More about Pablo Neruda
Pablo Neruda -
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With your name on my mouth and a kiss that never broke away from yours.
I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.
Someone will ask later, sometimes searching for a name, his own or someone's else's why I neglected his sadness or his love... But I didn't have enough time or ink for everyone. Or maybe it was the strain of the city, of time the cold heart of the clocks...
No one can claim the name of Pedro,
nobody is Rosa or Maria,
all of us are dust or sand,
all of us are rain under rain.
They have spoken to me of Venezuelas,
of Chiles and Paraguays;
I have no idea what they are saying.
I know only the skin of the earth
and I know it has no name.
Our love was born outside the walls, in the wind, in the night, in the earth, and that's why the clay and the flower, the mud and the roots know your name.
Quote of the day
It was our fault, and our very great fault—and now we must turn it to use. We have forty million reasons for failure, but not a single excuse.
July 12, 1904
September 23, 1973
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Remarkable Last Words (or Near-Last Words)
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