I am choosing, for my own sake, to not respond to the possessive manner Neruda describes (and objectifies) the AFAB body, and the violence which undertones it. It’s hard for me to separate the art from the artist, particularly when it’s related to sexual violence. Clearly I hadn’t explored his work deeply enough (or these themes were less present/obvious in his later collections, or it went over my head), otherwise I probably would have selected the other book. But for the sake of this blog post, I am going to identify other aspects of his writing I either enjoyed or found irritating.
There are clear threads that run through the poetry in this collection; In particular, Neruda tends to lean into extended metaphors and imagery related to weather (eg. “Within you thunder plays sweet melodies and / within me it’s pouring rain” [Oh Sea of Pines, 11]. He also seems to be especially fixated on the word ‘twilight’ as it appears in most of his poems, sometimes more than once (eg. “Your eyes contain the fighting flames of twilight” [I Remember You, 23], “We have lost this twilight” [We’ve Lost, 39], “In my twilight sky, you are like a cloud” [In My Twilight Sky, 65]). I wonder to what degree the translation influences some of these patterns, and if perhaps I did not enjoy this collection as much as Neruda’s other ones (besides the obvious) because I didn’t connect with this translator’s work. Honestly, if one were so inclined (and of the legal age of course), the frequent use of the word ‘twilight’ could lend itself to the creation of a formidable drinking game. This counts as ‘play’, right?
It’s clear how much Neruda’s writing matured throughout his lifetime, and as mentioned, I connect more with his later works than his earlier ones. Still, the emotional depth with which he writes at, what, twenty years old? is impressive. I admire his vulnerability, his willingness to place all of his cards on the table. “Tonight I Write” (81) is my favourite poem of this collection, and the line “Tonight I can write the saddest lines. / I loved her, and at times she loved me too” is honest and evocative. I often wonder how much magic a translation removes from a poem. Poetry is all about intentionality, meaning every word is carefully curated, arranged in just the right order and cadence. You remove a word, or shuffle the poem around, and it disrupts the entire flow of the piece. I understand the importance of translating poetry so it can be enjoyed in many languages, but it is a shame (albeit inevitable) that it has to be shifted, even slightly, to do so. A translator’s work must be gruelling and headache inducing, but hopefully rewarding as well? That said, how do you think the translation impacts the quality and rhythm of the poetry? I realise this may be hard to respond to if you don’t speak Spanish (I don’t), but give it your best shot? 🙂
“It’s hard for me to separate the art from the artist, particularly when it’s related to sexual violence.”
As you can see from my lecture (and even from what I’ve said in class already), I’m profoundly ambivalent about this. I’m not sure, for myself, what to do…
“the frequent use of the word ‘twilight’ could lend itself to the creation of a formidable drinking game. This counts as ‘play’, right?”
Ha! It sure does!
Hi Neko! I also found it hard to connect with the collection of poems as I also felt very uncomfortable by the nature or the possessiveness of Neruda’s writing. I think that poems are meant to be for everyone, as everyone should be able to find a way to connect to the art in some shape or form. That was not the case for these poems. I think that is because of the meanings and sexual violence associated with them, because I do think Neruda has an ability to write and create a vivid image in a readers mind. As for your question, I also do not speak Spanish and was wondering this as well. Every language has its own speeds and rhythms and I do think that the translation is not able to capture all of that. I wish I did speak Spanish as I’m sure it rolled off the tongue and sounded much more cohesive.
Hey Neko,
Im not going to lie, I also did not know the background of the author before choosing this book for my contract. However, I focused on the art of the writing more than the underlying message of possessive sexual violence. I too enjoyed the imagery of the weather, trees, and nature. I thought the way he described everything was beautifully vivid, and if he chooses to write about other topics not related to sexual violence a larger crowd would have found comfort with his work.
As for your question, I do not speak Spanish but it all depends on the tones of the writing. Poetry can have beautiful rythmes in it but when translated they may or may not work out. I do speak Persian, and when I see translated work from that sometimes it makes no sense and looses its meaning all together, and that is not even considering the rhythm and flow of the poetry which can be delicate.
I only know a bit of Spanish, but I tried reading a couple of these poems untranslated. Though it took too much effort for me to commit to reading the full collection in the original, I found that I liked the poems significantly more that way; they came across as way less awkward, more rhythmically satisfying, and full of subtleties lost in translation that even I could pick up on with my minimal knowledge of Spanish. As I make clear in my blog post, I was not a fan of these poems otherwise, so I wonder if I would have like them more if I knew Spanish better. Or maybe I liked them more in Spanish precisely because I didn’t understand them as well and wasn’t able to comprehend as many of the lines that came across as quite creepy when I read them in English.