Bottom Line
Bottom Line by Pablo Neruda Translated by Paul Thomas Zenki I’m content with all the debts I’ve put on myself, in this life rounded up from odds and ends:
This Broken Bell — by Pablo Neruda
This Broken Bell by Pablo Neruda Translated by Paul Thomas Zenki This broken bell wants to sing nonetheless: the metal is green now, the bell is the color of jungle, color of pools of water in the woods, color of the day in the leaves.
The Turtle — by Pablo Neruda
The Turtle by Pablo Neruda Translated by Paul Thomas Zenki The turtle who trod for such time and saw so much with her ancient eyes,
To a Foot, from Its Child — by Pablo Neruda
To a Foot, from Its Child by Pablo Neruda Translated by Paul Thomas Zenki The child’s foot still doesn’t know it’s a foot, and it wants to be a butterfly or an apple.
The Great Ocean — by Pablo Neruda
The Great Ocean by Pablo Neruda Translated by Paul Thomas Zenki If your gifts and your destructions, Ocean, could bequeath to my hands one portion, one fruit, one ferment, I would choose your distant repose, your steel lines, your expanse sentried by the air and the night, and the energy of your white language that […]
The Restoration Of Common Things
To love an old chair is to love many people, to adore the sweat of their arms and the comfort of their bowed backs.
Mid-March: Late Frost Among The Fruit Trees
A yellow bus rolls the rutted road, slowing down to the opened gate. From its folded door steps a boy with an old Army bag on his shoulder. It is full of books, and his collar hangs askew.