Pablo Neruda (Writer)
Estoy solo entre materias desvencijadas, la lluvia cae sobre mí, y se me parece, se me parece con su desvarío,solitaria en el mundo muerto, rechazada al caer, y sin forma obstinada.I am alone with rickety materials, the rain falls on me, and it is like me, it is like me in its raving, alone in the dead world, repulsed as it falls, and with no persistent form. Débil del Alba Weak with the Dawn or The Dawns Debility, Residencia I Residence I, I, stanza 5. Alternate translation by Donald D. Walsh: I am alone among rickety substances, the rain falls upon me and it seems like me, like me with its madness, alone in the dead world, rejected as it falls, and without persistent shape. — Pablo Neruda world There in Rangoon I realized that the gods were enemies, just like God, of the poor human being. Gods in alabaster extended like white whales, gods gilded like spikes, serpent gods entwining the crime of being born, naked and elegant buddhas smiling at the cocktail party of empty eternity like Christ on his horrible cross, all of them capable of anything, of imposing on us their heaven, all with torture or pistol to purchase piety or burn our blood, fierce gods made by men to conceal their cowardice, and there it was all like that, the whole earth reeking of heaven, and heavenly merchandise. — Pablo Neruda god No quiero para mí tantas desgracias. No quiero continuar de raíz y de tumba, de subterráneo solo, de bodega con muertos ateridos, muriéndome de pena.I do not want to be the inheritor of so many misfortunes. I do not want to continue as a root and as a tomb, as a solitary tunnel, as a cellar full of corpses, stiff with cold, dying with pain. Walking Around, Residencia II Residence II, II, stanza 4-5. Alternate translation by Donald D. Walsh: I do not want for myself so many misfortunes. I do not want to continue as root and tomb, just underground, a vault with corpses stiff with cold, dying of distress. — Pablo Neruda pain Preguntaréis ¿por qué su poesía no nos habla del sueño, de las hojas, de los grandes volcanes de su país natal? Venid a ver la sangre por las calles, venid a ver la sangre por las calles, venid a ver la sangre por las calles!And you will ask: why doesnt his poetry speak of dreams and leaves and the great volcanoes of his native land? Come and see the blood in the streets. Come and see the bloods in the streets. Come and see the blood in the streets!Explico Algunos Cosas Im Explaining a Few Things or I Explain a Few Things, Tercera Residencia Third Residence, IV, stanza 9. Alternate translation by Donald D. Walsh: You will ask: why does your poetry not speak to us of of sleep, of the leaves, of the great volcanoes of your native land? Come and se the blood in the streets, come and see the blood in the streets, come and see the blood in the streets! — Pablo Neruda poetry
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