It now appears on the Off the Shelf page for November 2012, to keep some of the Other world in this one. Thanks, Karin.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
To make room for the change-out, here is the previous selection, If You Forget Me, by Pablo Neruda:
If You Forget Me
I want
you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
~Pablo
Neruda
Header Image: Red Autumn, by SouthernPixel-Alby Headrick on flick'r
Shared under a Creative Commons License
Footer Image: Canna 'Tropicanna' ©
joyannjones 2012
nice...i love nerudas work....he gets some very nice intimacy going ...and love is def a fav topic of mine...
ReplyDeleteHe's seldom a disappointment on any subject--a fine fine poet. thanks for reading, bri.
DeleteI'm always suspicious of translation with neruda. Not sure of wrinkled log, or roots of the heart. But doesn't stop me from loving it. I want to shout AMEN!
ReplyDeleteSay, you and me both
But i think it would just make us brother's in denial.
Loved the Yeats piece too.
The berry on the wand
Delicious!
I always think he translates really well, but my pidgin Spanish certainly wouldn't let me know otherwise--I just never feel like I'm hearing any voice but his. (Yes, there is something in that, the denial, I mean. I haven't forgotten much, anyway.) Glad you like the Yeats as well. Thanks for stopping by rick.
ReplyDeleteYour choices are always the bestest, dear Witch.
ReplyDeleteRe-read them both to the "Blue on the Ceiling"--and Neruda fit better. I'll try Yeats again once Fred Neil is out of my mind.
ReplyDeleteLove both Yeats and Neruda...thank you.
ReplyDelete