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The typewriter separated me from a deeper intimacy with poetry, and my hand brought me closer to that intimacy again.

Pablo Neruda

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Pablo Neruda
Age: 69 †
Born: 1904
Born: July 12
Died: 1973
Died: September 23
Author
Autobiographer
Diplomat
Lyricist
Poet
Politician
Senator Of Chile
Nieh-lu-ta
Neftalí Reyes Basoalto
Pamplo Nerouda
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes
Bāblū Nīrūdā
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto
Nieluda
Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto
Neftali Reyes Basualto
Neftali Reyes Basoalto
Neftali Ricardo Reyes
Neftalí Reyes Basualto
Pāplō Nerūda
Hands
Separated
Intimacy
Closer
Deeper
Brought
Worship
Poetry
Typewriter
Hand
Typewriters

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Love is the mystery of water and a star.
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Nobody can claim the name of Pedro, nobody is Rosa or María, all of us are dust or sand, all of us are rain under rain. They have spoken to me of Venezuelas, of Chiles and Paraguays I have no idea what they are saying. I know only the skin of the earth and I know it has no name.
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But when I call for a hero, out comes my lazy old self so I never know who I am, nor how many I am or will be. I'd love to be able to touch a bell and summon the real me, because if I really need myself, I mustn't disappear.
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Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when.
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And our problems will crumble apart, the soul / blow through like a wind, and here where we live will all be clean again, with fresh bread on the table.
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I think it was very informative, but a lot still needs to be done.
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What can I say without touching the earth with my hands?
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When your hands leap towards mine, love, what do they bring me in flight?
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On our earth, before writing was invented, before the printing press was invented, poetry flourished. That is why we know that poetry is like bread it should be shared by all, by scholars and by peasants, by all our vast, incredible, extraordinary family of humanity.
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And here am I, budding among the ruins with only sorrow to bite on, as if weeping were a seed and I the earth's only furrow.
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Like a jar you housed the infinite tenderness, and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
Pablo Neruda
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Poetry is an act of peace.
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Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?
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I want to see the thirst inside the syllables I want to touch the fire in the sound: I want to feel the darkness of the cry. I want words as rough as virgin rocks.” - Verb.
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In this part of the story I am the one who dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood.
Pablo Neruda
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Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don't leave me for a second, my dearest.
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O happy childhood! blessed youth! But once we know thy potent power But once we live all careless free No cross to mar our love-lit bower.
Pablo Neruda
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I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and its winter.
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I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty.
Pablo Neruda
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And I, infinitesima­l being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, I felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.
Pablo Neruda