Wandering mazily in an autumn afternoon,
I in the sunlight and he in the shade,
We met by chance,
Somewhere between sun and geography.
I could tell he had something to say,
A song of despair to sing me,
But my Spanish is sadly limited
And his words revolved around me,
Never colliding with my comprehension.
So we did not speak
Except for sighing
Unuttered words suspended heavily
In a green Santiago sky
It is unlikely I would have understood, anyway
The words from his aging lips
No more than fever understands why it burns.
But mis ojos found his,
Civil war of his head,
Exile of his heart,
And I knew.
Without knowing how
Or when
Or from where
Or even what it was I knew.
But I knew.
Yo sé.
And I understood.
Yo conozco.
And we walked.
4/10/13
I wrote this as an assignment for my English class. We read the poem "Taking off Emily Dickinson's Clothes" by Billy Collins (which is absolutely lovely, if you haven't read it) and were told to compose our own work in which we get to know a poet. This is my ode to Pablo Neruda and how badly I wish I were fluent in Spanish so that I could understand his work as it is meant to be understood instead of relying on the English translations.