American Poets Magazine. Poems Find and share the perfect poems. Walking Around. Still Another Day: I Today is that day, the day that carried a desperate light that since has died.
Today is dead winter in the forgotten land that comes to visit me, with a cross on the map and a volcano in the snow, to return to me, to return again the water fallen on the roof of my childhood. Today when the sun began with its shafts to tell the story, so clear, so old, the slanting rain fell like a sword, the rain my hard heart welcomes. Pablo Neruda We all arrive by different streets, by unequal languages, at Silence.
Curse Furrowed motherland, I swear that in your ashes you will be born like a flower of eternal water I swear that from your mouth of thirst will come to the air the petals of bread, the spilt inaugurated flower. Academy of American Poets Educator Newsletter. Teach This Poem. Follow Us. Find Poets. Poetry Near You. I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb, alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses, half frozen, dying of grief.
That's why Monday, when it sees me coming with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline, and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel, and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the night.
And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist houses, into hospitals where the bones fly out the window, into shoeshops that smell like vinegar, and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin. There are sulfur-colored birds, and hideous intestines hanging over the doors of houses that I hate, and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot, there are mirrors that ought to have wept from shame and terror, there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical cords.
I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything, I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops, and courtyards with washing hanging from the line: underwear, towels and shirts from which slow dirty tears are falling. Sucede que me canso de ser hombre. There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines hanging over the doors of houses that I hate, and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot, there are mirrors that ought to have wept from shame and terror, there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical cords.
Under that name he has become one one of the most famous poets of all time. From the s on, his works reflected the political struggle of the left and the socio-historical developments in South America. He was also very famous for his love poems. Neruda's Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair have sold over a million copies since it first appeared.
Share it with your friends:. Make comments, explore modern poetry. Join today for free! Sign up with Facebook. He then refers to a barbershop, which also concerns appearance. He says that he does not want to see any more gardens, stores, or spectacles, all of which are about appearance.
Neruda writes about how he does not want to go on living like he has been living. He wants to share his observations without fear or insecurity.
He does not want to be useless. He then refers to how each Monday, he is forced to go back to the job he hates. As Neruda worked for the government, this shows how he could not express his thoughts about the government he worked for.
He creates a dark image of death, and compares every day of his job to death, and then to hell. So, Neruda wants to make everyone aware of their vanity and he would cross God and the government to do it, but he is insecure about sharing his thoughts. By clicking "Log In", you agree to our terms of service and privacy policy. We'll occasionally send you account related and promo emails.
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