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A beautiful writing by Pablo Neruda


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A day like today, September 23rd, 30 years ago, the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda died. A lot of events are doing today at his home and in other countries.

I’m sure some people (especially from South America) know him, but I’m not sure about other people in other countries. He won a Nobel prize in 1971. His most known book ’20 love poems and a desperate song’ is really brilliant, one of my favourites books.

This is one of my fave writings and it’s in my desk to read it everyday... I hope you like it. And, remember, carpe diem!! :D




It dies slowly... (by Pablo Neruda)


It dies slowly who doesn’t travel, who doesn’t read, who doesn’t listen to music, who doesn’t amuse of theirself. It dies slowly who destroy their own pride, who doesn’t want help.

It dies slowly who become in a routine slave, doing everyday the same routes, who doesn’t change the brand of clothes, who daren’t wear a new colour and speak to someone stranger.

It dies slowly who has the TV as a master. It dies slowly who avoids a passion, who prefers black than white and the sure things than an eddy of emotions, exactly which rescue the brightness of the

eyes, smiles of the yawns, hearts to the mistakes and feelings.

It dies slowly who doesn’t turn the desk over when is unhappy at job, who doesn’t risk a certain thing by the uncertain thing to pursue a dream, who at least once in a lifetime doesn’t allow itself to flee from the

sensible advices.

It dies slowly who spend the days complaining of the bad luck or the incessant rain. It dies slowly who leave a project before initiating, not asking about something unknown or not answering when someone ask about something...




It was written in spanish, so I think my translation is not very good... :/

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He is an awesome poet...I just saw at a university close to where I live that they are going to be showing some sort of documentary on chile...oh wait but that is about Pinoche, someone totally different (all the trouble in chile)


Anyways I liked some of his poetry, I have a book with a bunch of his stuff. I should really get to reading it. Your post is making me want to read it. The movie "il postino" is based on part of his life I think.

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OK. Here's the original writing, in spanish. Now, you could see the mistakes in translation... oops! :P



Muere lentamente (Pablo Neruda)


Muere lentamente quien no viaja, quien no lee, quien no oye música, quien no encuentra gracia en sí mismo. Muere lentamente quien destruye su amor propio, quien no se deja ayudar.

Muere lentamente quien se transforma en esclavo del hábito, repitiendo todos los días los mismos trayectos, quien no cambia de marca, no arriesga vestir un color nuevo y no le habla a quien no conoce.

Muere lentamente quien hace de la televisión su gurú. Muere lentamente quien evita una pasión, quien prefiere el negro sobre blanco y los puntos sobre las íes a un remolino de emociones, justamente las que rescatan el brillo de los ojos, sonrisas de los bostezos, corazones a los tropiezos y sentimientos.

Muere lentamente quien no voltea la mesa cuando está infeliz en el trabajo, quien no arriesga lo cierto por lo incierto para ir detrás de un sueño, quien no se permite por lo menos una vez en la vida, huir de los consejos sensatos.

Muere lentamente quien pasa los días quejándose de su mala suerte o de la lluvia incesante. Muere lentamente quien abandona un proyecto antes de iniciarlo, no preguntando de un asunto que desconoce o no respondiendo cuando le indagan sobre algo que sabe.

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Hey Noni!! I LOVE Pablo Neruda!! And I have the book, 20 Love Poems and a song of dispair'; my favorite one is Puedo Escribir (Tonight I can write); I have it memorised in spanish and english. Thanks for posting Neruda's poem. It is beautiful. And now I have to post Tonight I Can Write because I love it :)


Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, `The night is starry

and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night, whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.

Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

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