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Love Poems
Charged with sensuality and passion, Pablo Neruda's love poems are the most celebrated of the Nobel Prize winner's oeuvre, captivating readers with earthbound images and reveling in a fiery re-imagining of the world. Mostly written on the island paradise of Capri (the idyllic setting of the Oscar-winning movie Il Postino), Love Poems embraces the seascapes surrounding the poet, and his love Matilde Urrutia, their waves and shores saturated with a new, yearning eroticism.
And when you appear
all the rivers sound
in my body, bells
shake the sky,
and a hymn fills the world.
© 1973 by Neruda & Walsh
And when you appear
all the rivers sound
in my body, bells
shake the sky,
and a hymn fills the world.
© 1973 by Neruda & Walsh
90 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1952
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About the author
Pablo Neruda
945books9,397followersPablo 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 981 reviews
October 29, 2017
The poems in this collection by Nobel winning Neruda are full, muscular with heart, bursting red in passionate blood, round and loud and straightforward in their declarations. I am sure to re-read them in the future.
from Absence
My love,
we have found each other
thirsty and we have
drunk up all the water and the blood,
we found each other
hungry
and we bit each other
as fire bites,
leaving wounds in us.
But wait for me,
keep for me your sweetness.
I will give you too
a rose.
from Absence
My love,
we have found each other
thirsty and we have
drunk up all the water and the blood,
we found each other
hungry
and we bit each other
as fire bites,
leaving wounds in us.
But wait for me,
keep for me your sweetness.
I will give you too
a rose.
December 12, 2016
Absolutely gorgeous
November 1, 2019
In you I know again how I am born.
In Nerudian universe love is a force of nature and the beloved an embodiment of the Earth, a telluric metaphor par excellence - and deliciously erotic.
Your shoulders rise like two hills
your breasts wander over my breast,
my arm scarcely managed to encircle the thin
new-moon line of your waist:
in love you have loosened yourself like sea water:
I can scarcely measure the sky’s most spacious eyes
and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth.
---
And when you appear
all the rivers sound
in my body, bells
shake the sky,
and a hymn fills the world.
In Eastern poetics love is a feminine sentiment, a silent tempest that rises from the depths of the heart and expressed in a female voice to best capture the desire, longing, pain, and eternal wait � poetry’s tools of trade. Neruda’s love is not only loud and celebratory but intense and masculine - and unabashedly so.
I have scarcely left you
when you go in me, crystalline,
or trembling,
or uneasy, wounded by me
or overwhelmed with love, as when your eyes
close upon the gift of life
that without cease I give you.
He has an exceptional talent for creating striking imagery and stunning phrases out of everyday objects and ordinary natural phenomena. He can transform the mundane into sublime with a few strokes of the pen in such a way that I have never seen any other do. There aren’t many examples of Neruda's high imagery in this short selection, for which one needs to read Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, but there are a few nevertheless:
Your wide fruit mouth
your red tresses
my little tower
---
Winter is not yet gone,
and the apple tree appears
suddenly changed
into a cascade of fragrant stars.
---
And silently,
to our house
in the night and the shadow,
with your steps will enter
perfume’s silent step
and with starry feet
the clear body of spring.
October '19
In Nerudian universe love is a force of nature and the beloved an embodiment of the Earth, a telluric metaphor par excellence - and deliciously erotic.
Your shoulders rise like two hills
your breasts wander over my breast,
my arm scarcely managed to encircle the thin
new-moon line of your waist:
in love you have loosened yourself like sea water:
I can scarcely measure the sky’s most spacious eyes
and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth.
---
And when you appear
all the rivers sound
in my body, bells
shake the sky,
and a hymn fills the world.
In Eastern poetics love is a feminine sentiment, a silent tempest that rises from the depths of the heart and expressed in a female voice to best capture the desire, longing, pain, and eternal wait � poetry’s tools of trade. Neruda’s love is not only loud and celebratory but intense and masculine - and unabashedly so.
I have scarcely left you
when you go in me, crystalline,
or trembling,
or uneasy, wounded by me
or overwhelmed with love, as when your eyes
close upon the gift of life
that without cease I give you.
He has an exceptional talent for creating striking imagery and stunning phrases out of everyday objects and ordinary natural phenomena. He can transform the mundane into sublime with a few strokes of the pen in such a way that I have never seen any other do. There aren’t many examples of Neruda's high imagery in this short selection, for which one needs to read Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, but there are a few nevertheless:
Your wide fruit mouth
your red tresses
my little tower
---
Winter is not yet gone,
and the apple tree appears
suddenly changed
into a cascade of fragrant stars.
---
And silently,
to our house
in the night and the shadow,
with your steps will enter
perfume’s silent step
and with starry feet
the clear body of spring.
October '19
September 3, 2016
“IF YOU FORGET ME
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day, each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day, each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
February 14, 2025
Love was the central theme that informed the life and work of Pablo Neruda, and the great Chilean poet wrote about love like few others before or since. How fortunate for lovers everywhere that this Nobel Prize-winning poet set down in this volume of poems his enduring passion for Matilde Urrutia, the love of his life.
This edition of Love Poems is an abridged English-language translation of Los versos de capitán (1952), a collection of poems that Neruda wrote in a singularly beautiful place during a particularly difficult time. Compelled to leave his native Chile in 1949 because his far-left politics put him at odds with Chile’s ultra-conservative government, Neruda by 1952 was in exile on the Italian island of Capri with Matilde Urrutia, his physical therapist-turned-lover � a situation that was later dramatized in the film Il Postino (The Postman) (1994). These poems capture well the beauty of the island and the depth of Pablo’s love for Matilde.
“El Viento en la Isla� (“Wind on the Island�) conveys well the way in which imagery of the natural beauty of Capri blends with figurative language that emphasizes the erotic passion and emotional intimacy joining the two lovers:
“Con tu frente en mi frente,
con tu boca en mi boca,
atados nuestros cuerpos
al amor que nos quema,
deja que el viento pase
sin que pueda llevarme.
“Deja que el viento corra
coronado de espuma,
que me llame y me busque
galopando en la sombra,
mientras yo, sumergido
bajo tus grandes ojos,
por esta noche sola
descansaré, amor mío.�
“With your brow on my brow,
with your mouth on my mouth,
our bodies tied
to the love that consumes us,
let the wind pass
and not take me away.
“Let the wind rush
crowned with foam,
let it call to me and seek me
galloping in the shadow,
while I, sunk
beneath your big eyes,
just for this night
shall rest, my love.� (pp. 20-23)
“Oda y Germinaciones� (“Ode and Germination�) likewise uses rich imagery of the natural world to illustrate the love of Pablo and Matilde, along with a suggestion that exile from his Chilean homeland has helped to reinforce Neruda’s certainty that Matilde is now his emotional home:
“No sé, no me lo digas, no lo sabes.
Nadie sabe estas cosas.
Pero acercando todos mis sentidos
a la luz de tu piel, desapareces,
te fundes como el ácido
aroma de una fruta
y el calor de un camino,
el olor de maíz que se desgrana,
la madreselva de la tarde pura,
los nombres de la tierra polvorienta,
el perfume infinito de la patria:
magnolia y matorral, sangre y harina,
galope de caballos,
la luna polvorienta de la aldea,
el pan recién nacido:
ay todo de tu piel vuelve a mi boca,
vuelve a mi corazón, vuelve a mi cuerpo,
y vuelvo a ser contigo
la tierra que tú eres:
eres en mí profunda primavera:
vuelvo a saber en ti cómo germino.�
“I don’t know, don’t tell me, you don’t know.
Nobody knows these things.
But bringing all my senses close
to the light of your skin, you disappear,
you melt like the acid
aroma of a fruit
and the heat of a road,
and the smell of corn being stripped,
the honeysuckle of the pure afternoon,
the names of the dusty earth,
the infinite perfume of our country:
magnolia and thicket, blood and flour,
the gallop of horses,
the village’s dusty moon,
newborn bread:
ah from your skin everything comes back to my mouth,
comes back to my heart, comes back to my body,
and with you I become again
the earth that you are:
you are deep spring in me:
in you I know again how I am born.� (pp. 44-47)
“E辱ٳ� (“Epithalamium�) takes its title from a genre of poetry that would be written for a bride on her way to her bridal chamber for her wedding night. Imagery of the seasons on their island of Capri joins evocatively with metaphoric expressions of the wedding-night joy of lovers� union:
“Y así ves, amor mio,
cómo marcho
por la isla,
por el mundo,
seguro en medio de la primavera,
loco de luz en el frío,
andando tranquilo en el fuego,
levantando tu peso
de pétalo en mis brazos
como si nunca hubiera caminado
sino contigo, alma mía,
como si no supiera caminar
sino contigo,
como si no supiera cantar
sino cuando tú cantas.�
“And so you see, my love,
how I move
around the island,
around the world,
safe in the midst of spring,
crazy with light in the cold,
walking tranquil in the fire,
lifting your petal
weight in my arms
as if I had never walked
except with you, my heart,
as if I could not walk
except with you,
as if I could not sing
except when you sing.� (pp. 66-67)
These poems fairly burst with rich and evocative figurative language, as when Neruda writes in “Oda Con Una Lamento� (“Ode With a Lament�) that “Tú eres como una espada azul y verde/y ondulas a tocarte, como un río� (“You are like a blue and green sword/and you ripple, when I touch you, like a river�) (p. 81).
Neruda died in 1973, at the age of 69. At first, it was thought that he had died of natural causes. More recently, however, it has been suggested that the great poet may have been murdered by agents of Augusto Pinochet’s regime. But no dictator can silence Neruda’s voice, or take away from the way in which this great poet captures the pure joy � emotional, spiritual, and physical � of finding true love. Read this volume, and fall in love with your true love all over again.
This edition of Love Poems is an abridged English-language translation of Los versos de capitán (1952), a collection of poems that Neruda wrote in a singularly beautiful place during a particularly difficult time. Compelled to leave his native Chile in 1949 because his far-left politics put him at odds with Chile’s ultra-conservative government, Neruda by 1952 was in exile on the Italian island of Capri with Matilde Urrutia, his physical therapist-turned-lover � a situation that was later dramatized in the film Il Postino (The Postman) (1994). These poems capture well the beauty of the island and the depth of Pablo’s love for Matilde.
“El Viento en la Isla� (“Wind on the Island�) conveys well the way in which imagery of the natural beauty of Capri blends with figurative language that emphasizes the erotic passion and emotional intimacy joining the two lovers:
“Con tu frente en mi frente,
con tu boca en mi boca,
atados nuestros cuerpos
al amor que nos quema,
deja que el viento pase
sin que pueda llevarme.
“Deja que el viento corra
coronado de espuma,
que me llame y me busque
galopando en la sombra,
mientras yo, sumergido
bajo tus grandes ojos,
por esta noche sola
descansaré, amor mío.�
“With your brow on my brow,
with your mouth on my mouth,
our bodies tied
to the love that consumes us,
let the wind pass
and not take me away.
“Let the wind rush
crowned with foam,
let it call to me and seek me
galloping in the shadow,
while I, sunk
beneath your big eyes,
just for this night
shall rest, my love.� (pp. 20-23)
“Oda y Germinaciones� (“Ode and Germination�) likewise uses rich imagery of the natural world to illustrate the love of Pablo and Matilde, along with a suggestion that exile from his Chilean homeland has helped to reinforce Neruda’s certainty that Matilde is now his emotional home:
“No sé, no me lo digas, no lo sabes.
Nadie sabe estas cosas.
Pero acercando todos mis sentidos
a la luz de tu piel, desapareces,
te fundes como el ácido
aroma de una fruta
y el calor de un camino,
el olor de maíz que se desgrana,
la madreselva de la tarde pura,
los nombres de la tierra polvorienta,
el perfume infinito de la patria:
magnolia y matorral, sangre y harina,
galope de caballos,
la luna polvorienta de la aldea,
el pan recién nacido:
ay todo de tu piel vuelve a mi boca,
vuelve a mi corazón, vuelve a mi cuerpo,
y vuelvo a ser contigo
la tierra que tú eres:
eres en mí profunda primavera:
vuelvo a saber en ti cómo germino.�
“I don’t know, don’t tell me, you don’t know.
Nobody knows these things.
But bringing all my senses close
to the light of your skin, you disappear,
you melt like the acid
aroma of a fruit
and the heat of a road,
and the smell of corn being stripped,
the honeysuckle of the pure afternoon,
the names of the dusty earth,
the infinite perfume of our country:
magnolia and thicket, blood and flour,
the gallop of horses,
the village’s dusty moon,
newborn bread:
ah from your skin everything comes back to my mouth,
comes back to my heart, comes back to my body,
and with you I become again
the earth that you are:
you are deep spring in me:
in you I know again how I am born.� (pp. 44-47)
“E辱ٳ� (“Epithalamium�) takes its title from a genre of poetry that would be written for a bride on her way to her bridal chamber for her wedding night. Imagery of the seasons on their island of Capri joins evocatively with metaphoric expressions of the wedding-night joy of lovers� union:
“Y así ves, amor mio,
cómo marcho
por la isla,
por el mundo,
seguro en medio de la primavera,
loco de luz en el frío,
andando tranquilo en el fuego,
levantando tu peso
de pétalo en mis brazos
como si nunca hubiera caminado
sino contigo, alma mía,
como si no supiera caminar
sino contigo,
como si no supiera cantar
sino cuando tú cantas.�
“And so you see, my love,
how I move
around the island,
around the world,
safe in the midst of spring,
crazy with light in the cold,
walking tranquil in the fire,
lifting your petal
weight in my arms
as if I had never walked
except with you, my heart,
as if I could not walk
except with you,
as if I could not sing
except when you sing.� (pp. 66-67)
These poems fairly burst with rich and evocative figurative language, as when Neruda writes in “Oda Con Una Lamento� (“Ode With a Lament�) that “Tú eres como una espada azul y verde/y ondulas a tocarte, como un río� (“You are like a blue and green sword/and you ripple, when I touch you, like a river�) (p. 81).
Neruda died in 1973, at the age of 69. At first, it was thought that he had died of natural causes. More recently, however, it has been suggested that the great poet may have been murdered by agents of Augusto Pinochet’s regime. But no dictator can silence Neruda’s voice, or take away from the way in which this great poet captures the pure joy � emotional, spiritual, and physical � of finding true love. Read this volume, and fall in love with your true love all over again.
December 14, 2018
Hard to believe Neruda's love poems caused such a scandal when first published anonymously in 1952.
Yes there is eroticism, but it's done in the best possible taste - romantic, gorgeous, a celebration, not tacky or dirty. At the end of the day, Love is the greatest, grandest, most brilliant thing on earth, and this collection absolutely shows that. It is difficult to find an analogue for the sustained passion and gentleness communicated in this absolutely stunning apotheosis of the poetry of sexual love.
Along with 'Twenty Love Poems And A Song Of Despair', this, I believe is Neruda at his peak, in terms of writing from deep within the heart on the one true thing that nobody can take away from us.
Simply a little book to treasure. Stunningly beautiful on every page.
Yes there is eroticism, but it's done in the best possible taste - romantic, gorgeous, a celebration, not tacky or dirty. At the end of the day, Love is the greatest, grandest, most brilliant thing on earth, and this collection absolutely shows that. It is difficult to find an analogue for the sustained passion and gentleness communicated in this absolutely stunning apotheosis of the poetry of sexual love.
Along with 'Twenty Love Poems And A Song Of Despair', this, I believe is Neruda at his peak, in terms of writing from deep within the heart on the one true thing that nobody can take away from us.
Simply a little book to treasure. Stunningly beautiful on every page.
January 9, 2015
Always
I am not jealous
of what came before me.
Come with a man
on your shoulders,
come with a hundred men in your hair,
come with a thousand men between your breasts and your feet,
come like a river
full of drowned men
which flows down to the wild sea,
to the eternal surf, to Time!
Bring them all
to where I am waiting for you;
we shall always be alone,
we shall always be you and I
alone on earth,
to start our life!
Neruda took my hand and opened the magical world of Poetry to me. Love brought me to him , he had words for what could not be expressed. I borrowed from him to write my love letters. And everything changes when you love poetry. There is hope of finding beauty where none, I had noticed before.
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.�
� Marcel Proust
Neruda helped me in finding new eyes. And new poets. Some dead ,some dying...
All making death irrelevant.
I am not jealous
of what came before me.
Come with a man
on your shoulders,
come with a hundred men in your hair,
come with a thousand men between your breasts and your feet,
come like a river
full of drowned men
which flows down to the wild sea,
to the eternal surf, to Time!
Bring them all
to where I am waiting for you;
we shall always be alone,
we shall always be you and I
alone on earth,
to start our life!
Neruda took my hand and opened the magical world of Poetry to me. Love brought me to him , he had words for what could not be expressed. I borrowed from him to write my love letters. And everything changes when you love poetry. There is hope of finding beauty where none, I had noticed before.
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.�
� Marcel Proust
Neruda helped me in finding new eyes. And new poets. Some dead ,some dying...
All making death irrelevant.
February 3, 2020
I don’t read poetry very much at all but felt inspired to read this small collection as Pablo Neruda plays an important role in Isabel Allende’s latest book The Long Petal of the Sea. The title is how Neruda describes Chile. Most of these poems are written on Capri and concern the sea, the landscape and his love for Mathilde Urrutia. This is a beautiful and lyrical collection which is a pleasure to read. I especially like Your Laughter, Wind on the Island, Ode and Burgeonings and Epithalamium but they are all very romantic and passionate.
November 10, 2021
enjoyed reading this one
August 12, 2020
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
What good is a poet in this mercantile, selfish modern world? Recently, I watched a wonderful movie about the late years of Pablo Neruda, living in exile on a small, sunny island near Italy. [“Il Postino”] It made me realize I have heard this name for years, came across scattered verses of his, but I still haven’t tried to sit down a really dig into one of his collections. If you need an argument that love is more than an excuse for selling Valentine Day’s merchandise, an invention of insolvent authors in need of quick cash, this collection of the love poems written by the celebrated Chilean author is the place to go.
Perhaps very late
our dreams joined
at the top or at the bottom,
up above like branches moved by a common wind,
down bellow like red roots that touch.
As luck would have, I came across a bilingual edition: my rudimentary Spanish is still good enough to make me appreciate the original rhythm, the musicality of the phrasing, to compare the sonorous Latino expressions so familiar from countless pop tunes with the chosen translation. I think the editors did a decent job, given how difficult it is to transfer poetry into a different language. The free verse format of most of these poems give a certain liberty to the translator, but I still wish I had taken Spanish instead of German lessons in school, so I could read these stanzas aloud or put them to music, as they should be.
You know how this is:
If I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
There are certainly recurrent images from one poem to the next, a sense of intimacy, passion, laughter that as a whole forms the key to open to the doors of life, an island world created anew for a population of two, an escape from the madness of ordinary life, a place where the universe itself is just within the reach of your fingers, where the flesh is reconciled with the spirit, where everything (the crashing waves of the sea, the moon and the stars, the passing of the seasons, a campfire on an empty beach) is interchangeable with the landscape of the body, with the music of blood rushing from the heart to the tips of the fingers and time becomes fluid and circular as a second, an hour, a day become interchangeable with eternity.
... a leaf
that dropped upon my breast,
a leaf from the tree
of life
that made a nest and sang,
that put out roots,
that gave flowers and fruits.
And so I come back to “Il Postino� and the power of poetry to inspire and to guide us through life, help us find our roots and help us find the words to express the deepest emotions. I find in Neruda an extraordinary clarity of expression, an apparent economy of stylistic fireworks, a candid honesty that speaks directly to the soul, across geographical or cultural borders, a message of hope in our ability to reach out and communicate with each other in a world that pushes us relentlessly to become cynical and callous.
Night sugar, spirit of crowns
redeemed human blood, your kisses
banish me,
and a surge of water with remnants of the sea
strikes the silences that wait for you
surrounding the worn-out chairs,
wearing doors away.
>>><<<>>><<<
And interesting follow-up to this collection would be a comparison with the more militant, political poems of the author. I would also like to trace his influence on a generation of new poets that came after him, in particular one from my hometown named Nichita Stanescu, who right now strikes me as heavily indebted in some of his works to the style and imagery of Neruda.
July 22, 2014
Absence:
My love,
we have found each other
thirsty and we have
drunk up all the water and the blood,
we found each other
hungry
and we bit each other
as fire bites,
leaving wounds in us.
hold me close, recite this in Spanish and watch me melt...
divine.
My love,
we have found each other
thirsty and we have
drunk up all the water and the blood,
we found each other
hungry
and we bit each other
as fire bites,
leaving wounds in us.
hold me close, recite this in Spanish and watch me melt...
divine.
December 31, 2012
One of my favorites of Many.....
"If You Forget Me"
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
By Pablo Neruda
"If You Forget Me"
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
By Pablo Neruda
July 16, 2023
“Bring your substance deep down to me, heavily, covering my eyes, let your existence cut across me, supposing that my heart is destroyed.�
January 1, 2015
And one by one the nights
between our separated cities
are joined to the night that unites us.
The light of each day,
its flame or its repose,
they deliver to us, taking them from time,
and so our treasure
is disinterred in shadow or light,
and so our kisses kiss life:
all love is enclosed in our love:
all thirst ends in our embrace.
Here we are at last face to face,
we have met,
we have lost nothing
between our separated cities
are joined to the night that unites us.
The light of each day,
its flame or its repose,
they deliver to us, taking them from time,
and so our treasure
is disinterred in shadow or light,
and so our kisses kiss life:
all love is enclosed in our love:
all thirst ends in our embrace.
Here we are at last face to face,
we have met,
we have lost nothing
February 12, 2019
Such beautiful poems!
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November 2, 2017
I have been told that if I want to appreciate poetry than I should read Pablo Neruda. Perhaps it was the translation, but I was just not enthralled by this collection. There were a few good gems that I found, but I was overall just not impressed. Maybe I am just missing something? Or maybe poetry is just not my thing. If you like poetry and have never read Neruda, I would definitely still give this collection a go, maybe you will get more out of it than I did.
April 15, 2022
YOUR LAUGHTER
Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
Do not take away the rose,
the lanceflower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in your joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.
Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.
Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
Do not take away the rose,
the lanceflower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in your joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.
Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.
December 30, 2013
Only lovers can accept the pink cover
And gold, curvy lettering
And accept them as non-hyperbolic,
As a necessity,
As the color and script of the island
Where the wind gallops like a horse
And where not even night can separate them.
Singletons will like the slender shape,
The back pocket worthiness
Of the hand sized rectangles
Of downed trees.
They will compliment the translation,
Or else,
They will scoff at the color of sunset
And discard this volume for one that is more
Economical with its words-
Perhaps Emily Dickenson.
But lovers...
Lovers will tear out a favored page and
Smudge it with many transports
From pocket to folder to another pair of hands and
Celebrate it's return with a freshly fondled read,
Feeling the paper with eyes and fingertips.
Singletons will quote.
Lovers have no need.
(Ta-da! I shall now take a bow. Thank you, thank you. Thank you very much)
And gold, curvy lettering
And accept them as non-hyperbolic,
As a necessity,
As the color and script of the island
Where the wind gallops like a horse
And where not even night can separate them.
Singletons will like the slender shape,
The back pocket worthiness
Of the hand sized rectangles
Of downed trees.
They will compliment the translation,
Or else,
They will scoff at the color of sunset
And discard this volume for one that is more
Economical with its words-
Perhaps Emily Dickenson.
But lovers...
Lovers will tear out a favored page and
Smudge it with many transports
From pocket to folder to another pair of hands and
Celebrate it's return with a freshly fondled read,
Feeling the paper with eyes and fingertips.
Singletons will quote.
Lovers have no need.
(Ta-da! I shall now take a bow. Thank you, thank you. Thank you very much)
September 15, 2019
A small solid collection of poems. Night on the island being my favorite of them all. Weird aside I’m almost positive that Pablo spent a lot of time on Capri coming to terms with a foot fetish and it shows. But no kink shaming here, to each his own. Just sometimes very obvious.
December 24, 2020
Wowsome!!!!
It's hard not to fall in love with myself or with the idea of love or just to relive memories while reading this one👍
I would so love to read out loud the lines written here....
I would so like to recommend this book of love poems.
My first ever reread of a poetry book 😘
I would so recommend this book as a gift choice for the upcoming Valentines.
Damn, am I going crazy and mushy all over again?!
It's hard not to fall in love with myself or with the idea of love or just to relive memories while reading this one👍
I would so love to read out loud the lines written here....
I would so like to recommend this book of love poems.
My first ever reread of a poetry book 😘
I would so recommend this book as a gift choice for the upcoming Valentines.
Damn, am I going crazy and mushy all over again?!
September 25, 2018
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.
Favourite poems: 'Your Feet,' 'Wind on the Island,' and 'Always'
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.
Favourite poems: 'Your Feet,' 'Wind on the Island,' and 'Always'
August 18, 2021
A beautifull collection of poems by one of my favorite poets.
Neruda's words are entrancing and I have loved every second spent wrapped up in his lyrical voice.
This is probably one of my favorite poems in the collection:
Farewell
Desde el fondo de ti, y arrodillado,
un niño triste, como yo, nos mira.
Por esa vida que arderá en sus venas
tendrían que amarrarse nuestras vidas.
Por esas manos, hijas de tus manos,
tendrían que matar las manos mías.
Por sus ojos abiertos en la tierra
veré en los tuyos lágrimas un día.
2
Yo no lo quiero, Amada.
Para que nada nos amarre
que no nos una nada.
Ni la palabra que aromó tu boca,
ni lo que no dijeron las palabras.
Ni la fiesta de amor que no tuvimos,
ni tus sollozos junto a la ventana.
3
(Amo el amor de los marineros
que besan y se van.
Dejan una promesa.
No vuelven nunca más.
En cada puerto una mujer espera:
los marineros besan y se van.
Una noche se acuestan con la muerte
en el lecho del mar).
4
Amor el amor que se reparte
en besos, lecho y pan.
Amor que puede ser eterno
y puede ser fugaz.
Amor que quiere libertarse
para volver a amar.
Amor divinizado que se acerca
Amor divinizado que se va.
5
Ya no se encantarán mis ojos en tus ojos,
ya no se endulzará junto a ti mi dolor.
Pero hacia donde vaya llevaré tu mirada
y hacia donde camines llevarás mi dolor.
Fui tuyo, fuiste mía. Qué más? Juntos hicimos
un recodo en la ruta donde el amor pasó.
Fui tuyo, fuiste mía. Tú serás del que te ame,
del que corte en tu huerto lo que he sembrado yo.
Yo me voy. Estoy triste: pero siempre estoy triste.
Vengo desde tus brazos. No sé hacia dónde voy.
...Desde tu corazón me dice adiós un niño.
Y yo le digo adiós.
Neruda's words are entrancing and I have loved every second spent wrapped up in his lyrical voice.
This is probably one of my favorite poems in the collection:
Farewell
Desde el fondo de ti, y arrodillado,
un niño triste, como yo, nos mira.
Por esa vida que arderá en sus venas
tendrían que amarrarse nuestras vidas.
Por esas manos, hijas de tus manos,
tendrían que matar las manos mías.
Por sus ojos abiertos en la tierra
veré en los tuyos lágrimas un día.
2
Yo no lo quiero, Amada.
Para que nada nos amarre
que no nos una nada.
Ni la palabra que aromó tu boca,
ni lo que no dijeron las palabras.
Ni la fiesta de amor que no tuvimos,
ni tus sollozos junto a la ventana.
3
(Amo el amor de los marineros
que besan y se van.
Dejan una promesa.
No vuelven nunca más.
En cada puerto una mujer espera:
los marineros besan y se van.
Una noche se acuestan con la muerte
en el lecho del mar).
4
Amor el amor que se reparte
en besos, lecho y pan.
Amor que puede ser eterno
y puede ser fugaz.
Amor que quiere libertarse
para volver a amar.
Amor divinizado que se acerca
Amor divinizado que se va.
5
Ya no se encantarán mis ojos en tus ojos,
ya no se endulzará junto a ti mi dolor.
Pero hacia donde vaya llevaré tu mirada
y hacia donde camines llevarás mi dolor.
Fui tuyo, fuiste mía. Qué más? Juntos hicimos
un recodo en la ruta donde el amor pasó.
Fui tuyo, fuiste mía. Tú serás del que te ame,
del que corte en tu huerto lo que he sembrado yo.
Yo me voy. Estoy triste: pero siempre estoy triste.
Vengo desde tus brazos. No sé hacia dónde voy.
...Desde tu corazón me dice adiós un niño.
Y yo le digo adiós.
February 9, 2015
Tropecei num poema (ou parte dele) um dia destes e tive imensa vontade de ler a obra poética ao qual pertencia: esta. É uma edição bilingue de espanhol e inglês.
Nunca fui leitora de poesia, é algo que acho bonito e do mais difícil de produzir na arte. Em poucas linhas é possível dizer tanta coisa...
Na escola, não houve incentivo à poesia, quando líamos um poema de Pessoa ele dizia-nos determinada coisa mas a professora dizia que não, não era esse o sentido. Sempre achei que a poesia tem um sentido diferente para cada pessoa, a poesia e não só, consoante aquilo que somos e aquilo que já vivemos. Quando sabemos o que é o amor, os poemas de amor são mais sentidos, mais verdadeiros, mais profundos... quando não sabemos podemos achar belo mas não dar o valor que damos quando já sabemos o que é.
Ainda ando à procura a medo de um poeta que me faça apaixonar pela poesia. Admiro quem lê poesia e adora porque eu não consigo e quando consigo é de um poema em muitos de um autor. Com Neruda não foi exceção. Gostei de um ou dois mas não adorei. É bonita a sua poesia, cheia de referências à natureza e ao corpo humano. Muita presença dos símbolos fogo e da rosa, os eternos símbolos do amor.
Ainda não foi desta.
Nunca fui leitora de poesia, é algo que acho bonito e do mais difícil de produzir na arte. Em poucas linhas é possível dizer tanta coisa...
Na escola, não houve incentivo à poesia, quando líamos um poema de Pessoa ele dizia-nos determinada coisa mas a professora dizia que não, não era esse o sentido. Sempre achei que a poesia tem um sentido diferente para cada pessoa, a poesia e não só, consoante aquilo que somos e aquilo que já vivemos. Quando sabemos o que é o amor, os poemas de amor são mais sentidos, mais verdadeiros, mais profundos... quando não sabemos podemos achar belo mas não dar o valor que damos quando já sabemos o que é.
Ainda ando à procura a medo de um poeta que me faça apaixonar pela poesia. Admiro quem lê poesia e adora porque eu não consigo e quando consigo é de um poema em muitos de um autor. Com Neruda não foi exceção. Gostei de um ou dois mas não adorei. É bonita a sua poesia, cheia de referências à natureza e ao corpo humano. Muita presença dos símbolos fogo e da rosa, os eternos símbolos do amor.
Ainda não foi desta.
April 7, 2015
Το καλύτερο και με διαφορά δείγμα ερωτικής ποίησης του Πάμπλο Νερούδα (με εξαίρεση το Una canción desesperada). Προσωπικά μπόρεσα να κατανοήσω το μεγαλείο της ερωτικής ποίησης του Νερούδα μονάχα όταν μεγάλωσα και παρόλο ότι είμαι μεγάλη θαυμάστρια της πολιτικο-κοινωνικής και ιστορικής τους ποίησης, όσο και του ποιητικού του έργου για τη φύση, την εξέλιξη της ζωής, την ποίηση κλπ, μπορώ να πω με σιγουριά πια ότι λατρεύω και την ερωτική του πλευρά εξίσου με τις υπόλοιπες... Πραγματικά η συγκεκριμένη συλλογή με εξέπληξε και μπορώ να διαβεβαιώσω ότι αποτυπώνει με τον καλύτερο τρόπο το μεγαλείο ενός μεγάλου δημιουργού και άνθρωπου...
June 25, 2012
One of my all-time favorites.
I love its compact size. I love the pink cover with the gold lettering and beautiful font. I love that the English translation sits side-by-side with the Spanish translation. It's a mood lifter and most definitely swoon-worthy.
I love its compact size. I love the pink cover with the gold lettering and beautiful font. I love that the English translation sits side-by-side with the Spanish translation. It's a mood lifter and most definitely swoon-worthy.
July 4, 2021
The passion, the lust , the love , the poetry comes together like the starts in the night sky to form into a one beautiful masterpiece that still keep its fire burning since that day it was written. Pablo Neruda's Love Poems : a libidinous work of art .
September 2, 2015
Very lame.
March 7, 2021
A few weeks ago I read a translation of Il postino by Antonio Skármeta where Pablo Neruda is not the main character, but still a central character. At the time I had not read anything by Neruda, and the novel made me want to change that, so when I came across this I had to read it.
It’s, as the title suggest, a collection of some of Neruda’s love poems. Not a large collection, but an interesting one. The poems range from love poems like “The Queen� in which the narrator tell his lover that only he knows that she is really a queen, to much more open eroticism, like the the poem “The Insect� which is a description of the narrator exploring the body of his lover.
Over all, I think this is a nice collection of love poems.
It’s, as the title suggest, a collection of some of Neruda’s love poems. Not a large collection, but an interesting one. The poems range from love poems like “The Queen� in which the narrator tell his lover that only he knows that she is really a queen, to much more open eroticism, like the the poem “The Insect� which is a description of the narrator exploring the body of his lover.
Over all, I think this is a nice collection of love poems.
March 11, 2022
"But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me."
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me."
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