Guest poem submitted by a contributor who wishes to remain anonymous:
(Poem #941) Clenched Soul
We have lost even this twilight. No one saw us this evening hand in hand while the blue night dropped on the world. I have seen from my window the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops. Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand. I remembered you with my soul clenched in that sadness of mine that you know. Where were you then? Who else was there? Saying what? Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly when I am sad and feel you are far away? The book fell that always closed at twilight and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet. Always, always you recede through the evenings toward the twilight erasing statues.
Pablo Neruda is one of my favourite poets. His poetry has a curious ethereal quality to it, a haunting sadnesss. This is one of his most brilliant poems, conveying the wistfulness ever so tenderly. In a way I would call him the Van Gogh of poetry -- a brilliant artist drawing on the most poignant of pictures and capturing them in a web of words. His poetry lives, lives in the true sense of the word. [Minstrels Links] Pablo Neruda: Poem #164, Bird Poem #422, Sonnet XVII: Love Poem #605, The Saddest Poem Poem #816, I'm Explaining a Few Things