Nobel Prize-winning poet Pablo Neruda , who died in 1973, continues to be probably the most influential voices in international literature.
Carpentry. He brings his instruments wrapped in a newspaper, lower than his arm, and unwraps what seems to me like a bankruptcy and selections up the worn handles of his hammers and rasps, wasting himself within the wooden. His paintings is ideal. a bit boy and a puppy accompany him and watch his arms as they flow in cautious circles. His eyes are like these of Saint John of the move, and his fingers increase the tremendous tree trunks with delicacy in addition to ability. at the rauli wooden beams, I wrote with chalk the names of lifeless.
Confusion with no resurrection, in a crowd that misplaced its imaginative and prescient, in a gray monastery condemned to the bare fact of its gods. The Lion an excellent lion arrived from afar: it was once large as silence, it used to be thirsty, looking blood, and in the back of his investiture, he had hearth like a home, it burned like a mountain of Osorno. It stumbled on in basic terms solitude. It roared of shyness and starvation: it will possibly consume merely air, seafoam unpunished through the coast, frozen sea lettuce, breeze the colour of birds,.
Sea, via air, via time. a huge rock, shaken by way of a cyclone, through a volcano, through an evening of seafoam and black guitars. just a royal stone within the heart of time and earth, triumph of immovability, of harshness, majestic just like the stars dealing with all that stirs, on my own profound, dense and natural. Oh solitary statue emerging from the sand! Oh bare bulk the place ash-colored lizards climb, that drink a goblet of dew within the sunrise, stone opposed to seafoam, opposed to altering sky, opposed to.
i'm the seaweed of the hurricane dashed via the surf: the stirrings of shipwrecks and the storm’s fingers moved and prompt me: right here you might have my chilly plants, my simulated submission to the wind’s judgment: I live to tell the tale the water, the salt, the fishermen, with my elastic range, and my vestments of iodine. the ocean Urchin the ocean urchin is the solar of the ocean, centrifugal and orange, filled with quills like flames, made up of eggs and iodine. the ocean urchin is just like the global: around, fragile,.
The swordfish sentinels with swords lengthwise shut the door of the ocean and get ready to maintain watch so order doesn’t input the ocean’s chaos. Fish marketplace Fish grasp via their tails, the spilled fish shine, the fish exhibit their silver, even the crabs nonetheless threaten. at the large embellished desk, throughout the submarine scales, in simple terms the physique of the ocean is lacking. It doesn't die; it's not on the market. Farewell to the choices of the ocean go back, go back to the ocean from those pages!.