everything
"it's the words that sing, they soar and descend...
i bow to them...i love them, i cling to them,
i run them down...i love words so much...
the unexpected ones....the ones i wait for greedily
or stalk, until, suddenly, they drop...
vowels i love, they glitter like colored stones,
they leap like silver fish, they are foam, thread,
metal, dew...
i run after certain words...
they are so beautiful that i want to fit them all into my poem...
i catch them in mid-flight, as they buzz past,
i trap them, clean them, peel them, i set myself
in front of the dish,
they have a crystalline texture to me, vibrant, ivory,
vegetable, oily, like fruit, like algae, like agates,
like olives...
and then i stir them, i shake them, i drink them,
i gulp them down,
i mash them, i garnish them, i let them go...
i leave them in my poem like stalactites, like slivers
of polished wood, like coals, pickings from a shipwreck,
gifts from the waves...everything exists in the word."
--Pablo Neruda
i bow to them...i love them, i cling to them,
i run them down...i love words so much...
the unexpected ones....the ones i wait for greedily
or stalk, until, suddenly, they drop...
vowels i love, they glitter like colored stones,
they leap like silver fish, they are foam, thread,
metal, dew...
i run after certain words...
they are so beautiful that i want to fit them all into my poem...
i catch them in mid-flight, as they buzz past,
i trap them, clean them, peel them, i set myself
in front of the dish,
they have a crystalline texture to me, vibrant, ivory,
vegetable, oily, like fruit, like algae, like agates,
like olives...
and then i stir them, i shake them, i drink them,
i gulp them down,
i mash them, i garnish them, i let them go...
i leave them in my poem like stalactites, like slivers
of polished wood, like coals, pickings from a shipwreck,
gifts from the waves...everything exists in the word."
--Pablo Neruda