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? 🙂