I spent some time looking for poems, and almost quit, but then I found this Neruda poem, and decided to post it by itself. I tried to find a Jimenez poem or a Rilke poem that spoke to me in this moment, but I couldn't. I think that poems are like music in this way: a song can speak to you so profoundly in one moment, and be meaningless to you in another. It all depends on the state of your soul at that particular moment.
Neruda makes me wonder if an artist could be an artist without suffering. That is a very painful thought. Would I be me without my suffering? If I were always happy, would I still be me? The answer for me is yes; my happiness is not dependent upon the absence of suffering, and I am not myself if I do not recognize suffering. This may not be true for everyone. I've heard of people going on and off psychiatric medications because it makes them not themselves, but they need it to live, so they take it until they can make it, then go off of it.
Neruda spent many years in exile because of his political beliefs. It's so interesting to learn about communism in school as a kid and think, "Okay, that sounds like a good idea," but then become an adult and realize how complex the issue is. I think that most people don't even question it because it's so confusing; they just say it's wrong because that's what they've been told.
Neruda makes me wonder if an artist could be an artist without suffering. That is a very painful thought. Would I be me without my suffering? If I were always happy, would I still be me? The answer for me is yes; my happiness is not dependent upon the absence of suffering, and I am not myself if I do not recognize suffering. This may not be true for everyone. I've heard of people going on and off psychiatric medications because it makes them not themselves, but they need it to live, so they take it until they can make it, then go off of it.
Neruda spent many years in exile because of his political beliefs. It's so interesting to learn about communism in school as a kid and think, "Okay, that sounds like a good idea," but then become an adult and realize how complex the issue is. I think that most people don't even question it because it's so confusing; they just say it's wrong because that's what they've been told.
Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)
Tus Pies
Cunando no puedo mirar tu cara
mira tus pies.
Tus pies de hueso arqueado,
tus pequeños pies duros.
Yo sé que te sostienen,
y que tu dulce peso
sobre ellos se levanta.
Tu cintura y tus pechos,
la duplicada púrpura de tus pezones,
la caja de tus ojos que recién han volado,
tu ancha boca de fruta,
tu cabellera roja,
pequeña torre mía.
Pero no amo tus pies
sino porque anduvieron
sobre la tierra y sobre
el viento y sobre el agua,
hasta que me encontraron.
Your Feet
When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
Your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the double purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
Your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.
Tus Pies
Cunando no puedo mirar tu cara
mira tus pies.
Tus pies de hueso arqueado,
tus pequeños pies duros.
Yo sé que te sostienen,
y que tu dulce peso
sobre ellos se levanta.
Tu cintura y tus pechos,
la duplicada púrpura de tus pezones,
la caja de tus ojos que recién han volado,
tu ancha boca de fruta,
tu cabellera roja,
pequeña torre mía.
Pero no amo tus pies
sino porque anduvieron
sobre la tierra y sobre
el viento y sobre el agua,
hasta que me encontraron.
Your Feet
When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
Your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the double purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
Your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.
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