Poet-Philosopher

I want to be a poet-philosopher. I think poet-philosophers are the greatest bunch of people who has achieved a certain state of mind that ordinary people could simply not comprehend. They can see and feel things that ordinary people are just too dumb or too numb to notice. They have a certain air of peace, of calm, of wisdom and of reassurance around them. I really want to be a poet-philosopher. Or at least let me be a friend of a poet-philosopher so that I can feel the peace, feel the calm and wisdom, and be reassured that this world is not as bad as it seems.

I would like to share here a poem by Pablo Neruda. This poem is quite popular and Yasmin has recently posted this poem too. I just want to post it here too to grace my blog. This is from “The Poetry of Pablo Neruda”, edited by Ilan Stavans. The translator is W.S. Merwin.

**********************************************************
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 again and again 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 she was before 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.

**********************************************************

Strange, after typing this, I feel happier.

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