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Getting On : Literature Reviews
pablo neruda | from snowhite - Saturday, February 22, 2003
accessed 3198 times anyone? was wondering if there was anyone who also admires pablo neruda's work, to share comments and stuff. |
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Reader's comments on this article Add a new comment on this article |  from Big Sister
Tuesday, July 13, 2004 - 10:32
(Agree/Disagree?)
Happy Birthday Pablo Neruda - July 12, 1904
For those in the S.F. Bay Area: http://www.redpoppy.net/events_festival.htm
(reply to this comment)
| from flaca
Monday, July 12, 2004 - 08:22
(Agree/Disagree?)
Hoy se cumplen 100 anos del natalicio de Neruda.
A great writer and one of my favorites poets. This is one my many favorites poems.
EL MAR Y LAS CAMPANAS.....
LLUEVE...
Llueve
sobre la arena, sobre el techo
el tema
de la lluvia:
las largas eles de la lluvia lenta
caen sobre las páginas
de mi amor sempiterno,
la sal de cada día:
regresa lluvia a tu nido anterior,
vuelve con tus agujas al pasado:
hoy quiero el espacio blanco,
el tiempo de papel para una rama
de rosal verde y de rosas doradas:
algo de la infinita primavera
que hoy esperaba, con el cielo abierto
y el papel esperaba,
cuando volvió la lluvia
a tocar tristemente
la ventana,
luego a bailar con furia desmedida
sobre mi corazón y sobre el techo,
reclamando
su sitio,
pidiéndome una copa
para llenarla una vez más de agujas,
de tiempo transparente,
de lágrimas.
ESTA CAMPANA ROTA...
Esta campana rota
quiere sin embargo cantar:
el metal ahora es verde,
color de selva tiene la campana,
color de agua de estanques en el bosque,
color del día en las hojas.
El bronce roto y verde,
la campana de bruces
y dormida
fue enredada por las enredaderas,
y del color oro duro del bronce
pasó a color de rana:
fueron las manos del agua,
la humedad de la costa,
que dio verdura al metal,
ternura a la campana.
Esta campana rota
arrastrada en el brusco matorral
de mi jardín salvaje,
campana verde, herida,
hunde sus cicatrices en la hierba:
no llama a nadie más, no se congrega
junto a su copa verde
más que una mariposa que palpita
sobre el metal caído y vuela huyendo
con alas amarillas.
FINAL
Matilde, años o días
dormidos, afiebrados,
aquí o allá,
clavando
rompiendo el espinazo,
sangrando sangre verdadera,
despertando tal vez
o perdido, dormido:
camas clínicas, ventanas extranjeras,
vestidos blancos de las sigilosas,
la torpeza en los pies.
Luego estos viajes
y el mío mar de nuevo:
tu cabeza en la cabecera,
tus manos voladoras
en la luz, en mi luz,
sobre mi tierra.
Fue tan bello vivir
cuando vivías!
El mundo es más azul y más terrestre
de noche, cuando duermo
enorme, adentro de tus breves manos.
(reply to this comment)
| | | |  From flaca
Tuesday, July 13, 2004, 06:55
(Agree/Disagree?)
exister, si he leido "Cien Anos de Soledad", "Amor en Tiempos de Colera, "Del Amor y Otros Demonios, y muchos mas. I have all his books. two years ago when his last book came out he came to my university. It was really cool.
Es una lastima que muchas veces otros no puedan disfrutar de un escrito tan maravilloso como los de Marquez. Pero a cada quien como le venga. There are many other great writers, like many others have pointed out in this site.
I loved "Como Agua Para Chocolate", very sad story, but nevertheless worth while.(reply to this comment) |
| | | | | From Joe H
Monday, July 12, 2004, 15:18
(Agree/Disagree?)
Damn straight, exister. I became one of those gringos when I got to the scene where the son is murdered and the trail of blood goes out the door, around the corner, up the street, around another corner, and up the steps to his mama's house. How ridiculous! If my copy hadn't come from the library, I would have thrown it away! Magical Realism is not a genre of literature -- it's an oxymoron.
More importantly, why is anyone wasting their time reading Marquez when there are authors like Carlos Fuentes, Mario Vargas Llosa, Antonio Gala, and Frederico Garcia Lorca. God, even Arturo Perez-Reverte's pop-fiction novels (one of which was made into THE NINE GATES, starring Johnny Depp) or more worthwhile than Marquez. And let's not neglect our brilliant Portuguese and Brazillian authors like Paolo Coelho and Eca de Quieroz!(reply to this comment) |
| | From lucidchick
Monday, July 12, 2004, 15:56
(Agree/Disagree?)
Hmm, after reading (admittedly) only one work, I am not sure that Paolo Coelho is that great. How about José Saramago though? And did I ever tell you I have an autographed book by Carlos Fuentes (my name) which I got when he lectured at my college? I might know the title if I had read it. He was a bit pompous. But I am sure you know much more about South/Latin American & Portuguese litarature than I -- French Lit is more my specialty.(reply to this comment) |
| | | | | From Joe H
Monday, July 12, 2004, 15:26
(Agree/Disagree?)
Yes, what an inspiring book! Only a Mexican could have come up with a love story as fucked up as COMO AGUA PARA CHOCOLATE. Here are a few key lessons to be gleaned from this piece of trash: If you can't be with the one you love, love her sister, but only through a hole in the sheet! If your younger sister is depressed and repressed, give her an aphrodisiac that will inspire her to acheive women's liberation by becoming a prostitute in Nuevo Laredo! Eating a box of matches is the best way to celebrate the fact that the unrequited love of your life has just keeled over and died from the joy of realizing that the two of you can finally be together! When in doubt, cook!(reply to this comment) |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | from cholito, pantalón blanco
Thursday, February 27, 2003 - 23:26
(Agree/Disagree?)
i remember once at college, in my second year, i guess, we were analysing one of the poems of "Veinte Poemas de Amor y una Canción Desesperada", i was sitting with this nice class mate, as you can imagine, after reading his poetry we end...
ps what part of Chile you live in?
pps "Los Jaivas", gato Alquinta, the first time i heard them was when i was 9, in my opinion is one of the best kind of music you can ever listen to, and Rott, though the group promote inca culture, don´t forget their Chilean root which is expressed in the music dedicated to Violeta Parra.
(reply to this comment)
| From ppps cholito, pantalón blanco
Thursday, February 27, 2003, 23:43
(Agree/Disagree?)
dear snowwhite, here, a little present for you, el canto XII of "ALTURAS DE MACHU PICHU", try to read the whole canto, though. among other things,it is linked to the conception that the Inca impire had about The Creation of the world.
Sube a nacer conmigo, hermano.
Dame la mano desde la profunda
zona de tu dolor diseminado.
No volverás del fondo de las rocas.
No volverás del tiempo subterráneo.
No volverá tu voz endurecida.
No volverán tus ojos taladrados.
Mírame desde el fondo de la tierra,
labrador, tejedor, pastor callado:
domador de guanacos tutelares:
albañil del andamio desafiado:
aguador de las lágrimas andinas:
joyero de los dedos machacados:
agricultor temblando en la semilla:
alfarero en tu greda derramado:
traed a la copa de esta nueva vida
vuestros viejos dolores enterrados.
Mostradme vuestra sangre y vuestro surco,
decidme: aquí fui castigado,
porque la joya no brilló o la tierra
no entregó a tiempo la piedra o el grano:
señaladme la piedra en que caísteis
y la madera en que os crucificaron,
encendedme los viejos pedernales,
las viejas lámparas, los látigos pegados
a través de los siglos en las llagas
y las hachas de brillo ensangrentado.
Yo vengo a hablar por vuestra boca muerta.
A través de la tierra juntad todos
los silenciosos labios derramados
y desde el fondo habladme toda esta larga noche
como si yo estuviera con vosotros anclado,
contadme todo, cadena a cadena,
eslabón a eslabón, y paso a paso,
afilad los cuchillos que guardasteis,
ponedlos en mi pecho y en mi mano,
como un río de rayos amarillos,
como un río de tigres enterrados,
y dejadme llorar, horas, días, años,
edades ciegas, siglos estelares.
Dadme el silencio, el agua, la esperanza.
Dadme la lucha, el hierro, los volcanes.
Apegadme los cuerpos como imanes.
Acudid a mis venas y a mi boca.
Hablad por mis palabras y mi sangre.
(reply to this comment) |
| | | | | From aire en el aire
Saturday, March 15, 2003, 12:50
(Agree/Disagree?)
JoeH, tiempo en el tiempo el hombre dónde estuvo, aire en el aire el hombre dónde estuvo? it has a cosmogonic connotation, it´s a question with cosmogonic connotations in which Pablo Neruda whose real name is Neftalí Riquelme is giving us some clues to try to identify, according to his perception of the world, the nature of men in the world as we know it, then the question comes: what does Amparanoia and that simple stanza you are refering to has to do with the grateful work of Pablo Neruda?(reply to this comment) |
| | From la okarina y la trutruka
Friday, April 04, 2003, 23:42
(Agree/Disagree?)
tiempo en el tiempo, el hombre... dónde estuvo? aire en el aire, el hombre, dónde estuvo? very significant two questions, linked to the conception that ancient incas had of the world, expressed so beautifully by Neruda..., Aire en el Aire, i guess, i will have to agree with you in terms of that JoeH comments have nothing to do with all the pre-hispanicas conceptions that Neruda is trying to tell us in his poetry and those poor stanzas written by joeH´s "amparanoia". nothing personal JoeH, but are you familiar with the kind of world we are trying to interpret and anylize here? best wishes(reply to this comment) |
| | | | | | | | | | | From snowhite
Friday, February 28, 2003, 15:57
(Agree/Disagree?)
kay, well i might as well put it here:
Soneto 17 (100 Sonetos de Amor)
No, no te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego;
Te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
Secretamente, entre las sombras y el alma.
Te amo como una planta que no florece y lleva dentro de si la luz de aquellas flores;
Y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro dentro de mi cuerpo el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.
Te amo sin saber cuando,
ni como, ni de donde.
Te amo directamente, sin problemas ni orgullo.
Asi te amo, porque no se amar de otra manera.
Si no asi, de esta forma
En que no soy, ni eres.
Tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mia,
Tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.
(reply to this comment) |
| | | | | From Cruz del Sur
Thursday, February 27, 2003, 23:40
(Agree/Disagree?)
You're bringing back buried memories...
Para olvidarme de ti
voy a cultivar la tierra,
en ella espero encontrar
remedio para mi pena...
or
Gracias a la vida
que me ha dado tanto
Me dio dos luceros
que cuando los abro
perfecto distinguo
lo negro del blanco
los dos materiales que forman mi canto
...which the adults would criticize because it wasn't life that gave you al l those things, "it was the Lord!!"
I met some of Violeta Parra's relatives. It was a couple, I think either a son or daughter and the other was her in law. They sang at the same place we did every week for a while, some big park thing around Santiago de Chile (I can't remember the name, it was big though, and it don't think it was Sta. Lucia where they used to have the "fellowships") and this restaurant thingy had weekend matinee family (lower cap) entertainment. The whole Home lived probably lived off our weekend singing 2/3 of the week (i think the rest was FFing). This was when Pinochet was still around and you couldn't "litness" for long without being stopped by the milicos. I was 7.
Sorry bout that, your post sent me ambling down a deserted memory lane.(reply to this comment) |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | From aire en el aire
Friday, February 28, 2003, 00:07
(Agree/Disagree?)
who are you? i know the park you are talking about, no, it was not Cerro Santa Lucia, or Huelén, as native chilean like to refer to, it was in another place, why so sad memories? (sorry, what a naive question) it remains me of one of the song of "los Jaivas" dedicated to Violeta Parra, when she was in Paris, she was in love with this guy, but at the same time she was missing Chile so bad that this song came out, it something like:
Que lejos está mi Chile,
ahora que ando de aquí pa ya
que lejos mis dos hermanos
ahy, mi comadre y mi mamá
quiero tomar chicha,
quiero bailar cueca,
quiero ir al mercao
y comprarme un pequén
ir a matucana,
pasear por la "quinta"
y al Santa Lucia contigo mi bien...
best wishes
(reply to this comment) |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | from Prisma
Sunday, February 23, 2003 - 13:08
(Agree/Disagree?)
Pablo Neruda is remarkable.
There is so much to admire and in his works. At this time one of my favorite poems of his is ‘Sonata and Destructions’ (Sonata y Destructciones). Unfortunately, I don’t speak Spanish so I have to read his translated works although I’m aware that the Spanish versions are far superior to the translated works.
--Prisma
(reply to this comment)
| From snowhite
Monday, February 24, 2003, 08:18
(Agree/Disagree?)
very true, there's nothing like the original stuff. i live about half an hour from neruda's last home and tomb here in chile, and can you believe that only recently i "discovered" his works?
a friend gave me a tribute to neruda cd, its the most beautiful thing i've come across lately. i absolutely fell in love with his "100 sonetos de amor"
so gorgeous! i hope to get ahold of more of his works before i move to canada.(reply to this comment) |
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