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20-ak-iiri-ve-umutsuz-bir-ark

Neruda adını ilk duyuran yapıttır 20 aşk şiiri ve umutsuz bir şarkı. Ama en çok duyuran. Hem kendisinin hem de çağdaş ozanlardan birçoğunun pek az yapıtı bu ufacık kitabın yaygınlığına ulaşabilmiştir. Daha 1961'de Buenos Aires'deki Losada yayınevi milyonuncu baskıyı satışa çıkarıyordu. Bu sayı şimdilerde iki milyona yaklaşıyordur belki.Nerden geliyor bu başarı, neye dayanıNeruda adını ilk duyuran yapıttır 20 aşk şiiri ve umutsuz bir şarkı. Ama en çok duyuran. Hem kendisinin hem de çağdaş ozanlardan birçoğunun pek az yapıtı bu ufacık kitabın yaygınlığına ulaşabilmiştir. Daha 1961'de Buenos Aires'deki Losada yayınevi milyonuncu baskıyı satışa çıkarıyordu. Bu sayı şimdilerde iki milyona yaklaşıyordur belki.Nerden geliyor bu başarı, neye dayanıyor? Bunca yıldır Latin Amerika'nın bütün kentlerinde, okul çevrelerinde olsun, arkadaş toplantılarında, meyhanelerde, fabrikalarda, çiftliklerde, haciendalarda olsun okunup durmasındaki giz ne?Çok açık, Neruda, daha yirmisindeki o çırak ozan, bu küçük kitapta kendi yürek çırpıntılarını açıklamaya çalışırken, farkına varmadan, her çağdaki, her toplumdaki ilk gençlik çırpıntılarını da anlatmıştı. Ve kendi büyük şarkısının temellerini atıyordu bu ilk şarkılarla.Zamanla kendi şarkıları olmaktan çıktı bu şarkılar, herkesin gönlüne, herkesin özlemlerine, tutkularına uygun bir kimlik kazandılar. Temel bir gerçeği kavramıştı Neruda: Aşkın mutsuzluğunu. Aragon'un 'II n'y a pas d'amour heureux' şiirindeki gerçeği. 'Sevenler bahtiyar olmaz' diyen Türkçe şarkıdaki gerçeği. Ve bunu süssüz, dolambaçsız, içtenlikli bir sesle söylüyordu....

Title : 20 Aşk Şiiri ve Umutsuz Bir Şarkı
Author :
Rating :
ISBN : 9789758076031
Format Type : Paperback
Number of Pages : 116 Pages
Status : Available For Download
Last checked : 21 Minutes ago!

20 Aşk Şiiri ve Umutsuz Bir Şarkı Reviews

  • Danny
    2019-04-08 01:28

    Tonight I Can Write Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, "The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance." The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is starry and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same. I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing. Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses. Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Though this is the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.

  • Richard
    2019-03-27 22:25

    3 THINGS ABOUT THIS BOOK1. I went to Pablo Neruda's house once. Well, I went to one of his houses. He had three of them. I was teaching English in Santiago, Chile at the time. I went to Neruda's house in Valparaiso, which is a beach town. Weirdly enough, I visited on my twentieth birthday, on a lark, because I just happened to be vacationing in a nearby cabin with my host family.The thing that I remember about Pablo Neruda's house is that it's set back in a grove of dark pine trees and that there's sand everywhere. The sky was dark that day and it was cold, even though it was in the summer. What I remember most about the experience wasn't the house itself, or the tour, or the nationalistic trinkets that vendors were trying to sell, but rather the feeling that the pine trees around the house evoked. They were like a dark magic that still sits in my mind six years later. Curious. Because this is the thing that stands out to me most about Neruda's poetry: the magnetic feeling of nature. The dirt and the flesh and the elements and the cold, wet, hot, dry. His poetry is so sensual, so primal, so tied to the earth (I know I sound like a hippie, but its true). When I look at my journal entries from this period in my life they're full of this sort of talk. I wrote about stars and cloud formations and the consistency of mud and the shape of a cheekbone. Southern Chile does this to you. The land casts a spell on you. Neruda put this spell into words. "Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?2. I read "Twenty Love Poems" about five years ago, but I thought it was corny at the time. The edition I read had all these terrible erotic etchings in it. I hate that. I almost threw up. I don't believe in illustration much, because it insults the reader's imagination. Especially illustration in poetry, a genre which usually uses abstract images.This time when I read "Twenty Love Poems" I read it slowly. And it reminded me of southern Chile. It reminded me of gloomy mountains, and the beauty of the rivers and clouds and the darkness of the ocean. It reminded me of that period of time, when I turned twenty, right before my life changed in many ways. This time when I read "Twenty Love Poems" it meant something to me, because now I have been in love. I have been in love and have experienced all of the sorrows and thrills of love. Mostly sorrows. But the hope of future thrills.3. I found a musty Time/Life book about South America at a thrift store near my house. In the book there is a photograph of Mr. Neruda seated at a wooden desk at his house in Valparaiso. He is wearing a sweater and staring out the window. He has a pen and ink in front of him and he is holding his head as though he's deep in thought or distressed. Or both. I have hung this picture up in my apartment. It makes me want to write. It makes me remember all of the dark clouds. It makes me remember that "love is so short, forgetting is so long."

  • StevenGodin
    2019-04-01 22:35

    Sensual poetic beauty, with a lingering sadness, this collection of poems written when Chilean Neruda was only 19 is a remarkable feat, but was not received well for the intense and sexual content, this time being 1924 I can understand why, however, there is no explicit text it's more to do with imagery using the surrounding environment, charting oceanic movements of passion along with the changing weather, to tell of youthful love. " I have gone marking the atlas of your body / with crosses of fire. / My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide. / In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst.''. Becoming Neruda's best-loved work selling two million copies by the 1960s. Why? the imagery he conjures up is simply breathtaking but also painfully sad. ``On all sides I see your waist of fog, / and your silence hunts down my afflicted hours; / my kisses anchor, and my moist desire nests / in you with your arms of transparent stone.'' As irresistible as the sea, love is engulfing (``You swallowed everything, like distance. / . . . In you everything sank!''), but also departs as mysteriously as it arrived, leaving the poet's heart a ``pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.''In terms of the intensity of romance and the tenderness of love, this collection encapsulates so much, each piece stands alone, but always remains close to the others. Of the 20 poems on offer, not all made sense to me on first reading, but at only 70 pages in length, I will certainly be re-visiting in time. And then there's the seething "Song of Despair", a breakup song if I ever heard one, this for me was the highlight, words of such searing torment that were expressed with a heartbroken urgency. At such a young age, Neruda paints a mature picture of the abstract representations of life. To the contrary, the poems represent an open curiosity for different dimensions of life like sexuality, solitude, melancholy, and loss. Also, he does not idealize beauty and love, making his poetry far more authentically realistic. Nature is a constant presence throughout, with stars, rivers, wind, sky and sea reappearing in different contexts, lovers become nature itself. You can truly feel that each poem is reaching out to the other, sharing the same pleasure and plight.Highly recommended 5/5

  • vie
    2019-04-08 02:10

    I do not love you except because I love you;I go from loving to not loving you,From waiting to not waiting for youMy heart moves from cold to fire.I love you only because it's you the one I love;I hate you deeply, and hating youBend to you, and the measure of my changing love for youIs that I do not see you but love you blindly.Maybe January light will consumeMy heart with its cruelRay, stealing my key to true calm.In this part of the story I am the one whoDies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.worthy book for all the tragic romantikus outthere =P

  • Seemita
    2019-04-07 20:18

    Tempting as it may appear to wrap the poetic pearls from this collection of Neruda’s heartbeats into a warm shawl of erotic wool, do resist it and pause. These loquacious verses that assemble at the nape of a lover or ripple playfully across the soft mountains of a beloved’s waist, magnify when viewed through the dual lenses of night and water.I have said that you sang in the windlike pines and like masts.Like them you are tall and taciturn,and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage.You gather things to you like an old road.You are peopled with echoes and nostalgic voices.I awoke and at times birds fled and migratedthat had been sleeping in your soul. Throughout this collection, there are elements that sprout from these two shores, taking their own boundless attire once left to the ocean of the author’s imagination. I found it interesting to note that Neruda wrote these poems when he was just 19, implying the failures of his political aspirations and love relationships, besides his daughter’s premature death were still far away. Despite none of the later-years’ blackness charring his soul, his propensity to hinge his ode on night and water mirrors a certain yearning that isn’t a slave of reciprocity or longevity. Like the night and the nocturnal swagger, arousal is a reality and yet a mirage, something that will come in certainty but will be short-lived. Like the adaptability and slightness of water, love can superimpose rebuttals and tide over long leaps of unrequited love to reach a state where it will be nothing but itself, complete and calm. Neruda’s poems personify a charming surrender that fortifies the vulnerability of new love and removes the shame out of the advances that are nothing but a chime before the music. In the moist night my garment of kisses tremblescharged to insanity with electric currents,heroically divided into dreamsand intoxicating roses practicing on me. His hero gets high on the flowers and seasons, on the days and the night, on proximity and distance, on silence and chatter – his hero is the quintessential lover who refuses to let the flame of his emotion die, shielding it with verses after verses of untamable urgency. And with the final poem, one can almost imagine him slumping to the ground, dropping his gaze from his object of love and yet, not allowing the humming of his heart to lay still.Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.

  • Jibran
    2019-04-10 21:38

    [Note on edit: This is not a review. These are peals of pleasure of a man drunk on Neruda wine, blurting out extempore, when he finished reading this poetry collection]Pablo Neruda – the name evokes romance and revolution in my consciousness, a riot of metaphors and action, a turbo charged celebration of love and beauty, a flood of high emotions that assails my senses and dulls them so that the only thing I am receptive to when I have Neruda’s verse before me is but his verse. Everything else blacks out and I’m transported to a world I have never seen before – and it's beautiful, it is magnificent, it is dancing with the joy of love!I’m not a very big fan of the worn-out familiarity of love poetry, or second-rate love poetry, to be precise. The title of the collection didn't quite interest me, and so I wasn't sure what to expect, but having heard so much praise for Pablo Neruda I wanted to sample his poetry. I was stumped, stunned, silenced. From the very first poem Neruda shamed me. From the third poem onwards I had a sheepish grin on my face of a man who has just realised he's been a fool. By the time I reached the end of the collection I became Neruda’s devotee. And so I am to this day and will remain forever! I had never desired to learn Spanish, but after reading Neruda I wished I could find a way to experience him in the original, just as I wish I could improve my Persian to read Hafez and Rumi without the medium of translation. I really don't know how much of Neruda's Spanish is lost in translation, but whatever that has come down to us in English is more than sufficient to adore him.There is no one who so brilliantly marries nature's metaphors of earth, sea, wind, trees, moon, stars with the enchanting anatomy of the beloved. Every line testifies to Neruda's unique way of perceiving nature; he likens the beloved to nature, his beloved becomes the nature. It is through meditations on the vast agricultural richness of his land that he finds the beloved, in the form of liberty, or in shape of an elusive woman, sometimes as an inextricable amalgamation of the two. From the first poem to the last, they are inseparable.It is hard to make selections from this book; every poem is a work of wonder. Instead of copying many full-length poems, I am sampling select lines to glimpse at the quality of Neruda's metaphors and similes, the urgency of action encoded in few words, the luxuriant aspect of his imagery, the finesse of his thought, and the intensity of his style. Below are some of my favourite, quotable lines:The simple, fast and action-packed eroticism of the first lines of the opening poem, Body of a woman."Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,you look like a world, lying in surrender.My rough peasant’s body digs in youand makes the son leap from the depth of the earth."And see how, later on, from the 'white hills, white thighs', on which he gambols about with pleasure, she is transformed into a 'weapon' that offers him protection and provides him succor, through a process that remains a mystery to the poet and the reader:"I was alone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me,and night swamped me with its crushing invasion.To survive myself I forged you like a weapon,like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling."In 'Almost Out of the Sky' we have a 'cloudless girl', who shines like a clear sky, antithesis of greyness, and who is so vast and all-encompassing that her presence is felt everywhere. But she is unknown and mysterious; she is a 'question of smoke', that appears and dissolves the next instance, without giving him a moment to regroup his shattered perceptions; she is as soft and silky as a 'corn tassel'. You can appreciate the finesse of this metaphor if you have pressed a corn tassel between your fingers! In this poem the beloved is cast into a formidable natural force that envelops and dominates the small and insignificant existence of the lover. He is in awe of her. This poem is asking to be quoted in full, without omission. So here it is. "Almost out of the sky, half of the moonanchors between two mountains.Turning, wandering night, the digger of eyes.Let’s see how many stars are smashed in the pool.It makes a cross of mourning between my eyes,and runs away.Forge of blue metals, nights of still combats,my heart revolves like a crazy wheel.Girl who have come from so far, been brought from so far,sometimes your glance flashes out under the sky.Rumbling, storm, cyclone of fury,you cross above my heart without stopping.Wind from the tombs carries off, wrecks, scatters yoursleepy root.The big trees on the other side of her, uprooted.But you, cloudless girl, question of smoke, corn tassel.You were what the wind was making with illuminated leaves.Behind the nocturnal mountains, white lily of conflagration,ah, I can say nothing! You were made of everything.Longing that sliced my breast into pieces,it is time to take another road, on which she does not smile.Storm that buried the bells, muddy swirl of torments,why touch her now, why make her sad.Oh to follow the road that leads away from everything,without anguish, death, winter waiting along itwith their eyes open through the dew."From Every day you play, Neruda finds the beloved in the most unlikely places. Holding a cluster of fruit is like holding beloved’s head:"Every day you play with the light of the universe.Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.You are more than this white head that I hold tightlyas a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.You are like nobody since I love you.Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the starsof the south?Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.The rain takes off her clothes."And further on:"You are here. Oh, you do not run away.You will answer me to the last cry.Cling to me as though you were frightened.Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,and over our heads the grey light unwind in turning fans."Neruda ends the poem with a striking image:"I wantto do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."--Originally posted 30/12/14

  • Traveller
    2019-04-07 23:31

    I adore Neruda's poetry. The only reason that I am giving 4 stars and not 5, is because the "woman as a doll" imagery that he seems fond of using put me off every time I came across it...

  • Michael Finocchiaro
    2019-04-05 02:21

    One of the most beautiful collection of love poems ever (and followed by one which will bring tears to your eyes), Neruda is clearly a master of language and feeling and I always derive comfort from every time I read this book. She loved me, sometimes I loved her.How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her. To hear the immense night, more immense without her. And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.Kind of speaks for itself, don't you think?

  • Hirdesh
    2019-04-04 19:33

    "Speechless, my friend, alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead and filled with the lives of fire, pure heir of the ruined day. "It was glorious one ! ! !As I had seen recently in some friend's review and Crossing my other books, I've chosen to read it first which had been waiting for me so long in my shelf.Well, It's classic poetry with all the poetic devices were glittering in so wonderful form of words along in thread of rhythmic poetry. However, I'm keen reader of profound and deeply influenced kind of poetry, This book was given me same taste for me. I'm glad and ecastic with motion of calm words of poet.Some of Great lines-*The numberless heart of the wind beating above our loving silence. Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees like a language full of wars and songs.*There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle. Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!*I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe ! love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her*Between the lips and the voice something goes dying. Something with the wings of a bird, something of anguish and oblivion*Upstream, in the midst of the outer waves, your parallel body yields to my arms like a fish infinitely fastened to my soul, quick and slow, in the energy under the sky. "Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets to that sea that beats on your marine eyes.""The water walks barefoot in the wet streets. From that tree the leaves complain as though they were sick"*So that 'You Will Hear MeBut my words become stained with your love. You occupy everything, you occupy everything. I am making them into an endless necklace for your white hands, smooth as grapes

  • عبدالله ناصر
    2019-04-13 18:14

    الحقيقة هناك أكثر من تقييم. الأول للمترجم مروان حداد و الثاني لمحمود السيد علي و الذي تتفوق عليه بمراحل ترجمة قوقل الفورية! الترجمة الثالثة كانت للبطوطي و لم أعثر عليها حتى الآن. يمكن للترجمة أن تحط من قدر أكبر الشعراء و قد فعلها محمود السيد علي إذ صنع من نيرودا مشعوذاً يكتب الطلاسم لا الأشعار و المثالين التاليين بمقدورهما أن يوضحا الفكرة تماماً :أرنوها نائية كلماتي / كلماتك أكثر منها كلماتي / تتسلق ألمي العتيق أشجار لبلاب* بينما يترجمها مروان حداد - شكراً جداً يا مروان - و أرى كلماتي بعيدة /وأبعد منها كلماتك / تتسلق كاللبلاب فوق آلامي القديمة. ما أعظم الفارق. فلنقرأ أيضاً هذه الترجمة الكارثية لمحمود : " أعالي البحار في قلب الأمواج/ جسدك بين ذراعي انسجام / سمكة إلى الأبد بروحي لصيقة / في يافع فلك السماء سريعة وئيدة " و هذا ما يذكرني بمراحل الدراسة الأولى و درس الجملة المفيدة و غير المفيدة. مروان ترجمها بهذا الشكل : "وسط الأمواج في المياه البعيدة / يستسلم جسدك الجميل بين ذراعيّ / مثل سمكة التصقت بروحي إلى الأبد / و أنا أسرع و أتمهل تحت زرقة السماء". ماهذه الأعمال البربرية التي يقوم بها المركز القومي للترجمة!كلمات نيرودا كحبات العنب و هو يشبه إلى درجة كبيرة مدينة فينيسيا حيث يتوجب أن لا تزورها وحدك.

  • Ken Moten
    2019-03-24 01:10

    This is a bilingual review: English first, then Spanish./Esta es una reseña bilingüe: inglés, luego español. (Muchas gracias, Miquel.)"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." - 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 by Paul of Tarsus."You know that language changes over a thousand years, and words that were then in use now seem strange to us; but they really did talk that way, and they spoke as eloquently about love as anyone did in any age or country." - Modern paraphrase from book 2 of Troilus and Criseyde by Geoffrey Chaucer. "Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:What is it else? a madness most discreet,A choking gall and a preserving sweet." - Romeo and Juliet Act 1, scene 1 by William Shakespeare."Just as time knew to move on since the beginningAnd the seasons know exactly when to changeJust as kindness knows no shameKnow through all your joy and painThat I'll be loving you always." - From the song "As" by Stevie Wonder.As the above quotes show, humans have been trying to define "love" forever. It is a concept that we contemplate on in some way, shape, or form, constantly with varying levels of success or basic understanding. I was content long ago to let St. Paul have the definitive word on this topic...until I met Señor Pablo Neruda. I did not think it was possible to really be able to define love more than once. Pablo Neruda successfully does it...twenty times! The edition of this book I read is a dual-translation, but my quotes from it will be in english and from the poem that made me pick it up: "Juegas Todos Los Días":"Every day you play with the light of the universe.Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water,You are more than this white head that I hold tightlyas a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands.You are like nobody since I love you.Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.The rain takes off her clothes."This poem hit me like a brick and I wanted to hear more and learn about the man who wrote it. Pablo Neruda was an almost unknown poet from Chile who shot to instant stardom when he published this volume of poetry. He would be the second internationally known South American writer after neighboring Argentinian Jorge Luis Borges. He was also a socialist who developed a close bond with the world's first democratically-elected Marxist president Salvador Allende. Neruda would die days after Allende's death and the aftermath of the coup against Allende by General Agusto Pinochet."The birds go by, fleeing.The wind. The wind.I alone can contend against the power of men.The storm whirls dark leavesand turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.You are here. Oh, you do not run away.You will answer me to the last cry.Curl round me as though you were frightened.Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,and even your breasts smell of it.While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterfliesI love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth."These poems are so unashamed and forthright that it is almost shocking to think this collection was published in 1924. Neruda is not at all embarrassed to talk about love and he feels the utmost happiness and joy in each of his poems. His use of imagery would give T.S. Eliot a run for his money and he does not give you a weak poem in the bunch. Even the "Song of Despair" at the end is still at the same high passionate intensity as the preceding 20 poems. Whether you are in love or use to be in love (speaking for myself), you will appreciate this book's honest devotion and declaration to this ancient and yet new concept."How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.My words rained over you, stroking you.A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.Until I even believe that you own the universe.I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees." -Poema XIV Desde siempre el hombre ha intentado definir el "amor". Es un concepto que contemplamos constantemente de muchas maneras, formas o figuras, con diferentes grados de éxito o de comprensión. Hace tiempo estaba contento con la manera en qué San Pablo definía este este tema... hasta que conocí el señor Pablo Neruda. No creía que fuera posible o capaces de definir el amor más de una vez. En cambio Pablo Neruda lo hace con éxito veinte veces! La edición de este libro que leí es una doble traducción, pero mis citas del poema "Juegas Todos Los Días" que recojo a continuación son en español:"Juegas todos los días con la luz del universo. Sutil visitadora, llegas en la flor y en el agua. Eres más que esta blanca cabecita que aprieto como un racimo entre mis manos cada día.A nadie te pareces desde que yo te amo. Déjame tenderte entre guirnaldas amarillas. Quién escribe tu nombre con letras de humo entre las estrellas del sur? Ah déjame recordarte cómo eras entonces, cuando aún no existías.De pronto el viento aúlla y golpea mi ventana cerrada. El cielo es una red cuajada de peces sombríos. Aquí vienen a dar todos los vientos, todos. Se desviste la lluvia."Este poema me golpeó como un ladrillo y quería saber más y aprender sobre el hombre que lo escribió. Pablo Neruda fue un poeta casi desconocido de Chile que saltó a la fama instantánea cuando publicó este volumen de poesía. Él sería el segundo escritor sudamericano más conocido internacionalmente después del vecino argentino Jorge Luis Borges. También fue un socialista que desarrolló un estrecho vínculo con el primer presidente marxista elegido democráticamente en el mundo, Salvador Allende. Neruda moriría días después de la muerte de Allende y las consecuencias del golpe de Estado contra Allende por el general Augusto Pinochet. "Pasan huyendo los pájaros. El viento. El viento. Yo sólo puedo luchar contra la fuerza de los hombres. El temporal arremolina hojas oscuras y suelta todas las barcas que anoche amarraron al cielo.Tú estás aquí. Ah tú no huyes. Tú me responderás hasta el último grito. Ovíllate a mi lado como si tuvieras miedo. Sin embargo alguna vez corrió una sombra extraña por tus ojos.Ahora, ahora también, pequeña, me traes madreselvas, y tienes hasta los senos perfumados. Mientras el viento triste galopa matando mariposas yo te amo, y mi alegría muerde tu boca de ciruela."Estos poemas son tan desvergonzados y directos que es casi chocante pensar que se publicaron en 1924. Pero Neruda no siente en absoluto vergüenza al hablar sobre el amor y una gran felicidad y alegría se transmite en cada uno de sus poemas. Su uso de imágenes daría T.S. Eliot un plazo para su dinero y él no le da un poema débil en el pelotón. Incluso la "canción desesperada" al final se encuentra todavía en el mismo nivel de intensidad apasionada como los 20 poemas anteriores. Si estás enamorado o lo has estado (éste es mi caso), podrás apreciar este libro de sincera y devota declaración a este concepto tan antiguo pero a la vez tan nuevo."Cuanto te habrá dolido acostumbrarte a mí, a mi alma sola y salvaje, a mi nombre que todos ahuyentan. Hemos visto arder tantas veces el lucero besándonos los ojos y sobre nuestras cabezas destorcerse los crepúsculos en abanicos girantes.Mis palabras llovieron sobre ti acariciándote. Amé desde hace tiempo tu cuerpo de nácar soleado. Hasta te creo dueña del universo. Te traeré de las montañas flores alegres, copihues, avellanas oscuras, y cestas silvestres de besos. Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos." - Poema XIV

  • whichwaydidshego?
    2019-04-04 21:30

    I took my time reading this, choosing to savor the succulent, vivid, tactile words. I must say, these poems are luscious! I feel their imagery as much as visualize it. Phrases such as "In the moist night my garment of kisses trembles..." A garment of kisses. How delightful! (I want one!)I also love how he is constantly mixing ideas of fire and water together, as if with love somehow they feed off each other where they should cancel each other out. "Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning." "...I go mounded on my one wave,/lunar, solar, burning and cold all at once." It is a delicate balance that is dynamic as the flames of passion grow and the cresting waves of excitement rise and crash in. As a side note, I love that the poem is shown in it's original language first and on the opposing page. It's intriguingly seductive to read the verse in it's original form and hear it's fluidity and elegance. Then, too, having the Picasso illustrations intermingled with Neruda's vibrant voice adds volume to the juxtaposition of his colliding passions.This is a lovely little tome that will envelop you and draw you back into it's pages with words like, "You undermine the horizon with your absence," calling out to the core of you.

  • Athena ღ
    2019-04-11 22:29

    Εδώ σ'αγαπάω εγώ! Δε πα να σε κρύβει όσο θέλει ο ορίζοντας - ματαιοπονεί! Εσένα σ'αγαπάω εγώ,επιμένω. Ακόμα και μέσα στη ψύχρα των γύρω πραγμάτων. Κάθε τόσο φεύγουν τα φιλιά μου και πάνε μαζί με τα καράβια εκείνα, τα ποντοπόρα, και φτάνουν περ' απ' το τέρμα, στα εκείθε.

  • Ahmed Oraby
    2019-04-19 02:19

    كم هو قصير الحبوكم هو طويل النسيان. :'))

  • Jareed
    2019-04-14 20:10

    Neruda does not play with the intangible. He does not waste words with the abstract. One simply needs to read and take in the pure and stark versification of the sensualities of life, both in love and lust. Neruda’s distinct style in poetry is easily distinguishable. First, his work is intuitive of the austere beauty of nature and his Chilean roots. The verses are reflective of the uncompromising beauty of the environment that he has witnessed in his formative years. The poems allude to thevastness of the pines, the heart of summer, sweet blue hyacinths, still ponds, barren lands, and white bees. “I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,dark hazels, and rustic basket of kisses.”(74, Poem XIV) Second, Neruda also leads us to enjoy the sweetness existing in realm of the senses. He fearlessly incorporates love and lust in his verses. “My somber heart searches for you, nevertheless,And I love your joyful body, your slender and flowing voice.” (75, Poem XIX)“Tonight I can write the saddest lines.I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.” (77, Poem XX)But to read and consume these two aspects of his poetry in a compartmentalized manner would be an affront to why Gabriel Garcia Marquez called Neruda “the greatest poet of the 20th century in any language."* Neruda combines the sensual experience of the individual with the beauty of the natural and the reader is treated to a union unlike any other.“Body of a woman, white hills, white thighsYou look like a world, lying in surrender.My rough peasant’s body digs in youand makes the son leap from the depth of the earth.” (3 Poem I)“I go so far a to think that you own the universe.I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,dark hazels, and rustic basket of kisses.I wantto do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”(74, Poem XIV)notes:* The fragrance of guava: Conversations with Gabriel García Márquez. I did not give a short introduction on Neruda reserving most of my comments later on for a review on his memoirs.My copy is bilingual, a Spanish-English translation by W.S. Wermin, which definitely polished my rusting Spanish speaking skills. The same copy is infused with Pablo Picasso’s works like this, You get the idea that it seeks to perhaps contribute to the general them of the book, but I have no sound knowledge if this was sanctioned or approved by Neruda in its first translated printing in 1969, five years before he died, or whether the same pictures accompanied the first print in Chile in 1924, or if it appeared only in this copy published by Penguin Books. This book forms part of my remarkably extensive reading list on Nobel Prize for Literature LaureatesThis review, along with my other reviews, has been cross-posted at imbookedindefinitely

  • Cynn
    2019-04-10 21:32

    Ahora me dieron ganas de abrazar...bueno les dejo el que más me "sacudió"...Poema 20 Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche esta estrellada, y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos". El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta. Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso. En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos. La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito. Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería. Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos. Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido. Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella. Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío. Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla. La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo. Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos. Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca. Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo. La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles. Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos. Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise. Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído. De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos. Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos. Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero. Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido. Porque en noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos, mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa, y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

  • Joanito_a
    2019-04-08 22:25

    "Αναδύεται η θύμησή σου από τη νύχτα που με στεγάζει.Το ποτάμι αδειάζει στη θάλασσα τον επίμονο θρήνο του.""Τώρα πιά δεν την αγαπάω, σίγουρα...Πόσο όμως θεέ μου , την αγάπησα τότε. Πολέμαγε η φωνή μου να βρει τη ριπή του ανέμου που θα της άγγιζε το αυτί.""Θ' ακούω την απέραντη νύχτα,την πέντε φορές απέραντη χωρίς εκείνην.Και τους στίχους να πέφτουν στην ψυχή μου όπως πέφτει η δροσιά στο λιβάδι."

  • Yani
    2019-03-31 19:20

    2016 Reading Challenge: #31 Un libro de poesíaEs un 3.5 y en realidad quería calificarlo con tres. Sin embargo, consideré que el libro no tiene que pagar por mi error: a mí los poemas de amor no me gustan (no me interesa como tema, para ser exacta) y yo ya estaba advertida desde el título. Como todavía no había leído a Neruda y este es uno de sus libros más famosos, no dudé mucho en elegirlo. Sentí que en los 20 poemas y en la canción desesperada dice siempre lo mismo pero con distintas palabras. Sí, se me puede acusar de "falta de sensibilidad", pero prefiero la oscuridad de Las flores del mal, de Charles Baudelaire, y no me avergüenza decirlo. Es una cuestión personal.

  • ♤°◦كَـوْكَب◦°♤
    2019-03-25 02:10

    كَان ِلي حُلم عِشتُ سنِينَ عمُرِي أرَعَاه. أن يَكتُب لِي القَدر يَوماً لِقَاائَك.. ولَكن كَان للقَدر رأيَ اَخرفَما اَصعبُ مُفراَاقَات الاَقدَار

  • Irmak
    2019-04-03 20:19

    Çeviriden dolayı şiirlerin çok fazla anlam kaybı yaşadığını düşünüyorum. Yani bence öyle olmuş. Öyle çok fazla sevemedim ben. Hissedemedim de zaten. Sadece sonlara doğru 3-5 şiir hoşuma gitti, hepsi bu. Bayılmadım, hoşuma gitti.Bu gece en hüzünlü şiiri yazabilirim. Şöyle diyebilirim: 'Gece yıldızla doluve yıldızlar, masmavi, titreşiyor uzakta.'Şakıyarak dönüyor gökte gece rüzgarı. Bu gece en hüzünlü şiiri yazabilirim. Sevdim ben onu, o da beni sevdi bir ara.

  • Brian
    2019-03-30 19:20

    Quick Update, 7-8-17:I didn't intend to review this again. In honesty, I'm trying to hit 150 for complete reads this year, which makes about four per week. I own a copy of this now and I knew how quickly I could read it. I'm shocked, stunned, mesmerized. I read some of his other writings and they didn't impact me the same, so I put Neruda at 20 on my list. Now I've moved him up to number 2, just under Kafka. The collection reads like a love story: a man lives a rough life, and a woman helps learn to live and love, and the painful resolution to the plot comes, but the story comes from his own life. He almost had me in tears because most of us can relate to being in love, going through difficulties and facing the inevitable end of all of us. -------------------------------------I've finally found an author who makes me feel the way Kafka makes me feel, in a different, but equally powerful way.Rather than mull over each word I get into this canoe and Neruda paddles and sweeps me along this river path of love's delight and heartbreak, and intertwined in his memories I see flashes of personal memory.What a powerful, deep, intelligent and beautiful soul!Absolutely a favorite! You can't reverse engineer this! :-)

  • La Mala ✌
    2019-04-01 01:25

    Cuando tenía quince años y vivía enamorada hasta del aire , las palabras que repetía constantemente siempre estaban relacionadas con la tristeza . Cada vez que vivía un amor apasionado no correspondido , me sumergía en depresiones eternas y me regocijaba recitando cosas como "Es tan corto el amor y tan largo el olvido" . Siempre que sentía que iba a morirme de amor y escuchaba mi historia en cada poema , Neruda era el más importante .Después crecí .Hace poco , en la facultad -hogar de los arrogantes -, un profesor muy INTELECTUAL-de esos que saben tanto que de lo único que no dudan es de sus propias palabras - nos las hizo corta a todas las locas de amor por Neruda :-El poeta ese no vale nada - dijo con palabras un poco más elegantes - Uno no puede sentirse identificado con palabras de amor que alguien en otro tiempo escribió para una persona en especial . Es como robar . Nadie puede tomar prestada una declaración de amor que nada deja a la imaginación ,no te podés apropiar de eso . No son tuyas . Además - terminó - es poesía mal escrita .Para mi profesor , hombre de mundo , de letras y de varios idiomas ,la poesía de Neruda y de tantos como él estaba sobrevalorada , era más comercial que otra cosa . En cambio , con mucho entusiasmo , nos recomendaba un poeta olvidado llamada Emeterio Cerro - creo - que jugaba con los sonidos . La poesía de ese decía así:Mondonará , MondonaráFluyido Lamosol .El truco , decía mi profesor , estaba en darle nuestro significado . Buscar en el juego inentendible , algo que tuviese sentido para nosotros . De eso si nos podíamos apropiar , eso si lo podíamos tomar prestado .Demás está decir que odié el Mondonará tanto como odiaba las peliculas de Lynch . Estaba fuera de mi comprensin y requería mucha movilización de neuronas .Sin embargo , Con el tiempo entendí lo que quería decir . Neruda es poesía popular . Cualquiera puede entenderla , cualquiera . Eso era lo que le molestaba a este intelectual de elite . El quería hacernos entrar en un círculo de poca gentey trataba a ese estilo de poetas como "la chusma" . Le daba fastidio , más que nada , que un popular hubiese sido premiado con el premio Nobel y a Borges se lo hubiera dejado de lado .Nunca me dejó de gustar Pablito , pero si capté lo que quiso decir el profe . No es poesía muy complicada , no es Shakespeare ni Borges pero no deja de ser hermosa , no deja de contar una historia de vida , de amores y revoluciones.

  • Fareya
    2019-03-27 21:25

    "Always, always you recede through the eveningstowards where the twilight goes erasing statues." An enduring collection of exquisite verses. Even though translated from Spanish, these words sound eloquent and lyrical.Simple, sensual, beautiful words filled with tenderness and a vivid imagination."I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,dark hazels, and rustic basket of kisses.I wantto do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."Lush, rich, intense words filled with reverence and longing."As all things are filled with my soulYou emerge from the thingsFilled with my soulYou are like my soulA butterfly of dreamAnd you are like the word: MelancholyI like for you to be stillAnd you seem far awayIt sounds as though you are lamentingA butterfly cooing like a doveAnd you hear me from far awayAnd my voice does not reach youLet me come to be still in your silence"Passionate, evocative, haunting words filled with a burning desperation."I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Though this is the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her."The song of despair at the end is an assortment of heart breaking, soul shattering words that speak of a sizzling fiery torment."The memory of you emerges from the night around me.The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.Deserted like the wharves at dawn.It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.In you the wars and the flights accumulated.From you the wings of the song birds rose.You swallowed everything, like distance.Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!"It is no wonder Pablo Neruda was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. However, what did not appeal to me was the objectification of women. I found it rather annoying. Apart from that, this is a lovely collection of elegant and intimate poems.

  • Ilze
    2019-03-21 18:16

    Has anyone read and understood the Song of Solomon? Neruda must have. And he must have understood it too! These poems are more than just about the physical love between man and woman: they are about what happens to the soul. For some reason pine trees feature a fair amount here, from " ... as I love you, the pines in the wind / want to sing your name with their leaves of wire" to "I have said that you sang in the wind / like the pines and like the masts. / Like them you are tall and taciturn, / and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage." He wants to "do with you what spring does with the cherry trees", but also knows that "the leaves complain as though they / were sick" in her absence. One can only say that he really loves her (and I wish I could understand the Chilean versions, also printed in the book), or that she left him and his love needed renewing with each new love. My words do not relate his beautiful descriptions for love, so I will be still:I like for you to be stillIt is as though you are absentAnd you hear me from far awayAnd my voice does not touch youIt seems as though your eyes had flown awayAnd it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouthAs all things are filled with my soulYou emerge from the thingsFilled with my soulYou are like my soulA butterfly of dreamAnd you are like the word: MelancholyI like for you to be stillAnd you seem far awayIt sounds as though you are lamentingA butterfly cooing like a doveAnd you hear me from far awayAnd my voice does not reach youLet me come to be still in your silenceAnd let me talk to you with your silenceThat is bright as a lampSimple, as a ringYou are like the nightWith its stillness and constellationsYour silence is that of a starAs remote and candidI like for you to be stillIt is as though you are absentDistant and full of sorrowSo you would've diedOne word then, One smile is enoughAnd I'm happy;Happy that it's not true(translated by W.S. Merwin)

  • Heba
    2019-03-23 22:21

    لا تُشبيهن احداً منذ أحببتكهذا البيت يكفي يا " بابلو نيرودا" ولو لم تكن نظمت العشرين قصيدة ولم تتغنى بالأغنية اليائسة :)

  • Abubakar Mehdi
    2019-04-20 00:20

    The memory of you emerges from the night around me.The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.Deserted like the wharves at dawn.It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one! Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.In you the wars and the flights accumulated.From you the wings of the song birds rose.You swallowed everything, like distance.Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!  Neruda is a magician. Its like he throws his words up in air and they fall back, like rain, endlessly floating around the reader, enchanting him body and soul. His poetry is Beautiful, surreal, haunting and something indescribable, like an ache of a wound long healed.

  • Sura✿
    2019-04-07 02:12

    قرأت النسختين العربية و الانكليزية معاً , كنت انتقل عند كل قصيدة بين النسختين , الانكليزية افضل . لماذا يداهمُني كل هذا الحبعندما أشعر بالحزن، وأَشعرُ بكِ بعيدة؟” ...“تعجبينني حين تصمتين وأنت كالبعيدة.وأنتِ كأنك تئنّين، فراشة ترفّّ.وتَسمعينني من بعيد، وصوتي لا يصل إليكِ....“بين الشفتين والصوت، شيءٌ يُحتَضر.” ...“نحن، اللذَيْن كنّا آنذاك، لم نعد كما كُنّا” ...أُحِبُّ ما ليس عندي. كم أنتِ بعيدة.” ...“مثل البحر، مثل الزمن. فيكِ غَرِقَ كل شيء!” ...

  • Kwesi 章英狮
    2019-04-04 20:22

    It's weird if someone saw me reading poetry in public, why? I never ever enjoyed reading poetry since the day I was born. The day that my Elementary teacher forced me to memorize an Evangelical Hymn, All Things Bright and Beautiful - in which James Herriot entitled his books - and to my 3rd Year High School teacher who required us to memorize Annabelle Lee by Edgar Allan Poe to pass her exam and so on.If I have the chance to change my past, I want to change my love to poetry. I'm sure if anybody here read Neruda's beautiful poems, they will love them and they will never forget every single word he sang. I might also ask my teachers to change their syllabus and add good poets like Neruda and the others. I don't know why teachers are forced to follow text books?Who is Pablo Neruda? I never heard of him but when one of the Flippers volunteered to be a moderator for the month of February and chose Neruda's poetry I was forced to buy his small book and read it. It takes me a while to feed myself with poetry, but it takes only a minute to finish a poem and it takes hour to feel the joy and sadness of every words.Back to my question, Pablo Neruda or Ricardo Eliecer Reyes was a poetic genius and he was awarded because of his ability to write good poems in a very young age. On his 20 years of existence, he published his first book and loved by many, it was a success. Because his father opposed to his writing ideas, he was forced to change his name to Pablo Neruda, from a historical novelist Jan Neruda, to avoid his father's disapproval.Pablo Neruda practice Modernism on his poem. Modernism, it hailed the fragmentation of daily life and the emphasis individuals experience. It takes only a few years for Modernism to be lost and forgotten by anyone. If you read his poem, it was simple and easy to read. Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair a collection of poems of love, regret and passion. Below are the two (2) poems I loved from his collection. VIII - White BeeWhite bee, you buzz in my soul, drunk with honeyand your flight winds in slow spirals of smoke.I am the one without hope, the word without echoes,he who lost everything and he who had everything.Last hawser, in you creaks my last longing.In my barren land you are the final rose.Ah you who are silent!Let your deep eyes close. There the night flutters.Ah your body, a frightened statue, naked.You have deep eyes in which the night flails.Cool arms of flowers and a lap of rose.Your breasts seem like white snails.A butterfly of shadow has come to sleep on your belly.Ah you who are silent!Have you tried looking at the window and you saw the woman you love in white, dancing, jolly, and happy like there is no tomorrow. You only wish is to be with her and fall in your deepest dream of touching her body. Maybe Neruda felt joy and sadness writing his poems especially the last one, the most lonely and my least favorite.I - Body of a WomanBody of a woman, white hills, white thighs,when you surrender, you stretch out like the world.My body, savage and pleasant, undermines youand makes a son leap in the bottom of the earth.I was lonely as a tunnel. Birds flew from me.And night invaded me with her powerful army.To survive I forged you like a weapon,like an arrow for my bow, or a stone for my sling.But now the hour of revenge falls, and I love you.Body of skin, of moss, of firm and thirsty milk!And the cups of your breasts! And your eyes full of absence!And the roses of your mound! And your voice slow and sad!Body of my woman, I will live on through your marvelousness,My thirst, my desire without end, my wavering road!Dark river beds down which the eternal thirst is flowing,and the fatigue is flowing, and the grief without shore.You are in a dark room with someone you love, looking at her body with passion. Touching every angle and the only light who guides you are the grayish light of the old maiden, moon. This must be a simplest poem on his collection and I really enjoyed the way she explained the body of a woman like you draw a woman in a canvas.The book also include Pablo Picasso's art of couples and nude women. This is one of Pablo Picasso's art, being animated and trying to depict two lovers in a sense of portraying it magically.Rating - Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda, 3 Sweets and the night I saw a nude woman sleeping under the beautiful goddess of moon. (I don't read much about poems and I don't know if I have the right to rate this book. In some point I really enjoyed reading it! Recommended to everyone who loves to fall in love, another problem for me, I can't relate.)Challenges:Book #22 for 2011Book #14 for Off the Shelf!

  • Kara
    2019-03-30 21:08

    Nature and love are probably two of the world’s most mysterious offerings. His poems consistently bring the two together and takes the reader into the innocence of true love, immense passion and complete surrender. He enhances the experience by calling attention to the natural beauty of the world around us, a beauty that can also be found within us.

  • Asma Adnan
    2019-04-20 23:10

    تتميّز أشعاره بارتباطها بالطبيعة بشكل كبير!من أجمل القصائد وأقربهنّ إلى قلبي قصيدة "أستطيع أن أكتب الأشعار" ..يقول:"أستطيع أن أكتب الأشعار الأكثر حزناً هذه الليلة.أن أفكر بأنّها ليست لي. أن أشعر بأنّي فقدتها.أنْ أصغي إلى امتداد الليل، والأكثر امتداداً مع غيابها.والشِعر يسقط على الروح كما الندى على العشب.ماذا يهم أنّ حبّيَ لم يقدر على الحفاظ عليها.الليلة ملأى بالنجوم وهي ليست معي.هذا هو كلُّ شيء. من البعيد أحدٌ يغنّي. من البعيد.روحي ليست راضيةً بأنّي أضعتُها.وكما لأُقرّبها مني تبحث عنها نظراتي.قلبي يبحث عنها، وهي ليست معي.ﻓﻲ الليلة نفسها التي تبيَضُّ فيها الأشجار نفسها،نحن، اللذَيْن كنّا آنذاك، لم نعد كما كُنّا."