Poetry Monday
There’s always room for a little Neruda, I say. ^____^
Love Sonnet XVII
- Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Poetry Monday
from FOREWORD to NEW NUMBERS
Christopher Logue
If this book doesn’t change you
give it no house space;
if having read it you
are the same person you
were before picking it up,
then throw it away.
Not enough for me
that my poems shine in your eyes,
not enough for me
that they look from your walls
or lurk on your shelves;
I want my poems to be in your mind
so that you can say them when you are in love
so you can say them when the plane takes off
and death comes near;
I want my poems to come between
the raised stick and the cowering back,
I want my poems to become
a weapon in your trembling hands,
a sword whose blade both makes and mirrors change
but most of all I want my poems sung
unthinkingly between your lips like air.

