Sonnet XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, or you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Here it is in the original Spanish.
No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.
Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.
Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,
sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.
3 comments:
I thought you wrote this...until I saw the "original Spanish". Or did you maybe write it in Spanish?
(Alice is watching me...she says that [again] my periods and quotes are mixed up. I think I am dyslexic. NOT. Just dumb.)
OH - weird. On that other computer, your blog comes up horribly distorted and I didn't see the "by Pablo Neruda" at the top. That's the Chilean poet Brenno gave me a whole book by. He can be somewhat erotic. But this one was good. I wonder if I could find it in my book.
I'm getting a little tired of this post. Mainly because I keep seeing "2 comments" and clicking on it, forgetting they are both from me.
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