Time Out

I’m trying to cultivate more time outs in my life because I prefer to be in 5th gear most of the time and then my soon-to-be 32-year old body just hits a wall (usually around 4 am when my brain can’t function anymore). One of the greatest and simplest pleasures in my life is to have a cold pint of beer (Negra Modelo and Guinness are preferred brews) or a tasty glass of red wine (Shiraz or Cabernet) and curl up on the sofa (or lounge in a hot sandalwood oil bath) with a good book of poetry. My favorite poet is a rather popular Chilean guy named Pablo Neruda. I was introduced to him several years ago when I first started studying Spanish. I loved the English translations of both his political and love poetry. Being a secret romantic at heart I confess the latter was my favorite. When I finally read the original Spanish version of his Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair all I can say is: ¡muy caliente! Here is the English version of my favorite poem from that same collection (I love his use of sailing/ocean imagery):

Here I Love You (Aquí Te Amo)

Here I love you
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.

The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters

Days, all one kind, go chasing each other

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.

A silver gull slips down from the west.sometimes a sail.

High, high stars.

Oh the black cross of a ship.

Alone.

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.

Far away the sea sounds and resounds.

This is a port.

Here I love you.

Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.

I love you still among these cold things.

Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels

that cross the sea towards no arrival.

I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.

My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.

I love what I do not have. You are so far.

My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.

But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.

The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.

And as I love you, the pines in the wind

want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

©Pablo Neruda