from the strong,

of those who do not accept situations,

who will live in spite of everything,

think less about your problems

and more in your work and your problems

without removing them they will die.

Learn to be born from pain and to be

bigger than the biggest obstacle,

look into the mirror of yourself

and you will be free and strong and you will stop being a

puppet of the circumstances because you

you are your destiny.

Get up and look at the sun in the morning

and breathe the light of dawn.

You are part of the force of your life,

now wake up, fight, walk,

make up your mind and you will succeed in life;

never think about luck,

because luck is:

the pretext of the unsuccessful…

5-The sea

I need the sea because it teaches me:

I don’t know if I learn music or conscience:

I don’t know if it’s a single wave or it’s deep

or only hoarse voice or dazzling

assumption of fish and ships.

The fact is that even when I’m asleep

somehow magnetic circle

at the university of the surf.

It’s not just the crushed shells

as if some trembling planet

gradual death will participate,

no, from the fragment I reconstruct the day,

from a streak of salt the stalactite

and from a spoonful the immense god.

What once taught me I keep it! It’s air

incessant wind, water and sand.

It seems little for the young man

that here came to live with its fires,

and yet the pulse that rose

and descended into its abyss,

the cold of the blue that crackled,

the collapse of the star,

the tender unfolding of the wave

wasting snow with the foam,

the still power, there, determined

Like a stone throne deep inside,

replaced the enclosure in which they grew

stubborn sadness, piling up oblivion,

and abruptly changed my existence:

I gave my allegiance to pure movement.