Collect Winter Garden Curated By Pablo Neruda Distributed As E-Text
brief suite of poems from the incomparable Neruda perhaps the greatest Spanish language poet of the twentieth century sharing a theme of the regenerative powers of nature upon the burdens of the soul.
Spectral loves and the ghosts of pain and loss that haunt us lurk in the misty visions conjured forth from the Chilean's lyrical pen:
I am keeping the name of a woman
I barely knew locked up it's in a box,
and now and then I pick out the syllables
that are rusted and creak like rickety pianos:
soon those trees come out, and then the rain,
the jasmine, the long victorious braids
of a woman now without a body, lost,
drowned in time as in a slow lake:
there her eyes went out like coals.
Nevertheless, there is in dissolution
the sweet scent of death, buried arteries,
or simply a life among other lives,
It smells good to turn our face
only in the direction of purity:
to feel the pulse of the raining sky
of our diminished youth:
to twirl a ring in the emptiness,
to cry out to heaven.
I regret not having time for my lives,
even for the slightest thing, the souvenir left in a compartment
of a train, in a bedroom or at the brewery,
like an umbrella left there in the rain:
perhaps these are the imperceptible lips
that speak like the cadence of the sudden
sea, in a careless moment on the road.
For that reason, Irene or Rose, Mary or Leonore,
empty boxes, dry flowers pressed in a book,
they call out from their lonely corners
and we need to open them, to hear the one without a voice,
to see those things that do not exist.
I am no stranger to reading poems, and this is the second book of the poet's that I have read, This particular book was posthumously published from a written manuscript of the poet's after he died of cancer as his nation's leftist government was soon to be overthrown, Given that the poet was Chile's ambassador to France at the time, and was in exile from his beloved Isla Negra, this book is taken as a book that expresses a feeling of exile and silence and an awareness of his approaching death.
It is therefore an instructive case of what a poet thinks about and reflects about as the time of his end rapidly approaches, Most writers can be expected to show their natures in the face of death, and this book has a feeling of late autumn and approaching winter that shows the author bravely facing his death and demise, if without as much hope as one would expect.
There is a genuine sense of beauty and melancholy with these works, and that makes this a decent book of poetry to read, despite the gulf that separates the worldview of the author and I on a great many subjects.
This particular book is a short one written as a diglot with the poet's native Chilean Spanish on the left and the English translation on the right, Overall there are twenty poems that take up aboutpages or so, As might be expected for a poet who felt most at home on a quiet and somewhat remote island, a great deal of this poem reflects on naturethe ocean, birch trees, a beloved but dead dog that is dealt with strikingly unsentimentally, as well as images of forests and the titular winter garden.
Even when the author talks about something as joyful as homecoming he strikes a mournful tone: "I am a man of so many homecomings / that form a cluster of betrayals / and again, I leave on a frightening voyage / in which I travel and never arrive anywhere my single journey is a homecoming.
" These are not happy poems, and the author appears to write them without any sort of hope in an afterlife or a better life afterwards, He even seems to anticipate that his death will be a time of eating because of the various organisms that will feed off of his decaying body, It is an altogether gloomy and dark collection of works,
Of course, Pablo Neruda being who he is, he could not resist a few political comments that detract from the quality of this work because they remind the reader that the poet has an uncongenial political worldview, as when he speaks about Nixon and shows his spleen.
One wonders whether the poet, and those who publish and market his works, are aware that not everyone is friendly to the leftist viewpoint of the author and who find the poet's stridency offputting.
Perhaps people are used to being in an echo chamber where they do not have to face the withering criticism of those who have different views of the world and for whom a poet like this can be enjoyed and appreciated only with a sense of caution and wariness because of the awareness that the poetical and the political are never too far apart when it comes to many writers, myself included.
As this writer is one whose political viewpoint is unworthy of a great deal of respect or praise, and as he appears to have no faith in resurrection or a better world to come, this book is a gloomy example of the poetry of those who write without hope.
See, for example:
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sitelink blog/ Uno de los poemarios póstumos de Neruda, "Jardín de invierno" combina la sátira, la solemnidad bucólica, la melancolía y el tono irónico del Neruda de la última etapa.
Un libro que sin llegar al centenar de páginas es imperdible,
Mi poema favorito de este libro "Un perro ha muerto", A pensive collection as Neruda faces the Winter Garden of his dying, These elegiac poems sing with the imagery of nature and the lyrical voice of one of theth Century's greatest poets as he faces the termination of his light, He addresses his literal last homecoming from France where he serves his native Chile, and a figurative homecoming as his "single journal" of life returns to the silence from which it came:
I am a man of so many homecomings
that form a cluster of betrayals,
and again, I leave on a frightening voyage
in which I travel and never arrive anywhere:
my single journey is a homecoming.
I liked this collection far better than the previous one I read, There was an earnestness to it that came through the pages, Most of the poems speak of reaching out and returning to a place you are unable to, Is Neruda speaking of his time as an exile or is he speaking of death and the changes brought on as we approach it
Perhaps that is where this earnest voice comes through.
He knows the end is approaching and seeing it, strives to make his voice heard yet again,
The poems brush against sentimentality, but never become overly sentimental, The longing is anchored by the reality of a life lived and choices made, All we can do is press on,
What can I do if the star chose me
to flash with lightning, and if the thorn
guided me to the pain of so many others.
What can I do if every moment
of my hand brought me closer to the rose
Should I beg forgiveness for this winter,
the most distant, the most unattainable
for that man who used to seek out the chill
without anyone suffering because of his happiness
I want to say how between two seas
my whole being hangs
like a disheartened flag.
And for my blind beloved
I am ready to die
though my death will be blamed
on my deficient organism
or on the unnecessary sadness
deposited in clothes closets.
The truth is, time escapes
and with a widow's voice calls me
from the forgotten woods,
Well, I never went back, I no longer suffer
from not going back, the sand willed it
and as part wave part channel,
syllable of salt, leech of water,
I, sovereign, slave of the coast
surrendered, chained to my rock.
There is no freedom anymore for us
who are fragments of the mystery,
there is no way out for returning
to oneself, to the stone of oneself,
no other remain except the sea.
I struggled with this book, despite the translator's note that this was his most direct and personal book of the Copper Canyon Neruda series, This collection of eight books were done in his last years when he was dying of cancer, made diplomat to France, returned to La Isla Negra and then Pinochet Coup d'etat occurred.
To date I have read four books in the series and have loved the other three but this one was tough, Perhaps because it was more personal that I couldn't relate to some of the poems and yet the quality, the imagery and the language is still powerful stuff,
The longest poem is simply called "A dog has died" and begins simply, "Mi perro ha muerto" My dog has died and he goes on to say that he was a good dog and "there were no lies" between us and ends rather abruptly with "he has gone, I buried him and that was all".
Seems rather terse but this is a man lamenting his end, Other poems call out thanks for his life, lament the cold ocean waves and time passing, There is a real sadness in this volume and that is what makes the words sound so resolute, If I were to do this again, I would read the book last or perhaps first, knowing the otehrs are mo upbeat, But then death has that gravitas that resounds in a poet's final words, "Y hoy en el fondo del bosque perdido
oye el rumor del enemigo y huye
no de los otros sino de sí mismo,
de la conversación interminable,
del coro que cantaba con nosotros
y del significado de la vida.
"
Este libro me gustó un poco más que sitelinkEl Corazón Amarillo y sitelinkDefectos Escogidos aunque sigo sin entender bien la prosa del autor o su falta de recursos poéticos.
Before Winter Garden, I had never read any of Neruda's poetry, This small collection represents some of his last poems that were left unpublished until a couple of decades after his death, As a result, I found the poems to be quite haunting, but mesmorizing all in the same breath, The language is beautiful and his subjects intriguing, Just with this brief taste, I find myself wanting more so I can dig in and explore his earlier works and to be moved in similar ways, As I understand it, Neruda was quite the love poet, I would recommend this brief glimpse for those that have not read him before, If you are anything like me, it will suck you in and have you placing orders for more books, or, at the least, heading to the library to see if they have some of his works.
Highly recommended. دوستان گرانقدر این کتاب ازصفحه وشعر تشکیل شده است تنها نکته این بود که ترجمۀ این کتاب خیلی بد بود
ابیاتی از این کتاب را به انتخاب برای شما بزرگواران در زیر مینویسم
اکنون اکنون نیز عزیزکم برایم پیچک می آوری
و حتی پستان هایت بوی آن را می دهند
زمانی که باد غمناک می رود برای کشتن پروانه ها
دوستت دارم و سعادتم گاز میزند آلوی دهانت را
چرا هلیکوپتر را نمی آموزند
از نور خورشید عسل بمکند
ماه کامل کجا رها کرد
گونی آردش را امشب
آیا حقیقت است که کروکودیل های شهوانی
فقط در استرالیا می زیند
آیا حقیقت است که کرکس سیاه
شبانه بر
فراز وطنم پرواز می کند
پرندۀ قشنگ پاهای ترکه ای
دم حلقوی
می آید
نزدیک من ببیند چه حیوانی ام
زنبورها رسیدند
و از میان آفرینش و تکثیر انسان
بهار در بازار بین کبوتران و نانوایی ها آواره شد
امیدوارم این انتخاب ها خوب بوده باشه
پیروز باشید و ایرانی
باغ زمستان
باغ زمستان گزيده ايست از اشعار پابلو نرودا شاعر انقلابى شيليايى.
ماهيت شعر همواره به زبان و فرهنگ يك جامعه گره خورده است. حتى اگر مشكل زبان را حل كنيم تا وقتى از فرهنگ يك جامعه آگاهى نداشته باشيم هرگز نمى توانيم اشعار ملل ديگر را كه با شرايط فرهنگى خودشان نوشته شده است را درك كنيم. نمادها استعاره ها تلميحات و ساير آرايه ها و نمادهاى ادبى مخصوص هر زبان را به تمام دشوارى ها براى فهميدن شعر اضافه كنيد.
اين مشكلى ست كه همواره در ترجمه ى اشعار وجود دارد و در اين كتاب هم به شدت عميق بود. به نظرم علاوه بر ضعف هايى كه در ترجمه وجود داشت با توجه به اين كه اين اشعار عمدتا انقلابى و وابسته به دانستن تاريخ هستند عدم آگاهى از تاريخ شيلى عدم فهم اشعار رو تشديد مى كرد.
مى پرسم
آيا روزى
گلوله اى از دشمن
تو را لك خواهد كرد با خونم
بعد
با من خواهى مرد
يا شايد
آن ممكن اين قدر هيجان انگيز نباشد
اما ساده باشد
و شما به تدريج بيمار خواهى شد
لباس
با من با تن ام
و با هم
وارد مى شويم در خاك,
بخشى از چكامه اى براى لباس
شعرهاى قابل فهم هم داره هر چند تعدادشون نسبت به اونايى كه نمى شه فهميدشون كم تره. ولى براى آشنايى با ادبيات و تفكر ساير كشورها خوندن ش خالى از لطف نيست. با بعضى اشعارش مى شود گريست و مى شود همزادپندارى كرد با تمام چيزهايى كه بر ملت ما گذشته است. .