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not because they are passionate or sweet-smelling
I don’t know,
this ocean is yours,
love has scattered
glasses, knives and
of someone’s fingers
on their handle or surface,
the trace of a distant hand
in the depths of forgetfulness.”
from “Ode to Common Things” by Pablo Neruda
The wind is a horse:
hear how he runs
through the sea, through the sky…
Exerpted from WIND ON THE ISLAND
from The Captain’s Verses
Translated by Donald D. Walsh
Leaning into the Afternoons (Translated by W.S. Merwin)
Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets
toward your oceanic eyes.
There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens
its arms turning like a drowning man’s.
I send out red signals across your absent eyes
that move like the sea near a lighthouse.
You keep only darkness, my distant female,
from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.
Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets
to that sea that beats on your marine eyes.
The birds of night peck at the first stars
that flash like my soul when I love you.
The night gallops on its shadowy mare
shedding blue tassels over the land.
Love Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda (translated by Mark Eisner)