Pablo Neruda

We've skipped our "poet of the week" feature for a while, since (due to glitches in Blogger's software) new posts aren't registering as usual. But after listening to a radio program on poetry and music, we realized we'd been very remiss - 2004 is Chilean poet Pablo Neruda's centennial, and we've neglected to post anything by him.

Without further ado, here's an untitled poem he wrote late in life, translated by William O'Daly.

My name was Reyes, Catrileo,
Arellano, Rodríguez, I have forgotten
my true names.
I was born with a surname
of old oaks, of saplings,
of hissing wood.
I was deposited
among rotting leaves:
this newborn sank down
in the defeat and in the birth
of forests that were falling
and poor houses that had recently been weeping.
I was not born but rather they founded me:
all at once they gave me every name,
every family's name:
I was called thicket, then plum tree,
larch and then wheat,
that is why I am so much and so little,
so wealthy and so destitute,
because I come from below,
from the earth.


From The Sea and the Bells, Pablo Neruda, Copper Canyon Press, 1988. This poem was originally published by Fundación Pablo Neruda, 1973.

Other places:

The Academy of American Poets' Pablo Neruda page has a good bio., bibiliograpy, and many links.