Neruda

This morning I woke up with lines of this wonderful poetry tugging at me. I read it every couple of months, finding something new and lovely every time. As with many of Pablo Nerudas poems, it is beautiful, romantic and entrenched in nature.

Ode to the woman in her garden – By Pablo Neruda (Translated from Spanish)

Yes, I knew that your hands were

the flowering clove, the lily
silvered:
that you had something to do
with the dirt,
with the earth’s flourishing . . .
but
when
I saw you dig down, dig down,
to push aside the stones
and finger the roots,
I knew right then,
my farmer girl,
that not just your hands
but your heart
were of the earth,
that you
were making
things
there of your own,
touching
damp
doors
through which
circulate
the
seeds.

So, then,
from one plant
just
planted
to the next,
your face
stained
with a kiss
from the mud,
you came
and went
flourishing,
you went,
and from your hand
the astrolomeria’s
stalk
raised its lonely elegance,
the jasmine
dressed
your snowy brow
with stars of scent and mist.

All
grew from you,
entering
the earth,
and turning
to immediate
green light,
foliage and might.
You made contact with
your seeds,
my love,
my red-faced garden girl:
your hand
familiared
the ground
and thus right then was
the growing made clear.

Love, so too
did your watery
hand,
your earthy heart,
give
fertility
and force to my songs.
You touch
my heart
as I sleep,
and the trees bloom
from my dream.
I wake up, I open my eyes,
and you’ve planted
in me
shadowed stars
that rise
with my song.

That’s how it is, garden girl:
our love
is
of this earth:
your mouth is the plant of life, the petals of it,
while my heart works the roots.

Translation by Terence Clarke