The great Chilean poet Pablo Neruda had a prolific and extraordinarily varied output of poetry. This book was my introduction to him 25 years ago, when I knew very little Spanish, and so had to rely on Alistair Reid's parallel translations. It is still my favourite now, from a bookshelf full of Neruda's work. The poems are accessible but deep, and the translations do remarkably good justice to Neruda's powerful images and his matchless use of the subtleties of Spanish. In other words, an ideal book for any lover of poetry, whether or not you understand Spanish.
There are poems of beautiful simplicity:
I copy out mountains, rivers, clouds. / I take my pen from my pocket. I note down / a bird in its rising / or a spider in its little silkworks. / Nothing else crosses my mind. I am air, / clear air, where the wheat is waving, / where a bird's flight moves me, the uncertain / fall of a leaf, the globular / eye of a fish unmoving in the lake, / the statues sailing in the clouds, / the intricate variations of the rain.
[from Pastoral]
And poems of surreal poignancy:
The child's foot is not yet aware it's a foot, / and would like to be a butterfly or an apple.
But in time, stones and bits of glass, / streets, ladders, / and the paths in the rough earth / go on teaching the foot that it cannot fly, / cannot be fruit bulging on the branch. / Then, the child's foot / is defeated, falls / in the battle, / is a prisoner / condemned to live in a shoe.
Bit by bit, in that dark, / it grows to know the world in its own way, / out of touch with its fellow, enclosed, / feeling out life like a blind man.
[from To the foot from its child]
There are poems for every mood, poems of politics, humourous poems, poems of despair, poems of passion and love and joy.
The book is enlivened throughout by a delicacy of touch, by constant surprises as Neruda looks below the skin of ordinary reality to find deep and breathtaking insights and images. No review can do it justice - get hold of a copy!