winter garden--by pablo neruda winter garden winter arrives. shining dictation the wet leaves give me, dressed in silence and yellow. i am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, i belong to the earth and its winter. earths rumor grew in the leaves, soon the wheat flared up punctuated by red flowers like burns, then autumn arrived to set down the wines scripture: everything passed, the goblet of summer was a fleeting sky, the navigating cloud burned out. i stood on the balcony dark with mourning, like yesterday with the ivies of my childhood, hoping the earth would spread its wings in my uninhabited love. i knew the rose would fall and the pit of the passing peach would sleep and germinate once more, and i got drunk on the air until the whole sea became the night and the red sky turned to ash. now the earth lives numbing its oldest questions, the skin of its silence stretched out. once more i am the silent one who came out of the distance wrapped in cold rain and bells: i owe to earths pure death the will to sprout. *translation by william odaly
Posted on: Mon, 27 Jan 2014 18:24:15 +0000
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