An Homage to Mario Benedetti

In the hour of his death

The most to which one can aspire
is to leave two or three phrases in orbit.
As far as I know, Don Mario left at least one:
“death and other surprises.”
My God, what a phrase!

--poem composed by Chilean antipoet Nicanor Parra commemorating Mario Benedetti

This Sunday, the Uruguayan poet, essayist, playwright, novelist, and journalist Mario Benedetti died in Montevideo at the age of 88. He wrote more than 80 works, many of which reflect his political convictions. Benedetti was an avid supporter of the Cuban Revolution and in 1971 joined the leadership of the Movimiento 26 de Marzo, an organization linked to the leftwing Frente Amplio (Broad Front) party.

After a military coup in 1973, the front was outlawed and Benedetti’s magazine, Marcha, was shut down. This began a long period of exile. He first lived in Buenos Aires, Argentina, but threats from right-wing death squads forced him to escape to Lima, Peru, where he was later detained and deported. He moved to Havana, Cuba, and then to Madrid, where he lived for 12 years before returning to Uruguay.

According to Uruguayan poet Cristina Peri Rossi, “Benedetti became the loudspeaker of the Revolution, for better or for worse.” His unquestioning support for the Castro regime provoked conflict with other intellectuals, especially during his residence in Spain. At the same time, he “managed to connect with a public that wanted political and social changes in Latin America, and he did so through literature.”

For instance, his 1971 novel in verse El cumpleaños de Juan Ángel (Juan Ángel's Birthday) was dedicated to Uruguayan guerrilla leader Raúl Sendic.

Many of his other works reveal his political beliefs, albeit more subtly. Many are set in offices, where life is humdrum, duty-bound and grim, at times even Kafkaesque. Benedetti himself held a series of office jobs as he worked to establish himself as a writer.

His first significant book, published in 1956, was Poemas de la oficina (Office Poems), a handful of texts in which he portrayed the existential drama of an urban middle class trapped in bureaucratic routines.

Another work that expresses his leftist inclinations is the 1965 novel Gracias por el fuego (Thanks for the Light). The main character, Ramón Budiño, is the son of a powerful magnate with business and media interests and strong connections in the political world. Ramón refuses to take part in the family's dirty dealing and plots the murder of his father, but finally throws himself from the roof of a building.

Regardless of Benedetti’s failures or accomplishments in the actual political arena, he experienced global success as a literary activist. As the author himself states in one of his last books, Songs of Someone Who Doesn’t Sing, what kept him going were the causes that he believed in. “Thanks to them,” he says, “I can sleep tranquilly.” Similarly, in another poem, he asks the reader, "When they bury me / please don't forget / about my pen." In this sense, Mario Benedetti truly believed in the power of literature to teach, reveal, and transcend time and space.

A Little More on Pablo

Neruda is celebrated by Chileans--as a poet—to a degree that is truly rare on this planet. We in the North are not used to poets being such celebrities. Our great poets are revered and respected, but really only a small fraction of our society have read their poems. In Chile, though, everybody knows Neruda, everybody has read Neruda: miners, housewives, bakers, maids, school children. To his beloved Chilean people, to so many Latin Americans, Neruda is still the source of tremendous pride, regardless of one’s political orientation.

And Neruda was such a Chilean, such a Latin American, in how much he cared for his country, continent and its people. They were his cause, his pride and the most important audience for his poetry. Though he constantly traveled, he would always return to Chile (only living abroad while serving diplomatic positions).

Neruda's masterpiece, Canto General, is emblematic of his passion for his continent. The epic poem-- Canto, as in song-- is a class-based Marxist and humanistic interpretation of the history of the Americas, written as Neruda was developing his burgeoning pan-American consciousness and perspective.

“I live, I still live, and I think many of us live inside the world Neruda discovered,” Ariel Dorfman told me on a warm spring day on the Duke campus, where he is a Distinguished Professor of Literature, Latin American Studies and Theater. We had been discussing Canto General, in which, as Dorfman put it, “He basically named Latin America in a new way, and he claimed for Latin America the possibility of being lyrically and epically in a story of resistance. And what was very special about that for me was that he managed to understand that the struggle of the people for their liberation, for their full humanity, was parallel to the struggle of the nature of Latin America to be expressed, to be freed. . . to be shown.”

“From the political aesthetic point of view, Canto General has no equal,” Dorfman, who was exiled from Chile after Pinochet's 1973 coup, continued, “There's not one bad verse in Residencia en la tierra, but Canto General is full of verses I would sort of say, well hey, ‘they’re too propagandistic, bombastic.’ But when he hit the target in the Canto General, what he did was he redefined what America meant. América. Even North America, but particularly Latin America.”

Awesome in scope and simultaneously deeply probing, Canto General is considered by many to be one of the more important books in the whole cannon of the world’s poetry. And it extends well beyond the world of well-versed lovers of literature and academic scholars. In 2003, I went to a construction site on a new line of Santiago’s metro in order to interview workers about their thoughts on Neruda. There, José Corriel told me that Canto General was his favorite book by Neruda because it’s “la parte combativa de Neruda,” the combative side. “The importance of Canto General,” he said, “is that it shows us the Américas’ history from a different point of view.” Canto General, he explained, is told from “the point of view of the people themselves, not the history told by the conquerors. Yes, we could call it the ‘history told by the conquered.’"

The Canto's opening poem is appropriately titled, “Amor América (1400)”


Before the powdered wig and the dress coat,

were the rivers, arterial rivers,

were the cordilleras, on whose worn ripple

the condor or the snow seemed immobile:

there was humidity and thickness, the thunder

still without name, the planetary pampas.


Man was earth, earthen pot, eyelid

of tremulous mud, shape of clay—

he was Caribbean pitcher, chibchan stone,

imperial cup or Araucanian silica.

Tender and bloody he was, but in the hilt

of his moistened crystal weapon

the earth’s initials were

written.

No one could

remember them later: the wind

forgot them, the language of water

was buried, the keys were lost

or inundated by silence or blood.


Life was not lost, pastoral brothers.

But like a wild rose

a red drop fell on the thickness,

and a lamp on earth was extinguished.


I am here to tell the history.

From the peace of the buffalo

to the beaten sands

of the land’s end, in the accumulated

foam of the Antarctic light

….



My land without name, without América,

equinoctial stamen, purple lance,

your aroma climbed to me through my roots

into the goblet that I drank, into the thinnest

word still unborn in my mouth.


He indeed drank deeply from that cup, as Latin America's poetic essence flowed through the book's two hundred and thirty more poems, in which he named so much of both America's integrities and its external evils.

Canto General's literary roots are the lyrics of his hero Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, Dante’s Divine Comedy, the Mayan’s Popul Vuh and, as seen in “Amor América (1400),” the literature of the Bible. “Amor América (1400)” lays out Neruda’s idea of the American Genesis, a pre-Columbian Eden, before the arrival of the Spanish Conquistadores and the subsequent “imperialistic” foreign powers' injustices. In this Eden, as Neruda described it, all was pure, so natural that “Man was earth, earthen vase.”

The Europeans extinguished the ancient "lamp on earth," according to Neruda's thinking. He portrays the Spanish Conquest as a tragic injustice forced on “his” people, despite his European heritage. The Europeans, to him, were barbarous and ruthless. “Like a wild rose, a red drop fell on the thickness”--so ended America’s Edenic first phase of history. (The poet doesn't mention, though, the barberry that many pre-Columbian societies had ruthlessly enacted on others within the continent: the blood let by the Inca’s imperialism, the Aztec love of war, the Mayans` human sacrifices, the violence of Apache warriors. . . For he is not just invoking the peaceful indigenous of his land which would be called Chile, he is talking all of the Americas, “from the peace of the buffalo / to the beaten sands of the land’s end.”)

Neruda identifies himself with the indigenous people. “I searched for you, my father, young warrior of darkness and copper,” he writes in “Amor América (1400)”. In the poem, all indigenous people, peaceful and belligerent alike, are his “fathers”; he is their son. Pablo Neruda, though, was actually born Ricardo Eliecer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto, with no native names in his lineage, but rather Spanish family names, with Neftalí, from his mother, suggesting some Semitic roots.

In Canto General, the “pastoral hermanos” are his brothers, presented as the land itself:

My Araucanian fathers had no

crests of luminous plumes,

they did not rest on nuptial flowers,

they did not spin gold for the priest:

they were stone and tree, roots



"Earth and Man Unite"


Neruda is here to tell their story, to give name to that which was “without name, without América,” before the Spanish came.

Canto General attempts to find "the earth's initials," to uncover and display the lost keys to the conquered, to open new doors to justice. He is making a literary effort to give people back their lost voice.

* * *

When the bestselling Chilean novelist Isabel Allende fled her country after Pinochet's coup, she couldn't take much with her, "some clothes, family pictures, a small bag with dirt from my garden, and two books: Eduardo Galleano’s seminal Open Veins of Latin America, and an old edition of Pablo Neruda’s poetry. Like the bag of earth, with Neruda’s words I was taking a part of Chile with me, for Neruda was such a part of my country, such a part of the political dreams destroyed that day."

Neruda is one of history’s greatest examples of a soul rebel who used his pen as his sword in his constant fight for a better world. At his political core was a populism based on his fundamental belief that the common man, the worker, the poor, deserved a seat at the table as much as anybody else:


…Let us sit down soon to eat

with all those who haven’t eaten;

let us spread great tablecloths,

put salt in the lakes of the world,

set up planetary bakeries,

tables with strawberries in snow,

and a plate like the moon itself

from which we can all eat.


For now I ask no more

than the justice of eating.


(translated by and (C) Alastair Reid, from "Extravagario", Farrar, Strauss & Giroux)

(Isabel opens her narration of our documentary "Pablo Neruda: The Poet's Calling" with that quote)

("Open Veins of Latin America" was the book that Hugo Chavez gave President Obama at the Summit of the Americas)

Neruda's communism was not based on egalitarianism, but rather the equality of possibility.

Even as a teenager, witnessing the injustices against the indigenous and working class to which he was exposed, Neruda felt the poet’s calling-- el deber del poeta: an obligation, a duty, a debt he owed to give voice to the people through his poetry. He promised a commitment to humanitarianism, using literature to enrich, empower and engage in the pursuit of progressive social change.


(C) Mark Eisner from the book "Pablo Neruda: The Poet's Calling", forthcoming from W.W. Norton, Spring 2010

POETRY AS INSURGENT ART

Lawrence Ferlinghetti, legendary Beat poet, literary activist, founder of City Lights Bookstore and Publishers, artist, and dear friend of Red Poppy, has just celebrated his 90th birthday. Lawrence represents what Red Poppy is about.

A prominent voice of the wide-open poetry movement that began in the 1950s, Lawrence has written poetry, translation, fiction, theater, art criticism, film narration, and essays. Often concerned with politics and social issues, Ferlinghetti’s poetry countered the literary elite's definition of art and the artist's role in the world.

In 1953, with Peter D. Martin, he founded City Lights Bookstore, the first all-paperbound bookshop in the country, and by 1955 he had launched the City Lights publishing house.

The bookstore has served for half a century as a meeting place for writers, artists, and intellectuals. City Lights Publishers began with the Pocket Poets Series, through which Ferlinghetti aimed to create an international, dissident ferment. His publication of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl & Other Poems in 1956 led to his arrest on obscenity charges, and the trial that followed drew national attention to the San Francisco Renaissance and Beat movement writers. (He was overwhelmingly supported by prestigious literary and academic figures, and was acquitted.) This landmark First Amendment case established a legal precedent for the publication of controversial work with redeeming social importance. (taken from www.citylights.com)

Lawrence has given us permission to quote from his long title poem from his 2007 boook, ¨POETRY AS INSURGENT ART", lyrical literary activism:

**we apòlogize for the crippled formatting of many of the lines, but blogger is not being nice!**

I am singling you through the

flames.

The North Pole is not where it used to be.

Manifest Destiny is no longer mani-fest.

Civilization self-destructs.

Nemesis is knocking at the door.

What are poets for, in such an age?

What is the use of poetry?

The state of the world calls out for

poetry to save it.

If you would be a poet, create works

capable of answering the challenge

of apocalyptic times, even if this

means sounding apocalyptic.

You are Whitman, you are Poe, you

are Mark Twain, you are Emily

Dickinson and Edna St. Vincent

Millay, you are Neruda and Maya-

kovsky and Pasolini, you are an

American or a non-American, you can

conquer the conquerors with words.

If you would be a poet, write living

newspapers. Be a reporter from

outer space, filing dispatches to

some supreme managing editor who

believes in full disclosure and has a

low tolerence for bullshit.

If you would be a poet, experiment

with all manner of poetic, erotic

broken grammers, ecstatic religions,

heathen outpourings speaking in

tongues, bombast public sppech,

automatic scribblings, surrealist sens-

ings, streams of consciousness,

found sounds, rants and raves—to

create your own limbic, your own

underlying voice, your ur voice.

If you call yourself a poet, don´t just

sit there. Poetry is not a sedentary

occupation, not a ¨take your seat¨

practice. Stand up and let them

have it.

...

If you would be a poet, invent a new

way for mortals to inhabit the earth.

If you would be a poet, invent a new

language anyone can understand.

If you would be a poet, speak new

truths that the world can´t deny.

...

Through art, create order out of the

chaos of the living.

Make it new news.

Write beyond time.

Reinvent the idea of truth.

Reinvent the idea of beauty.

...

Question everything and everyone,

including Socrates, who questioned

everything.

...

Be subversive, constantly question-

ing reality and the status quo.

Strive to change the world in such a

way that there´s no further need to

be a dissident.

Hip Hop and Rap your way to liber-

ation.

...

Your poems must be more than

want ads for broken hearts.

...

Words can save you where guns

can´t.

...

Give a voice to the tongueless street.

...

See the rose through world-colored

glasses.

Be an eye among the blind.

...

Be naive, non-cynical, as if you had

just landed on earth, astonished by

what you have fallen upon.

...

Dig folk singers who are the true

singing poets of yesterday and today.

...

Think subjectively, write objectively.

...

Like a field of sunflowers, a poem

should not have to be explained.

...

Haunt bookstores.

...

Cultivate dissidence and critical

thinking. First thought may be worst

thought.

...

Sow your poems with the salt of the

earth.

...

Don´t let them tell you poetry is a

neurosis that some people never out-

grow.

...

Don´t ever believe poetry is irrele-

vant in dark times.

...

Make new wine out of the grapes of

wrath.

...

Be the gadfly of the state and also its

firefly.

For the rest of the poem and much more, purchase the beautiful book at www.citylights.com or your local independent publisher.

Que viva Lawrence Ferlinghetti!

Que viva City Lights!

Happy birthday, dear bard.

In the Spirit of Neruda (translation of Tina's post)

We are living in a time of profound financial crisis, the causes of which are subject to the climate of panic that encourages executives and the like to proceed with massive layoffs, cuts in humanitarian programs, generalized price increases, and reduction of services. The objective is clear: to reorganize any product that allows capitalist gluttony to maintain its machinery and the astronomical salaries of an executive leadership that must receive its annual bonus for work carried out with surgical precision (despite the crisis or precisely because of it?). It doesn't matter if such leadership is the cause of this gigantic mess, which those below, in a feudal reconfiguration, end up not only suffering, but also literally paying. In 2002, the number of vice presidents at the University of Vermont (UVM), where I have been working as a Spanish professor for almost two decades, was 3, and the disposable funds exceeded $100 million. In 6 years, the corporate frenzy led by the President multiplied the number of vice presidents from 3 to 26 and the salaries of the administrative leadership increased, not counting bonuses and benefits, by over $7 million, an increase of 152% (including new positions and salary increases). In contrast, the professors' union has hardly managed to get a raise in progressive increments of 4%, 3%, and 2% in future years, which doesn't change the fact that my salary is very much below the national average and that I have to continue funding conferences and lectures out of my own pocket.

But we are in a crisis, we are told, a multi-million-dollar hole that requires immediate action, such as layoffs (16 instructors were already notified during the "first phase" of action); not renewing contracts (a camouflaged form of sacking); raising enrollment again (it's already risen by 30% since 2002); increasing the number of students (where and by whom will these classes by given?); cutting two sports teams, etc. In my "unit," in the corporate terminology that is used, it has been proposed to unite all the languages (Asian languages, Romance languages, German, Russian, and Arabic) with the linguistics sector and the faculty of sociology (this at a time when Spanish is being recognized as the second language of the U.S., when there is a national debate that questions the foreign nature of Neruda's language and its consequent academic relocation). The one who would use this structure would be a business manager that would be able with the massive rearticulation to save per year...$100,000. That is, half of the salary of many new executives in the administrative leadership. (Incidentally, the consolidation idea seems to have formed part of the President's plan or vision before the crisis; that is to say, many of the resolutions correspond to a personal agenda that takes advantage of the current situation).

Who are they trying to fool? Will this business manager be satisfied with the meager salary of a professor and rotating department head? Or will it be necessary to hire a consulting company to solve the financial equation, as happened with the disaster of the People Soft program? ($18 million of additional unapproved expenditure, aside from the initial cost of $23 million, all for an electronic program that had already been denounced for its faults at the national level; the extra expenditure includes payment to consultants that charged $190-$350 per hour). Obviously, those responsible for this whole disaster, which has brought us to where we are today, have barely been questioned about their terrible management. In times of crisis, when we are told that we have to “tighten the belt,” our dean has received $8,000 as an incentive or bonus (perhaps for having arrived at such a brilliant proposal). In fact, she is one of the least paid in terms of incentives that award the contradictory “productivity” of those above (needless to say, we professors and the like don’t have the option of any bonus, despite the many varied and unpaid tasks that we continue to perform). Since the fiscal year 2006, the quantity of bonuses paid to the leadership independently of their enormous salaries has been almost $1 million ($896,594). How many job positions can be saved with this “extra” money? One single part-time professor, without even minimal benefits, annually earns half of the bonus of a rotating executive. 16 professors have already been fired, while the leadership maintains its positions, rapacity, and excesses, without showing any responsibility for the grave management errors that have brought about this financial catastrophe. Something very similar is happening at the national level, such as the accumulation of multi-million-dollar bonuses on the part of bank executives that received federal assistance so quickly, a situation that has infuriated citizens obligated to suffer restrictions in times “of crisis.” Without a doubt, these examples of profound social and economic inequality barely reveal the tip of the iceberg.

Where can the heart and essence of the university be found? Isn’t it based on universal concepts of knowledge and education? If the university’s essence has become corporate, an enterprise in which students are considered “clients” and the professors “knowledge providers,” we have completely broken the spirit and very notion of this institution, whose approach is defined at UVM as non-profit and is cemented to a large extent in social justice values. Knowledge, empathy, education, investigation—not oligarchy, money, and economic gain—should form the foundation of university values, in tune with the inexhaustible and supportive spirit of the best Pablo Neruda.

En el espíritu de Neruda

Vivimos tiempos de profunda crisis financiera, cuyas causas se supeditan al clima de pánico propicio para que ejecutivos y afines procedan a despidos masivos, recortes en programas humanitarios, subidas generalizadas en precios y reducción de servicios. El objetivo es claro: sanear el producto que permita a la glotonería capitalista mantener su maquinaria y los salarios astronómicos de una cúpula ejecutiva que recibirá su bono anual por el trabajo llevado a cabo con precisión cirujana (por mucha crisis que haya, ¿o precisamente por ella?). No importa si la tal cúpula es la causante de este enredo gigantesco que los de abajo, en una reconfiguración feudal, acaban no sólo por sufrir, sino también por pagar, literalmente. En el año 2002 el número de vicepresidentes en la Universidad de Vermont (UVM), donde trabajo como profesora de español desde hace casi dos décadas, era de tres, y el fondo disponible superaba los 100 millones de dólares. En seis años, el arrebato corporativo liderado por el Señor Presidente multiplicó el número de vicepresidentes de 3 a 26, y los sueldos de la cúpula administrativa se incrementaron, sin contar bonos ni beneficios, por encima de los 7 millones de dólares, una subida del 152% (entre nuevos puestos y subidas salariales). Como contrapartida, el sindicato de profesores ha logrado a duras penas conseguir un aumento salarial en incrementos progresivos de 4%, 3% y 2% en los próximos años, lo cual no impide que mi sueldo esté muy por debajo de la media nacional, y que siga teniendo que financiar conferencias y lecturas de mi propio bolsillo.

Pero estamos en crisis, nos dicen, en un agujero multimillonario que requiere acción inmediata, como la de llevar a cabo despidos (16 instructores ya fueron notificados en la “primera fase” de acción); no renovar contratos (una forma camuflada de despidos); subir, otra vez, las matriculaciones (desde 2002 subieron ya 30%); aumentar el número de estudiantes (¿quiénes y en dónde se impartirán estas clases?); suprimir dos equipos deportivos; etc. En mi “unidad”, en la terminología corporativa que se maneja, se plantea unir todos los idiomas impartidos (lenguas asiáticas, lenguas romances, alemán y ruso, árabe), con el sector de lingüística y la facultad de sociología (esto en un momento de reconocimiento del español como segunda lengua de EEUU, en un debate nacional que cuestiona la condición foránea del idioma de Neruda y su consecuente reubicación académica). Quien manejaría este entramado sería un “Business Manager” que lograría con la rearticulación masiva ahorrar al año… 100.000 dólares. O sea, la mitad del sueldo de muchos de los nuevos ejecutivos en la cúpula administrativa. (Incidentalmente, la idea de consolidación parece que formó parte del plan o visión del Señor Presidente previo a la crisis, es decir, muchas de las resoluciones responden a una agenda personal que aprovecha la actual coyuntura).

¿A quién se pretende engañar? ¿Quedará conforme este “Business Manager” con el sueldo ralo del profesor-jefe del departamento de turno? ¿O habrá que contratar a una compañía de consultoría para solventar la ecuación financiera, como sucedió con el desastre del programa People Soft? (18 millones de dólares de gasto adicional, no aprobado, sobre el coste inicial de 23 millones en un programa electrónico que había sido ya denunciado por sus fallos a nivel nacional; incluido en el gasto extra es el pago a consultores que cobraron entre $190 y $350 la hora). Obvia decir que los responsables de todo este desastre que ha contribuido enormemente a llevarnos a donde estamos apenas han sido cuestionados por su pésima gestión. En tiempos de crisis, donde nos dicen tenemos que “apretarnos el cinturón”, nuestra decana ha recibido 8.000 dólares de incentivo o bono (tal vez por haber llegado a tan brillante propuesta). De hecho, ella es de los menos pagados en incentivos que premian la contradictoria “productividad” de los de arriba (innecesario decir que profesores ni afines tenemos opción a bono alguno, por muchas y variadas que sean las tareas no remuneradas que seguimos ejerciendo). La cantidad en bonos desde el año fiscal 2006 pagados a la cúpula con independencia de sus enormes salarios es de casi 1 millón de dólares ($896.594). ¿Cuántos puestos de trabajo se pueden salvar con ese dinero “extra”? Un sólo profesor a tiempo parcial, sin ni siquiera beneficios mínimos, cobra anualmente el bono medio del ejecutivo de turno. Dieciséis profesores ya han sido despedidos, mientras la cúpula mantiene sus puestos, rapacidad y excesos, y sin responder a responsabilidad alguna ante los graves errores de gestión que han llevado a este punto de catástrofe financiera. Algo muy semejante sucede a nivel nacional, como la acumulación multimillonaria de bonos por parte de los ejecutivos bancarios tan pronto recibieron apoyo federal, situación que ha enfurecido a los ciudadanos obligados a sufrir restricciones en tiempos “de crisis”. Sin duda, estos ejemplos de profunda desigualdad social y económica revelan apenas la punta del iceberg.

¿Dónde se encuentra la clave y entraña de la universidad? ¿No se basa en conceptos universales de conocimiento y educación? Si la esencia universitaria se ha vuelto corporativa, empresa en la que los estudiantes son considerados “clientes” y los profesores “knowledge providers” (proveedores de información), se quiebra completamente el espíritu y noción misma de esa institución, cuyo planteamiento se define en UVM como “non profit”, esto es, sin ánimo de lucro, y en nuestra universidad se cimenta en gran medida en valores de justicia social. Conocimiento, empatía, educación, investigación y no oligarquía, dinero y ganancia económica deberían fundamentar los valores universitarios, en sintonía con el espíritu inagotable y solidario del mejor Pablo Neruda.

Hello, my name is Katia, and I am another member of the Red Poppy crew. If I had an official title, it would be something akin to Public Relations Assistant; in other words, I am a professional blogger. Every day, I read blogs that mention Neruda and comment on them, analyzing translations, interpreting poems on the basis of my own experience, and telling people about Red Poppy. Although this is no easy task, it has allowed me to learn a great deal about Neruda and how he is perceived.

The best thing about blogging is the opportunity to read Neruda on a daily basis. Of course, most people blog about his most popular works, so I often end up reading certain poems, such as Sonnet 17 ("I don't love you as if you were a rose..."), at least three times a week. Yet poetry, or rather how we react to it, changes with every reading, so I often pick up on things that I missed, as it were, before. And Neruda's works are so replete with unusual images and associations that multiple readings are practically essential for understanding.

At the same time, when people post lesser known works, such as Towards the Splendid City, the speech that Neruda gave when he received the Nobel Prize, I get to see his incredible versatility. Here is a writer that "covered" everything from the Spanish Civil War to artichokes, from the history of America (the entire Western Hemisphere) to the vicissitudes of love.

The second best thing about blogging is reading people's reactions to Neruda's work. Regardless of what it is they cite, people always marvel at the truthfulness of the author's style and express a certain connection to his words. It is this credibility that gives Neruda's works their constant relevance. His words appeal to us not as intellectual feats of intricacy, but as descriptions of the real world, of our common world. The beauty of his figurative language stems not from its unique linguistic twists, but from the unique, twisted reality it thereby conveys. The reason why people read and write about Neruda every day is because he recreates and reveals that which we thought we knew.

I especially love reading the creations that Neruda has inspired, from personal translations of his works to new poems written in his style. Some of these are pretty mediocre; others are fantastic. What fascinates me is people's eagerness to do this. I know from experience that writing and translating are no easy feats; in fact, they often demand every ounce of your mind, soul, and heart. So why engulf oneself in words that will probably not get published anywhere outside of the blogosphere? Because, as Neruda states in Toward the Splendid City,

"When I am recounting in this speech something about past events, when reliving on this occasion a never-forgotten occurrence...it is because in the course of my life I have always found somewhere the necessary support, the formula which had been waiting for me not in order to be petrified in my words but in order to explain me to myself."

It seems that Neruda's works have done for others what he wanted them to do for him: to provide an opportunity for self-discovery.

Books by burro

Check out this New York Times article.

It's all about truly believing in the power literature, and doing all you can to realize it.