Of or Pertaining to Neruda

In the garden of earthly delights

Where sumac and cinnamon ferns

Exhaled like birds or animals

Where odors of humus and granite

Seemed things one could live on

I saw myself

Walking for the long, mineral

Chain gang of the dead,

As if there among the trees

They had elected me to live

On their behalf, upright, lonely,

Oddly bruised,

But walking swiftly

The live one who carries inside him

The carved Russian dolls

Of all the dead.

I went alone in the late October night

Toward a copse where the last sun

Streamed through branches,

A caprice of twilight,

Walked with my head up,

Shoulders squared

Like any living person

without a proper country

& who in turn

Hears the live one

And the dead ones

In the poor drums of his shoes.

S.K.

Comments

[fridawrites]

Beautiful, so beautifully written.

[teri]

Yes - it is beautiful. I see the woods, smell the odors, feel the last bit of the sun's light.

How to put this? Being a sighted person, and having recently read Planet of the Blind, and Eavesdropping, there's no intention to make light of blindness. Yet it strikes me as how much everyone can learn from one another.

Oh - listening! With groups of children, we have them them close their eyes, cup their ears, and listen. What sounds they hear! How excited they become! Sounds that are always there, but unnoticed.

Here is a favorite image from this time of year:
Sumacs. In winter. A stand of them in the distance, heavily hung with clumps of plump red berries. Suddenly, the clumps fly away. Deception! A flock of birds had landed on the sumacs. What mischief.

Thank you for putting your life and thoughts into print.