with names, surnames and laments not be dealt with in the pages of my books, not to give them space in my verses: they say poetry died here, some say I should not do it: the truth is I do not want to please them.
I greet them, I tip my hat to them,
and I leave them voyaging in Parnassus like happy rats in cheese.
I belong to another category,
I am only a man of flesh and bones, therefore if they beat my brother I defend him with what I have in hand and each one of my lines carries the threat of gunpowder or steel, that will fall over the inhuman, over the cruel and over the arrogant.
But the punishment of my furious peace
menaces neither the poor nor the good: with my lamp I search for those who fall: I soothe and close their wounds: these are the chores of the poet of the aviator and of the stonecutter: we should do something on this earth because we were born on this planet and we must arrange mans society because we are neither birds nor dogs.
And so, if when I attack what I hate,
or when I sing to those I love,
poetry wants to abandon the hopes of my manifesto, Ill follow the letter of my law accumulating stars and armaments and in my steadfast duty to America one more rose does not matter: I have a pact of love with beauty: I have a pact of blood with my people. Pablo Neruda
Do Not Ask Me
Some people ask me that human affairs
with names, surnames and laments not be dealt with in the pages of my books, not to give them space in my verses: they say poetry died here, some say I should not do it: the truth is that I am sorry not to please them.
I greet them, I tip my hat to them,
and I leave them voyaging in Parnassus like happy rats in cheese.
I belong to another category,
I am only a man of flesh and bones, therefore if they beat my brother I defend him with whatever I have in hand and each one of my lines carries the threat of gunpowder or steel, that will fall over the inhuman, over the cruel and over the arrogant.
But the punishment of my furious peace
menaces neither the poor nor the good: with my lamp I search for those who fall: I soothe and close their wounds: these are the duties of the poet of the giver of comfort/ consolation and of the stonecutter: we should do something on this earth because we were born on this planet and we must arrange mans society because we are neither birds nor dogs.
And so, if when I attack what I hate,
or when I sing to those I love, poetry wants to abandon the hopes of my manifesto, Ill follow the letter of my law
accumulating stars and armaments
and in my steadfast duty to America one more rose does not matter: I have a pact of love with beauty: I have a pact of blood with my people. Pablo Neruda