Skytones, poem by Pablo Neruda

SKYTONES (Section X)
Poem by Pablo Neruda

I invite you to topaz,
to the yellow
hive in the stone,
the bees,
and the lump of honey
in the topaz
to the gold day
and the familial
drone of tranquility:
here is a minimal
church, built in a flower
as the bee builds, as
the planes of the sun or the leaf
in autumn’s yellowest profundity,
a tree, incandescently
rising, beam over beam, a sunburst corolla,
insect and honey and autumn, all
transformed by the salts of the sun:
essence of honey, the tremulous world
and the wheat of the sky
that labored to accomplish
this sun-change, at rest in the pallor of topaz.

Painting: “Wheatfield with Reaper” (1889) by Vincent van Gogh

Keeping Quiet, poem by Pablo Neruda

KEEPING QUIET (Excerpts)

by 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 one 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 look at his hurt hands…

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

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…

Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

Photo: “#12 Cloud” by J-Me, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Bird, poem by Pablo Neruda

BIRD
By Pablo Neruda

It was passed from one bird to another,

the whole gift of the day.

The day went from flute to flute,

went dressed in vegetation,

in flights which opened a tunnel

through the wind would pass

to where birds were breaking open

the dense blue air –
and there, night came in.


 
When I returned from so many journeys,

I stayed suspended and green

between sun and geography –
I saw how wings worked,

how perfumes are transmitted

by feathery telegraph,

and from above I saw the path,

the springs and the roof tiles,

the fishermen at their trades,

the trousers of the foam;

I saw it all from my green sky.

I had no more alphabet

than the swallows in their courses,

the tiny, shining water

of the small bird on fire

which dances out of the pollen.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Pablo Neruda (1904 – 1973) was the pen name of the Chilean poet, diplomat, and politician Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto. He chose his pen name after Czech poet Jan Neruda. In 1971, Neruda won the Nobel Prize for Literature. (Read more aboutPablo Neruda at wikipedia.org.)

Photo: “My Dreams Are Flying Away” by Marysia

Skytones, poem by Pablo Neruda

SKYTONES (Section X)
Poem by Pablo Neruda

I invite you to topaz,
to the yellow
hive in the stone,
the bees,
and the lump of honey
in the topaz
to the gold day
and the familial
drone of tranquility:
here is a minimal
church, built in a flower
as the bee builds, as
the planes of the sun or the leaf
in autumn’s yellowest profundity,
a tree, incandescently
rising, beam over beam, a sunburst corolla,
insect and honey and autumn, all
transformed by the salts of the sun:
essence of honey, the tremulous world
and the wheat of the sky
that labored to accomplish
this sun-change, at rest in the pallor of topaz.

Painting: “Wheatfield with Reaper” (1889) by Vincent van Gogh

Bird, poem by Pablo Neruda

BIRD
By Pablo Neruda

It was passed from one bird to another,

the whole gift of the day.

The day went from flute to flute,

went dressed in vegetation,

in flights which opened a tunnel

through the wind would pass

to where birds were breaking open

the dense blue air –
and there, night came in.


 
When I returned from so many journeys,

I stayed suspended and green

between sun and geography –
I saw how wings worked,

how perfumes are transmitted

by feathery telegraph,

and from above I saw the path,

the springs and the roof tiles,

the fishermen at their trades,

the trousers of the foam;

I saw it all from my green sky.

I had no more alphabet

than the swallows in their courses,

the tiny, shining water

of the small bird on fire

which dances out of the pollen.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Pablo Neruda (1904 – 1973) was the pen name of the Chilean poet, diplomat, and politician Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto. He chose his pen name after Czech poet Jan Neruda. In 1971, Neruda won the Nobel Prize for Literature. (Read more about Pablo Neruda at wikipedia.org.)

Photo: “My Dreams Are Flying Away” by Marysia

The Month of June, poem by Pablo Neruda

Green was the silence, wet was the light

the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

from 100 Love Sonnets by PABLO NERUDA

Photo: Nimeariel, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Keeping Quiet, Poem by Pablo Neruda (in honor of 12/12/12)

KEEPING QUIET (Excerpts)

by 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 one 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 look at his hurt hands…

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

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…

Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

Photo: “#12 Cloud” by J-Me, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Skytones, Poem by Pablo Neruda

SKYTONES (Section X)

Poem by Pablo Neruda

I invite you to topaz,

to the yellow

hive in the stone,

the bees,

and the lump of honey

in the topaz

to the gold day

and the familial

drone of tranquility:

here is a minimal

church, built in a flower

as the bee builds, as

the planes of the sun or the leaf

in autumn’s yellowest profundity,

a tree, incandescently

rising, beam over beam, a sunburst corolla,

insect and honey and autumn, all

transformed by the salts of the sun:

essence of honey, the tremulous world

and the wheat of the sky

that labored to accomplish

this sun-change, at rest in the pallor of topaz.

Painting: “Wheatfield with Reaper” (1889) by Vincent van Gogh