How nice. Its utterly sad that Pablo Neruda never learned to rhyme. Poems like his could have been memorized and truly remembered if he had any rhyme scheme at all. His writings are fun to read, but at soon as they are finished, all but the idea of them slips out of your head The drastical language and ironicness of the writing style is what keeps this poem in print. It's funny how a poem of such utter despair can be written about so beautifully! Encircling on the synonyms of despair.
Twenty Love Poems: And A Song Of Despair (Translation)
I like it Report Reply. My favorite line - Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs Such power in the imagery he employs.
- Inner Health Outer Beauty.
- Twenty love poems and a song of despair!
- Neruda – a Song of Despair | Harper's Magazine?
He holds nothing back with regards to the deepest emotions. The broken voice and sense can be felt Awesome work of words I don't believe poems can be translated I do repeat Every language has a soul Noone can enter every soul! The poet could otherwise depict his past, and muse over the gratification of carnal pleasure. There is no cause to mourn, no reason to brood over the battle of the bodies. Again there is no life -enhancing note in this poem.
Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
What has been perpetuating since the advent of human-animals on this earth finds repetition here. Again a poet must avoid erotic language, to paint the open -secret between the he-man and the she-man.
There is no question on the irresistible sex-pleasure. I find no face of a poet in the poem. Poet, -subrataray, Uluberia, West Bengal.
India Report Reply. This is a beautiful piece expressing great loss well, by a very gifted poet. Share this poem:. Pablo Neruda.
Pablo Neruda's Other Poems. In the long, slender-bodied, abandoned lifeboat left over from some shipwreck, I read the whole of Jean Christophe, and I wrote the " Cancion desesperada. I used to write inside the boat, hidden in the earth. I don't think I have ever again been so exalted or so profound as during those days.
Is contained in
Overhead, the impenetrable blue sky. In my hands, Jean Christophe or the nascent lines of my poem. Beside me, everything that existed and continued always to exist in m y poetry: the distant sound of the sea, the cries of the wild birds, and love burning, without consuming itself, like an immortal bush. I am always being asked who the woman in Veinte poemas is; it is a difficult question to answer.
Marisol is love in the enchanted countryside, with stars in bold relief at night, and dark eyes like the wet sky of Temuco.