Me, Pablo and the Short Journey

“Laughter is the language of the soul.” ― Pablo Neruda

“To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.” ― Pablo Neruda

Yesterday, I walked out of Barnes and Noble with a new friend. I went into the store to purchase a bookmark but, as is usually the case, I walked out with a book, a book first published in 1952 about nine years before I was born. The book, "The Captains Verses" written by the Chilean, Nobel Prize winning Poet, Pablo Neruda, is a book of love poems. I am not sure why I chose a book of poetry, a book solely of love poems. I have not read any poetry in years. The last book of poetry I remember purchasing was The Selected Poetry of Robinson Jeffers but that was many years ago.

Perhaps I bought a book of poetry because I love the way words play together, how they combine to form sentences, paragraphs, stories that transports the mind to unimagined worlds, how they coalesce to create vivid images that play on the soul. In no literary form do words create so much beauty in such sparse usage as in poetry.

Perhaps I bought a book of love poems because love is a universal condition, because love is a defining aspect of humanity, because love is a subject that has been scribed for as long as the written word has been recorded, for as long as the words have been breathed from our souls, because love is a subject always close to my heart.

One of the unique aspects of this book is that the poems are written in both their native Spanish and in English. The original and the translation are placed on opposing pages, Spanish left and English right, so both forms are visible together.

I read the Spanish words first. I read the Spanish text aloud to get a sense for the lyricism of his thoughts, to feel the construct of the sentences, to hear the sounds of the rhymes, the alliterations Pablo includes in his creations for poetry is imagery in concert with sound, a visual and auditory communion that nourishes the spirit.

Next I read in the English text. Though missing the auditory beauty of the Spanish, I can understand the language, can see the sentiments, can feel the images, can taste the love he so eloquently expresses in his poems.

Having thoroughly explored both versions, I move on to the next poem, to the next expression of love. I move on feeling joy that I can connect further with Pablo though he died when I was a young boy. I move on feeling sadness knowing that with each passing poem, I am nearer the end of the collection, nearer the end of this short journey with Pablo.