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�� The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of twilight
that revolves around you. ��

Neruda is one of the poets who taught me to love poetry the way it is; without over-analysing or trying to critically delve deeper below the words, as we were taught in school. The first collection that I read of him, he wrote this at the age of 17, and that’s 2 years younger than me, now. When I read this collection for the first time, and, even before I read it, I was actually startled by the audacity of Neruda. And I’m not exaggerating. Neruda was actually one of the first poets to explore sexual imagery and eroticism in his work and become accepted for it. Luckily he wasn’t born in India, though his path wasn’t what you call easy.

�� To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. ��

In this rather short collection of twenty-one poems, Neruda quite masterfully amalgamated the quaint Chilean panorama with his personal reminiscences and the product is a dazzlingly amorous verse, which on the whole, delineates desire and despair as opposite sides of the same coin. One of the recurring themes, undoubtedly is a tinge of unadulterated passion, which also is the main reason behind the controversies among critics and readers alike.

Get down to the subject matter, and ask a teen of 19 what the book is about, except the aphrodisiac charm (the sad part is actually that a poet of such a calibre came renowned due to the scandal and controversies that his poems gave rise to, and among most of the precocious youth he’s an overrated author of erotica). One guy, who categorises anyone reading books as pseudo-intellectual, says:

“Well, the love poems ain’t that special, they are just tales of infatuation: the guy talkin�� bout his lover’s beauty over and over until you get bored. He speaks of white bees…he says: “Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs”�� actually he teaches to flirt. “The Song of Despair�� is basically he, talking about how sad he is for having lost his woman, and comparing her to the sea. The lone-lorne creature stands on the shore, feeling lonely because all the ships have set sail, and remembers his long-lost love. He also describes how hot and heavy their relationship was and compares her to the sea because everything sank into her. He’s actually trying not to sulk after being dumped.��

I will leave that to you to think. (I didn’t create that, just removed the slanguage.)

As for Neruda himself, he admitted himself to be astounded at the success of this book in specific. He brooded on “why this book, a book of love-sadness, of love-pain, continues to be read by so many people, by so many young people��. According to him, maybe it was that “Perhaps this book represents the youthful posing of many enigmas; perhaps it represents the answers to those enigmas.�� (Eric Guibert, 2015)

I personally consider this one to be a delightful introduction to the legendary poet. Definitely not his best, but to use the common phrase, best served as hors d’oeuvre. Just don’t go in there expecting just erotic thrills. And try it with the Spanish parallel text, if you can.

Clasping my arms like a climbing plant
the leaves garnered your voice, that was slow and at peace.
Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning.
Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul.