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4.04 AVERAGE
4.04 AVERAGE
emotional
hopeful
reflective
sad
fast-paced
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
emotional
fast-paced
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
u know what they say : “nothing like neruda”
a valentine’s gift for my lóv
a valentine’s gift for my lóv
I’ve encountered Neruda’s name many times. More specifically with “Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines”, but since I only to read this for my contemporary global literature course I didn’t have a chance to read his whole collection until now. Reading poetry in Spanish makes me feel closer to my roots, but I wanted to make sure that when I did read something in Spanish that it was actually good. Not just a poem initially written in English and translated into Spanish. Maybe I romanticize the language too much, but how could I not? Neruda gives me more a reason too, and it’s beautiful.
challenging
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
It’s important to remind myself that this was originally published in 1924. To note that poetry’s mis-presumption of context is not a kind place for vocabulary building via inference. And that translating poetry is crazy difficult.
I wonder if the English versions of Neruda’s poems feel more mundane to me than the Spanish ones, despite their overall all-or-nothing romanticism. Or if I eventually connected more with the feel of the Spanish ones because I had to work at them.
“You undermine the horizon with your absence” [Your Breast Is Enough]
Regardless, there’s a quality of the work, entirely its own, even without translation, that prompts listening less so to your head and more so to your gut. That prompts a type of hearing where impressions and feelings matter more than sense.
“Aim my road on your bow of hope
and in a frenzy I will free my flock of arrows” [Ah Vastness of Pines]
The more I read these poems, the more I find. I hope to return to again when I’ll hear more yet still.
I wonder if the English versions of Neruda’s poems feel more mundane to me than the Spanish ones, despite their overall all-or-nothing romanticism. Or if I eventually connected more with the feel of the Spanish ones because I had to work at them.
“You undermine the horizon with your absence” [Your Breast Is Enough]
Regardless, there’s a quality of the work, entirely its own, even without translation, that prompts listening less so to your head and more so to your gut. That prompts a type of hearing where impressions and feelings matter more than sense.
“Aim my road on your bow of hope
and in a frenzy I will free my flock of arrows” [Ah Vastness of Pines]
The more I read these poems, the more I find. I hope to return to again when I’ll hear more yet still.
if someone wrote these about me i would disintegrate into 100 million pieces