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Night view of the Chains'Bridge and the Parliament from Buda Castle in Budapest.
I waited almost one hour for the right moment to take this shot..it didn't look that cold, but maybe my tracheitis got some origin from that!!! =))))
Proyecto 52 Anónimos
10/52 Nostalgia
Nosostros, los de enotonces, ya no somos los mismos - Poema XX - Pablo Neruda
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
Verde claro - Light green
Proyecto 52 semanas
12/52
Imán - Recuerdo de Isla Negra - Chile - Regalo de mi hija
20
PUEDO escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está 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.
Oir 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 ésta 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.
Sacando de contexto la frase, la verdad, es que no me siento particularmente nostalgica de que ya no seamos los mismos!
Pablo Neruda
Poem XX (Tonight I can write the saddest...)
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 so many times 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 before she was of 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 be the last pain that she makes me suffer,
and these the last verses that I write for her.
La Chascona es una de las tres viviendas que fueron propiedad del poeta chileno Pablo Neruda. Se encuentra ubicada en el Barrio Bellavista de la comuna de Providencia en Santiago de Chile. Actualmente, es un museo que alberga las colecciones del autor y es la sede de la Fundación Pablo Neruda. Fue declarada Monumento Nacional en 1990.
La Chascona is one of the three houses that were owned by the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. It is located in the Bellavista neighborhood of the Providencia commune in Santiago, Chile. Currently, it is a museum that houses the author's collections and is the headquarters of the Pablo Neruda Foundation. It was declared a National Monument in 1990.
La Chascona est l'une des trois maisons appartenant au poète chilien Pablo Neruda. Il est situé dans le quartier de Bellavista de la commune de Providencia à Santiago du Chili. Actuellement, c'est un musée qui abrite les collections de l'auteur et est le siège de la Fondation Pablo Neruda. Il a été déclaré monument national en 1990.
Contra el azul moviendo sus azules,
el mar, y contra el cielo,
unas flores amarillas.
Octubre llega.
Y aunque sea
tan importante el mar desarrollando
su mito, su mision, su levadura,
estalla
sobre la arena el oro
de una sola
planta amarilla
y se amarran
tus ojos
a la tierra,
huyen del magno mar y sus latidos.
Polvo somos, seremos.
Ni aire, ni fuego, ni agua
sino tierra,
solo tierra
seremos
y talvez
unas flores amarillas.
Pablo Neruda
"Sentir el cariño de los que no conocemos, de los desconocidos que están velando nuestro sueño y nuestra soledad, nuestros peligros o nuestros desfallecimientos, es una sensación aún más grande y más bella, porque extiende nuestro ser y abarca todas las vidas."
Pablo Neruda
Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about...
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with
death.
Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.
["Keeping Quiet" by Pablo Neruda]
EXPLORE: Feb 26/13 #293
Eres hija del mar y prima del orégano,
nadadora, tu cuerpo es de agua pura,
cocinera, tu sangre es tierra viva
y tus costumbres son floridas y terrestres.
Al agua van tus ojos y levantan las olas,
a la tierra tus manos y saltan las semillas (...)
P. Neruda
"Oh, the flight from the mirroring water,
a thousand bodies aimed at a beautiful stillness
like the transparent permanence of the lake.
Suddenly, all was racing over the water,
movement, sound, towers of the full moon,
and then, wild things, which out of the whirlwind
turned into order, flight, realized vastness,
and then absence, a white shivering in the void."
From Swan Lake
by Pablo Neruda
_____________________________________________________________
Wishing all of you a peaceful New Year's Eve.
And every single wish come true in 2011.
♥
Estravagario
Pero porque pido silencio
no crean que voy a morirme:
me pasa todo lo contrario:
sucede que voy a vivirme.
Ansiosa la mirada abarca el horizonte,
buscando que la línea se interrumpa.
A mi memoria llegan ilusiones... pensamientos,
vuelan por el aire a pesar que los contengo.
Viajar quisieran sin destino cierto,
hacia el horizonte, más allá.
El mar y el cielo se tocan ante mi mirada,
mi pensamiento sabe que es sólo una ilusión.
Que fijar un horizonte es pensar
en una línea imaginaria, al avanzar
siempre está lejana…
Que el mar y el cielo nunca se alcanzan.
Que mis metas deben estar más cercanas,
junto a quién siempre me acompaña…
Junto al que nunca falla.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
-----Pablo Neruda
Sonnet XXXIV (You are the daughter of the sea)
You are the daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin.
Swimmer, your body is pure as the water;
cook, your blood is quick as the soil.
Everything you do is full of flowers, rich with the earth.
Your eyes go out toward the water, and the waves rise;
your hands go out to the earth and the seeds swell;
you know the deep essence of water and the earth,
conjoined in you like a formula for clay.
Naiad: cut your body into turquoise pieces,
they will bloom resurrected in the kitchen.
This is how you become everything that lives.
And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms
that push back the shadows so that you can rest--
vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams.
—Pablo Neruda
XXXIV
Tú eres la hija del mar, primera prima del orégano. Nadadora, tu
cuerpo es puro como el agua; cocina, tu sangre es rápida como el
suelo. Todo que tú haces está lleno de flores, rico con la tierra.
Tus ojos se dirigen hacia el agua, y las ondas se levantan; tus manos salen
hacia la tierra y las semillas se hinchan; tú conoces la profunda esencia
del agua y la tierra, unidos en ti como una fórmula de arcilla.
Náyade: corta tu cuerpo en trozos de turquesa,
florecerán resucitados en la cocina.
Así es como te conviertes en todo lo que vive.
Y así, por fin, duermes, en el círculo de mis brazos que
empujan detrás de las sombras de modo que puedas descansar --
vegetales, algas marinas, hierbas: la espuma de sus tueños.
—Pablo Neruda
XXXIV (siete la figlia del mare)
Siete la figlia del mare, primo cugino dell'origano. Lo swimmer, il
vostro corpo è puro come l'acqua; cucinare, la vostra anima è rapido
come il terreno. Tutto che è pieno dei fiori, ricco con la terra.
I vostri occhi escono verso l'acqua e le onde aumentano; le vostre
mani escono alla terra ed i semi gonfiano; conoscete l'essenza
profonda di acqua e la terra, conjoined in voi gradisce una formula
per argilla.
Naiad: tagliare il vostro corpo in parti del turchese, fiorirà
resurrected nella cucina. Ciò è come diventate tutto che viva.
E così in fine, dormite, nel cerchio della mia armi che
respinge le ombre in moda da poterli riposarsi voi -- verdure, l'alga,
erbe: la gomma piuma dei vostri sogni.
—Pablo Neruda
(In honor of World Poetry Day.)
My membership invitation (I am honored):
*Seen in Explore
"You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming." - Pablo Neruda
Just yesterday, I noticed this tiny crocus peeking through the snow in our garden!
Broad Channel, NY
I am one of those who live
in the middle of the sea and close to the twilight,
a little beyond those stones.
When I came
and saw what was happening
I decided on the spot.
The day had spread itself
and everything was light
and the sea was beating
like a salty lion,
many-handed.
All that deserted space was singing
and I, lost and awed,
looking toward the silence,
opened my mouth and said:
"Mother of the foam, expansive solitude,
here I will begin my own rejoicing,
my particular poetry."
From then on
I was never let down by a single wave.
I always found the flavor of the sky
in the water, in the earth,
and the wood and the sea burned together
through the lonely winters.
I am grateful to the earth
for having waited for me
when sky and sea came together
like two lips touching;
for that's no small thing, no?
to have lived through one solitude
to arrive at another,
to feel oneself many things and recover wholeness.
I love all the things there are,
all of all fires,
love is the only inexhaustible one;
and that's why I go from life to life,
from guitar to guitar,
and I have no fear
of light or of shade,
and almost always being earth myself,
So no one can ever fail
to find my doorless numberless house --
there between dark stones,
facing the flash
of the violent salt,
there we live, my woman and I,
there we take root.
Grant us help then.
Help us to be more of the earth each day!
Help us to be more the sacred foam,
more the swish of the wave!
~ Pablo Neruda (1957-58)
System Of Gloom
From every one of these days black as old iron,
and opened up by the sun like big red oxen,
and barley kept alive by air and by dreams,
and suddenly and irremediably vanished,
nothing has taken the place of my troubled beginnings,
and the unequal measures pumping through my heart
are forged there day and night, all by themselves,
adding up to messy and miserable sums.
So that's how, like a lookout gone blind and senseless,
incredulous and condemned to a painful watch,
facing the wall where each day's time congeals,
my difference faces gather and are bound in chains
like large, heavy, faded flowers
stubbornly temporary, dead already.
- Pablo Neruda
Translation by Stephen Kessler
Pequeña
rosa,
rosa pequeña,
a veces,
diminuta y desnuda,
parece que en una mano mía
cabes, que así voy a cerrarte
y a llevarte a mi boca,
pero
de pronto
mis pies tocan tus pies y mi boca tus labios,
has crecido,
suben tus hombros como dos colinas,
tus pechos se pasean por mi pecho,
mi brazo alcanza apenas a rodear la delgada
línea de luna nueva que tiene tu cintura:
en el amor como agua de mar te has desatado:
mido apenas los ojos más extensos del cielo
y me inclino a tu boca para besar la tierra.
Piazza Duomo ("Cathedral Square"), is the main piazza (city square) of Milan...I took this shot on sunday night...people were walking very fast while a light rain was falling down creating a very charming atmosphere...
I hope you like...and then, tomorrow...TGIF!!!!
I remember you as you were in the last autumn.
You were the gray beret and the still heart.
In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on.
And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.
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.
I feel your eyes traveling, and the autumn is far off:
gray beret, voice of a bird, heart like a house
towards which my deep longings migrated
and my kisses fell, happy as embers.
Sky from a ship. Field from the hills:
Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond!
Beyond your eyes, farther on, the evenings were blazing.
Dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul.
Te recuerdo como eras en el último otoño.
Eras la boina gris y el corazón en calma.
En tus ojos peleaban las llamas del crepúsculo
y las hojas caían en el agua de tu alma.
Apegada a mis brazos como una enredadera,
las hojas recogían tu voz lenta y en calma.
Hoguera de estupor en que mi sed ardía.
Dulce jacinto azul torcido sobre mi alma.
Siento viajar tus ojos y es distante el otoño:
boina gris,voz de pájaro y corazón de casa
hacia donde emigraban mis profundos anhelos
y caían mis besos alegres como brasas.
Cielo desde un navío. Campo desde los cerros:
¡Tu recuerdo es de luz,de humo,de estanque en calma!
Más allá de tus ojos ardían los crepúsculos.
Hojas secas de otoño giraban en tu alma.
~ Pablo Neruda
___________________________________________________________________
My first fire this season; one of the greatest joys, this time of year. If you would like this image for your desktop, send me a flickmail and I will email it to you! You can test -drive it by clicking the link in the poem...but you already know that. ; )
Happy Weekend Everyone!
La Chascona es una de las tres viviendas que fueron propiedad del poeta chileno Pablo Neruda. Se encuentra ubicada en el Barrio Bellavista de la comuna de Providencia en Santiago de Chile. Actualmente, es un museo que alberga las colecciones del autor y es la sede de la Fundación Pablo Neruda. Fue declarada Monumento Nacional en 1990.
La Chascona is one of the three houses that were owned by the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. It is located in the Bellavista neighborhood of the Providencia commune in Santiago, Chile. Currently, it is a museum that houses the author's collections and is the headquarters of the Pablo Neruda Foundation. It was declared a National Monument in 1990.
La Chascona est l'une des trois maisons appartenant au poète chilien Pablo Neruda. Il est situé dans le quartier de Bellavista de la commune de Providencia à Santiago du Chili. Actuellement, c'est un musée qui abrite les collections de l'auteur et est le siège de la Fondation Pablo Neruda. Il a été déclaré monument national en 1990.
Sadness, scarab
with seven crippled feet,
spiderweb egg,
scramble-brained rat,
bitch's skeleton:
No entry here.
Don't come in.
Go away.
Go back
south with your umbrella,
go back
north with your serpent's teeth.
A poet lives here.
No sadness may
cross this threshold.
Through these windows
comes the breath of the world,
fresh red roses,
flags embroidered with
the victories of the people.
No.
No entry.
Flap
your bat's wings,
I will trample the feathers
that fall from your mantle,
I will sweep the bits and pieces
of your carcass to
the four corners of the wind,
I will wring your neck,
I will stitch your eyelids shut,
I will sew your shroud,
sadness, and bury your rodent bones
beneath the springtime of an apple tree.
Pablo Neruda
As almas se recolhem em si mesmas. São fortes.
Aqueceram-se em todos os pesares humanos.
Nada têm, nem esperam: ao sobrevir a morte
Por ela esperarão como se espera um irmão.
(Pablo Neruda)
"We the mortals touch the metals,
the wind, the ocean shores, the stones,
knowing they will go on, inert or burning,
and I was discovering, naming all the these things:
it was my destiny to love and say goodbye."
Pablo Neruda, Still Another Day
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© Copyright Natalie Panga - All rights reserved. EXPLORED March 7, 2013.
* Lightbox: Best seen in larger size on black (click image above)
Si pudiera llorar de miedo en una casa sola,
si pudiera sacarme los ojos y comérmelos,
lo haría por tu voz de naranjo enlutado
y por tu poesía que sale dando gritos.
Oda a Federico García Lorca (fragmento)
Pablo Neruda
The days aren't discarded or collected, they are bees
that burned with sweetness or maddened
the sting: the struggle continues,
the journeys go and come between honey and pain.
No, the net of the years doesn't unweave: there is no net.
They don't fall drop by drop from a river: there is no river.
Sleep doesn't divide life into halves,
or action, or silence, or honor:
life is like a stone, a single motion,
a lonesome bonfire reflected on the leaves,
an arrow, only one, slow or swift, a metal
that climbs or descends burning in your bones.
-----Pablo Neruda
Una tranquila tarde en el Museo Nacional Ferroviario "Pablo Neruda".
A quiet afternoon at the National Railway Museum "Pablo Neruda"
Here
Surrounding the island
There's sea.
But what sea?
It's always overflowing.
Says yes,
Then no,
Then no again,
And no,
Says yes
In sea spray
Raging,
Says no
And no again.
It can't be still.
It stammers
My name is sea.
@ Pablo Neruda
by Pablo Neruda
Rolling in big solitary drops,
in drops like teeth,
in big, thick drops like marmalade and blood,
rolling in big drops,
the water falls,
like a sword made of drops,
like a tearing river of glass,
it falls biting,
striking the axis of symmetry, sticking to the seams of the soul,
breaking abandoned things, drenching the darkness.
It is only a breath, moister than weeping,
a liquid, a sweat, a nameless oil,
a sharp movement,
forming, thickening,
the water falls,
in big slow raindrops,
toward its sea, toward its dry ocean,
toward its waterless wave.
I see the vast summer, and a death rattle coming from a barn,
wineshops, locusts,
towns, stimuli,
rooms, girls
sleeping with their hands over their hearts,
dreaming of bandits, of fires,
I see ships,
I see marrow trees
bristling like mad cats,
I see blood, daggers and women's stockings,
and men's hair,
I see beds, I see corridors where a virgin screams,
I look at blankets and organs and hotels.
I see the silent dreams,
I let the final days come in,
and also the beginnings, and also the memories,
like an eyelid atrociously and forcibly held open
I am looking.
And then there is this sound:
a red noise of bones,
a clashing of flesh,
and yellow legs like merging spikes of wheat.
I listen among the smacks of kisses,
I listen, shaken between gasps and sobs.
I am looking, listening,
with half my soul upon the sea and half my soul upon the land,
and with both halves of my soul I look at the world.
And though I close my eyes and cover my heart over entirely,
I see a muffled waterfall
in big muffled raindrops.
It is like a hurricane of gelatin,
like a waterfall of sperm and jellyfish.
I see a turbid rainbow form.
I see its waters pass across my bones.
~
Hoy una amiga me ha enviado esta felicitación para el 2009 que quiero compartir con todos vosotros y desearos lo mejor para este nuevo año.
Queda prohibido
Queda prohíbido llorar sin aprender,
levantarte un día sin saber que hacer,
tener miedo a tus recuerdos...
Queda prohibido no sonreir a los problemas,
no luchar por lo que quieres,
Abandonarlo todo por miedo,
No convertir en realidad tus sueños,...
Queda prohibido no intentar comprender
a las personas,
pensar que sus vidas valen menos que la tuya,
no saber que cada uno tiene su camino y su dicha...
Queda prohibido no crear tu historia,
no tener un momento para la gente que te necesita,
no comprender que lo que la vida te da,
también te lo quita...
Queda prohibido, no buscar tu felicidad
no vivir tu vida con una actitud positiva,
no pensar en que podemos ser mejores,
no sentir que sin tí, este mundo no sería igual...
Pablo Neruda
On Explore, Apr 11, 2007
... and this sea is mine!
Um poema para minha terra:
"Amor dos meus amores,
terra pura,
quando volte
irei correndo a tua proa
de embarcação terrestre,
e assim navegaremos
confundidos
até que tu me cubras
e eu possa contigo, eternamente,
ser vinho que regressa em cada outono,
pedra de tuas alturas,
onda de teu marinho movimento!"
in Tercer libro de las odas
Pablo Neruda