Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Greetings from Chile

Hola mi amigos! Greetings from Santiago, Chile! I am sooo stoked to FINALLY be on vacation, and a much needed one at that. While I’ve traveled quite a bit internationally this marks my first venture to South America. I’m also visiting my brother who lives here so it’s especially sweet.

I’m actually writing this the day before I leave but it will post (hopefully) when I am enjoying the beach and the fact it’s summer south of the equator and not the middle of winter! Hopefully I won't blind anyone on the beach with my lily white skin that's only seen the florescent office lights as of late! LOL.

I thought for today’s post I would share a poem from Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. I’ll be visiting his house later in the week and that will surely bring a second post about the romantic poet. To give you some context, I'll be visiting the house he built in Santiago for his lover (code: mistress) and rumored inspiration for much of his poetry. To tide you over until I can report on the home and my travels please enjoy this beautiful poem from one of my all-time fav poets. This one comes from Neruda's Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. I hate to admit that one of my favorites in this collection is actually the song of despair (how depressing do I sound!) but since I'm visiting the house that love build :-) I thought I'd share one of a happier tone. Enjoy!

I Remember You as You Were

I remember you as you were in the last autumn.
You were the grey beret and the still heart.
In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on.
And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.

Clasping my arms like a climbing plant
the leaves garnered your voice, that was slow and at peace.
Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning.
Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul.

I feel your eyes traveling, and the autumn is far off:
Grey beret, voice of a bird, heart like a house
Towards which my deep longings migrated
And my kisses fell, happy as embers.

Sky from a ship. Field from the hills:
Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond!
Beyond your eyes, farther on, the evenings were blazing.
Dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul.

Have you visited any famous writerly places? If so, where and which writers?

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