Sublime Blue: Selected Early Odes of Pablo Neruda
104
Sublime Blue: Selected Early Odes of Pablo Neruda
104eBook
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Overview
A translation of Pablo Neruda’s early collections of odes, this book features poems that are addressed to hope and to gloom, to numbers and to the atom, to blue flowers and to artichokes. Reflecting the lucent, candid vitality driving Neruda’s charming accounts, these poems celebrate things big and the small: even lamentations become commemorations. Compassionately amused one moment then sobered by injustice and supportive of resistance the next, this bilingual compilation will appeal to fans of one of the 20th century’s most popular poets.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781609401955 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Wings Press |
| Publication date: | 04/01/2013 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 104 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Pablo Neruda was the pen name of the Chilean writer and communist politician Ricardo Eliecer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto. He won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1971 and is the author of The Heights of Macchu Picchu and World's End. William Pitt Root is the author of numerous poetry collections, including Reasons For Going It On Foot, The Storm and Other Poems, and Trace Elements from a Recurring Kingdom: The First Five Books of William Pitt Root. He is the recipient of the Guy Owen awards, three Pushcart Prizes, and the Stanley Kunitz Prize. Most recently, he has served as the John C. Hodges visiting writer at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. He lives in Durango, California.
Date of Birth:
July 12, 1904Date of Death:
September 23, 1973Place of Birth:
Parral, ChilePlace of Death:
Santiago, ChileEducation:
University of Chile, SantiagoRead an Excerpt
Sublime Blue
Selected Early Odes of Pablo Neruda
By Pablo Neruda, William Pitt Root
Wings Press
Copyright © 2013 Wings PressAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-60940-197-9
CHAPTER 1
El hombre invisible
Yo me río,
me sonrío
de los viejos poetas,
yo adoro toda
la poesía escrita,
todo el rocío,
luna, diamante, gota
de plata sumergida,
que fue mi antiguo hermano,
agregando a la rosa,
pero
me sonrío
siempre dicen "yo"
a cada paso
les sucede algo,
es siempre "yo",
por las calles
sólo ellos andan
o la, dulce que aman,
nadie más,
no pasan pescadores,
ni libreros,
no pasan albañiles,
nadie se cae
de un andamio,
nadie sufre,
nadie ama,
sólo mi pobre hermano,
el poeta,
a él le pasan
todas las cosas
ya su dulce querida,
nadie vive
The Invisible Man
I laugh
and I smile
when it comes to the old poets,
I adore all
the poetry they wrote,
all the dewmoon-diamond-drops
of sunken silver
my older brother gathered
to improve upon the rose,
yet
I smile,
for always they say "I,"
every time
something happens,
always they say "I,"
through the streets
it is only they who walk
they or the one they love,
no one else is ever around,
no fishermen pass,
no booksellers,
bricklayers never pass,
no one tumbles
from a scaffold,
no one suffers,
no one's in love,
only my poor brother,
the poet,
all things happen
to him
or to his sweet mistress,
no one else even exists,
sino él solo,
nadie llora de hambre
o de ira,
nadie sufre en sus versos
porque no puede
pagar el alquiler,
a nadie en poesía
echan a la calle
con camas y con sillas
y en las fábricas
tampoco pasa nada,
no pasa nada,
se hacen paraguas, copas,
armas, locomotoras,
se extraen minerales
rascando el infierno,
hay huelga,
vienen soldados,
disparan,
disparan contra el pueblo,
es decir,
contra la poesía,
y mi hermano
el poeta
estaba enamorado, o sufría
porque sus sentimientos
son marinos,
ama los puertos
remotos, por sus nombres,
y escribe sobre océanos
que no conoce,
junto a la vida, repleta
como el maíz de granos,
él pasa sin saber
desgranarla,
él sube y baja
sin tocar la tierra,
just him and him alone,
no one cries out in hunger
or wrath,
in his verses no one suffers
unable
make the rent,
never in his poetry
is anyone thrown out into the street
along with the bed and chairs
and in the factories
nothing happens,
not a thing,
umbrellas are made, wine glasses,
weapons, locomotives,
scraping out that hell
they extract minerals,
there's a labor strike,
soldiers come,
they shoot,
they fire against the people,
that is to say
against poetry,
and my brother
the poet
is in love, or suffers
because of his passion
for the sea,
he loves exotic ports
for their names,
he writes of oceans
he doesn't know,
he passes right alongside of life
without knowing enough
to harvest its plenty bulging
like kernels from an ear of corn,
he falls and rises
without ever touching earth,
o a veces
se siente profundísimo
y tenebroso,
él es tan grande
que no cabe en sí mismo,
se enreda y desenreda,
se declara maldito,
lleva con gran dificultad la cruz
de las tinieblas,
piensa que es diferente
a todo el mundo,
todos los días come pan
pero no ha visto nunca
un panadero
ni ha entrado a un sindicato
de panificadores,
y así mi pobre hermano
se hace oscuro,
se tuerce y se retuerce
y se halla
interesante,
interesante,
ésta es la palabra,
yo no soy superior
a mi hermano
pero sonrío,
porque voy por las calles
y sólo yo no existo,
la vida corre
como todos los ríos,
yo soy el único
invisible,
no hay misteriosas sombras,
no hay tinieblas,
todo el mundo me habla,
me quieren contar cosas,
me hablan de sus parientes,
or sometimes
he feels profoundly sad,
a melancholy
so great
his mere body can no longer contain him
so he is entangled and untangled,
declares himself cursed,
with great difficulty carries the cross
of shadows,
he believes himself unique
in all the world,
every day he eats bread
but he's never greeted
a baker
never entered a baker's union,
and so my poor brother
surrenders himself to darkness,
tortures himself,
tortures himself again
and finds himself
interesting,
interesting,
that's the word,
nor am I superior
to my brother
when I smile,
because as I go through the streets
I alone do not exist,
life runs
as all rivers run,
I am the only one
invisible,
there are no mysterious shadows,
no darkness and gloom,
everyone speaks to me,
they want to tell me things,
they talk about their relatives,
de sus miserias
y de sus alegrías,
todos pasan y todos
me dicen algo,
y cuántas cosas hacen!:
cortan maderas,
suben hilos eléctricos,
amasan hasta tarde en la noche
el pan de cada día,
con una lanza de hierro
perforan las entrañas
de la tierra
y convierten el hierro
en cerraduras,
suben al cielo y llevan
cartas, sollozos, besos,
en cada puerta hay
alguien,
nace alguno,
o me espera la que amo,
y yo paso y las cosas
me piden que las cante,
yo no tengo tiempo,
debo pensar en todo,
debo volver a casa,
pasar al Partido,
qué puedo hacer,
todo me pide
que hable,
todo me pide
que cante y cante siempre,
todo está lleno
de sueños y sonidos,
la vida es una caja
llena de cantos, se abre
y vuela y viene
una bandada
their miseries
and their joys,
everyone comes by and everyone
tells me something new,
and how many things they do!
They chop down trees,
climb up electric poles,
late into night they knead loaves
for the daily bread,
with an iron lance
they pierce the entrails
of the earth
converting the iron there
into locks,
they climb to the very heavens carrying
letters, kisses, sobs,
in each doorway
there is someone,
someone is born;
or my love waits for me,
and as I pass
all things ask me to sing
about them,
I don't have time,
I should be mindful of everything,
I should go home,
should pass by the Party office,
but what can I do,
everything calls out
for me to speak,
everything asks me
to sing and sing forever,
everything brims
with dreams and sounds,
life is a box
full of songs, when it opens
out flies a flock
de pájaros
que quieren contarme
algo descansando en mis hombros,
la vida es una lucha
como un río que avanza
y los hombres
quieren decirme,
decirte,
por qué luchan,
si mueren,
por qué mueren,
y yo paso y no tengo
tiempo para tantas vidas,
yo quiero
que todos vivan
en mi vida
y canten en mi canto,
yo no tengo importancia,
no tengo tiempo
para mis asuntos,
de noche y de día
debo anotar lo que pasa,
y no olvidar a nadie.
Es verdad que de pronto
me fatigo
y miro las estrellas,
me tiendo en el pasto, pasa
un insecto color de violín,
pongo el brazo
sobre un pequeño seno
o bajo la cintura
de la dulce que amo,
y miro el terciopelo duro
de la noche que tiembla
con sus constelaciones congeladas,
entonces
siento subir a mi alma
of birds
who wish to tell me something
settling on my shoulders,
life is a struggle
like a river that advances
and men
want to tell me,
to tell you
why they struggle,
and if they die
why,
and I go on by without the time
for so many lives,
I want
everyone to live
through my life
and to sing through my song,
I'm not important,
I haven't time
for my own affairs,
night and day
I must record everything,
and forget no one.
It's true that suddenly
I tire
and look up at the stars,
I lie down in the grass, an insect
the color of a violin passes by,
I put my arm
across a small breast
or under the waist
of the one I love,
and I watch the tough velvet
of night trembling
with its frozen constellations,
then
feel rising through my soul
la ola de los misterios,
la infancia,
el llanto en los rincones,
la adolescencia triste,
y me da sueño,
y duermo
como un manzano,
me quedo dormido
de inmediato
con las estrellas o sin las estrellas,
con mi amor o sin ella,
y cuando me levanto
se fue la noche,
la calle ha despertado antes que yo,
a su trabajo
van las muchachas pobres,
los pescadores vuelven
del océano,
los mineros
van con zapatos nuevos
entrando en la mina,
todo vive,
todos pasan,
andan apresurados,
y yo tengo apenas tiempo
para vestirme,
yo tengo que correr:
ninguno puede
pasar sin que yo sepa
adónde va, qué cosa
le ha sucedido.
No puedo
sin la vida vivir,
sin el hombre ser hombre
y corro y veo y oigo
y canto,
las estrellas no tienen
the wave of mysteries,
of childhood,
the weeping in corners,
the sad adolescence,
and it makes me sleepy
and I sleep
like an apple tree,
immediately
I am sleeping gently
with the stars or without them,
with my love or without her,
and when I rise
night has gone,
the street has awakened before me,
the poor young women
are heading for work,
the fishermen returning
from the ocean,
the miners
with their new shoes
are entering the mine,
everything's alive,
everyone's passing by,
they walk by quickly,
and I scarcely have time
to dress,
I have to run:
no one should
pass without my knowing
where he goes, what
he does.
I cannot
live without life,
be a man without mankind
and I hurry and I hear and I see
and I sing,
for the stars
nada que ver conmigo,
la soledad no tiene
flor ni fruto.
Dadme para mi vida
todas las vidas,
dadme todo el dolor
de todo el mundo,
yo voy a transformarlo
en esperanza.
Dadme
todas las alegrías,
aun las más secretas,
porque si así no fuera,
cómo van a saberse?
Yo tengo que contarlas,
dadme
las luchas
de cada día
porque ellas son mi canto,
y así andaremos juntos,
codo a codo,
todos los hombres,
mi canto los reúne:
el canto del hombre invisible
que canta con todos los hombres.
have nothing to do with me,
solitude bears neither
flower nor fruit.
Give me for my life
all lives,
give me all the sorrow
of the whole world,
I will transform it
into hope.
Give me
all joys,
even the most intimate,
otherwise
how shall they be known?
I have to speak of them,
give me
the struggles of
each day
because they are my song,
and so we will walk together,
elbow to elbow,
all mankind,
my song reunites them:
song of the invisible man
who sings with all mankind.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Sublime Blue by Pablo Neruda, William Pitt Root. Copyright © 2013 Wings Press. Excerpted by permission of Wings Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Introduction: "Our Bread and Our Dream",El hombre invisible,
The Invisible Man,
Oda a la alcahofa,
Ode to the Artichoke,
Oda al dtomo,
Ode to the Atom,
Oda a la esperanza,
Ode to Hope,
Oda a la flor azul,
Ode to the Blue Flower,
Oda a la intranquilidad,
Ode to Restlessness,
Oda a la malvenida,
Ode to the Unwelcome One,
Oda a los numeros,
Ode to Numbers,
Oda a los poetas populares,
Ode to the Poets of the People,
Oda a la tristeza,
Ode to Gloom,
Oda a la pobreza,
Ode to Poverty,
Oda al vino,
Ode to Wine,
About the Translator,
Acknowledgments,