newtypeshadow46 | three poems by Pablo Neruda, translated by William Daly (from The Sea and the Bells)

"We Are Waiting"

There are days that haven't arrived yet,
that are being made
like bread or chairs or a product
from the pharmacies or the woodshops:
there are factories of days to come:
they exist, craftsmen of the soul
who raise and weigh and prepare
certain bitter or beautiful days
that arrive suddenly at the door
to reward us with an orange
or to instantly murder us.

"Stars"

Over there, over there, the bell ringer pointed:
and in that direction the crowd beheld
the usual thing, the blue evening of Chile,
a pulsing of pale stars.

More people came, those who had never seen
never until now that which holds up
the sky every day and every night,
and more, many more, so many who were amazed,
and they all were asking, where, where?

And the bell ringer, with grave patience,
was pointing to the starry night,
a night the same as all other nights.

(untitled)

The whole human earth was bleeding.
Time, buildings, routes, rain,
erase the constellation of the crime,
the fact is, this small planet
has been covered a thousand time by blood,
war or vengeance, ambush or battle,
people fell, they were devoured,
and later oblivion wiped clean
each square meter: sometimes
a vague, dishonest monument,
other times a clause in bronze,
and still later, conversations, births,
townships, and then oblivion.
What arts we have for extermination
and what science to obliterate memory!
What was bloody is covered with flowers.
Once more, young men, ready yourselves
for another chance to kill, to die again,
and to scatter flowers over the blood.