Another Visit with Pablo

I came across this poem in research for the book I’m writing.  I thought it was amazing so I wanted to share it with you.  Enjoy.

Same Story

by Pablo Neruda

This evening, each hour, it grows earlier:

each splendor, each shadow,

each twilight, dawns anew on our world:

immovable time

masks

its exigent face

and changelessly changes its garment:

each night or in delicate daybreak

the long silence of glaciers,

summer’s reddening apple:

all is vagabond as the wind:

time idles, immobile,

hueless and heatless, sunless and starless:

nothing avails but the absolute

 Goodbye and goodbye. Nothing changes.

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The Death of a Loved One

A dear cousin passed away this week and I attended his funeral today.  This post is in his honor. Rest in peace Larry.  You will be truly missed.

To an Athlete Dying Young

BY A. E. HOUSMAN

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
Today, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears.
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.

If You Forget the Words?

We had a christian band come to sing at our church today.  They were country; played a lot of Hank Williams Sr.  They received a request from one of our older members for yet another Hank Williams song.  So they started playing and the singer couldn’t remember the words to the song. He sang, “I can’t remember the words to this song, praise the lord…”  It was funny.  We all laughed and enjoyed the music.

Musicians have the luxury of music to cover up their mistakes!

Writers don’t have that luxury.  Their words are there for everyone to critique over and over.  If one writes fluff, no one will read it.  No one will laugh and clap.

Just a thought for all you writers out there.

Much Love from Louisiana!

My Friend Pablo

When one of my beloved cousins passed away, I inherited his library of amazing books.  In those books were several Pablo Neruda’s.  They increased my appreciation of his works tremendously.  His writing is so passionate.  I decided to share one of my favorites of his poetry.  I hope you like it as much as I do.

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.

Pablo Neruda