Sublime Blue: Selected Early Odes By Pablo Neruda
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In our eReader you can find the full English version of the book. Read Sublime Blue: Selected Early Odes By Pablo Neruda Online - link to read the book on full screen. Our eReader also allows you to upload and read Pdf, Txt, ePub and fb2 books. In the Mini eReder on the page below you can quickly view all pages of the book - Read Book Sublime Blue: Selected Early Odes By Pablo Neruda
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To quickly assess the difficulty of the text, read a short excerpt:
every time something happens, always they say “I,”
through the streets it is only they who walk they or the one they love, no one else is ever around, no fishermen pass, no booksellers, bricklayers never pass, no one tumbles from a scaffold, no one suffers, no one’s in love, only my poor brother, the poet, all things happen to him or to his sweet mistress, no one else even exists, sino él solo, nadie llora de hambre o de ira, nadie sufre en sus versos porque no puede pagar el alquiler, a nadie e...n poesía echan a la calle con camas y con sillas y en las fábricas tampoco pasa nada, no pasa nada, se hacen paraguas, copas, armas, locomotoras, se extraen minerales rascando el infierno, hay huelga, vienen soldados, disparan, disparan contra el pueblo, es decir, contra la poesía, y mi hermano el poeta estaba enamorado, o sufría porque sus sentimientos son marinos, ama los puertos remotos, por sus nombres, y escribe sobre océanos que no conoce, junto a la vida, repleta como el maíz de granos, él pasa sin saber desgranarla, él sube y baja sin tocar la tierra, just him and him alone, no one cries out in hunger or wrath, in his verses no one suffers unable make the rent, never in his poetry is anyone thrown out into the street along with the bed and chairs and in the factories nothing happens, not a thing, umbrellas are made, wine glasses, weapons, locomotives, scraping out that hell they extract minerals, there’s a labor strike, soldiers come, they shoot, they fire against the people, that is to say against poetry, and my brother the poet is in love, or suffers because of his passion for the sea, he loves exotic ports for their names, he writes of oceans he doesn’t know, he passes right alongside of life without knowing enough to harvest its plenty bulging like kernels from an ear of corn, he falls and rises without ever touching earth, o a veces se siente profundísimo y tenebroso, él es tan grande que no cabe en sí mismo, se enreda y desenreda, se declara maldito, lleva con gran dificultad la cruz de las tinieblas, piensa que es diferente a todo el mundo, todos los días come pan pero no ha visto nunca un panadero ni ha entrado a un sindicato de panificadores, y así mi pobre hermano se hace oscuro, se tuerce y se retuerce y se halla interesante, interesante, ésta es la palabra, yo no soy superior a mi hermano pero sonrío, porque voy por las calles y sólo yo no existo, la vida corre como todos los ríos, yo soy el único invisible, no hay misteriosas sombras, no hay tinieblas, todo el mundo me habla, me quieren contar cosas, me hablan de sus parientes, or sometimes he feels profoundly sad, a melancholy so great his mere body can no longer contain him so he is entangled and untangled, declares himself cursed, with great difficulty carries the cross of shadows, he believes himself unique in all the world, every day he eats bread but he’s never greeted a baker never entered a baker’s union, and so my poor brother surrenders himself to darkness, tortures himself, tortures himself again and finds himself interesting, interesting, that’s the word, nor am I superior to my brother when I smile, because as I go through the streets I alone do not exist, life runs as all rivers run, I am the only one invisible, there are no mysterious shadows, no darkness and gloom, everyone speaks to me, they want to tell me things, they talk about their relatives, de sus miserias y de sus alegrías, todos pasan y todos me dicen algo, y cuántas cosas hacen!: cortan maderas, suben hilos eléctricos, amasan hasta tarde en la noche el pan de cada día, con una lanza de hierro perforan las entrañas de la tierra y convierten el hierro en cerraduras, suben al cielo y llevan cartas, sollozos, besos, en cada puerta hay alguien, nace alguno, o me espera la que amo, y yo paso y las cosas me piden que las cante, yo no tengo tiempo, debo pensar en todo, debo volver a casa, pasar al Partido, qué puedo hacer, todo me pide que hable, todo me pide que cante y cante siempre, todo está lleno de sueños y sonidos, la vida es una caja llena de cantos, se abre y vuela y viene una bandada their miseries and their joys, everyone comes by and everyone tells me something new, and how many things they do!
What to read after Sublime Blue: Selected Early Odes By Pablo Neruda?
You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Pablo Neruda to read onlineMoreLess
To quickly assess the difficulty of the text, read a short excerpt:
every time something happens, always they say “I,”
through the streets it is only they who walk they or the one they love, no one else is ever around, no fishermen pass, no booksellers, bricklayers never pass, no one tumbles from a scaffold, no one suffers, no one’s in love, only my poor brother, the poet, all things happen to him or to his sweet mistress, no one else even exists, sino él solo, nadie llora de hambre o de ira, nadie sufre en sus versos porque no puede pagar el alquiler, a nadie e...n poesía echan a la calle con camas y con sillas y en las fábricas tampoco pasa nada, no pasa nada, se hacen paraguas, copas, armas, locomotoras, se extraen minerales rascando el infierno, hay huelga, vienen soldados, disparan, disparan contra el pueblo, es decir, contra la poesía, y mi hermano el poeta estaba enamorado, o sufría porque sus sentimientos son marinos, ama los puertos remotos, por sus nombres, y escribe sobre océanos que no conoce, junto a la vida, repleta como el maíz de granos, él pasa sin saber desgranarla, él sube y baja sin tocar la tierra, just him and him alone, no one cries out in hunger or wrath, in his verses no one suffers unable make the rent, never in his poetry is anyone thrown out into the street along with the bed and chairs and in the factories nothing happens, not a thing, umbrellas are made, wine glasses, weapons, locomotives, scraping out that hell they extract minerals, there’s a labor strike, soldiers come, they shoot, they fire against the people, that is to say against poetry, and my brother the poet is in love, or suffers because of his passion for the sea, he loves exotic ports for their names, he writes of oceans he doesn’t know, he passes right alongside of life without knowing enough to harvest its plenty bulging like kernels from an ear of corn, he falls and rises without ever touching earth, o a veces se siente profundísimo y tenebroso, él es tan grande que no cabe en sí mismo, se enreda y desenreda, se declara maldito, lleva con gran dificultad la cruz de las tinieblas, piensa que es diferente a todo el mundo, todos los días come pan pero no ha visto nunca un panadero ni ha entrado a un sindicato de panificadores, y así mi pobre hermano se hace oscuro, se tuerce y se retuerce y se halla interesante, interesante, ésta es la palabra, yo no soy superior a mi hermano pero sonrío, porque voy por las calles y sólo yo no existo, la vida corre como todos los ríos, yo soy el único invisible, no hay misteriosas sombras, no hay tinieblas, todo el mundo me habla, me quieren contar cosas, me hablan de sus parientes, or sometimes he feels profoundly sad, a melancholy so great his mere body can no longer contain him so he is entangled and untangled, declares himself cursed, with great difficulty carries the cross of shadows, he believes himself unique in all the world, every day he eats bread but he’s never greeted a baker never entered a baker’s union, and so my poor brother surrenders himself to darkness, tortures himself, tortures himself again and finds himself interesting, interesting, that’s the word, nor am I superior to my brother when I smile, because as I go through the streets I alone do not exist, life runs as all rivers run, I am the only one invisible, there are no mysterious shadows, no darkness and gloom, everyone speaks to me, they want to tell me things, they talk about their relatives, de sus miserias y de sus alegrías, todos pasan y todos me dicen algo, y cuántas cosas hacen!: cortan maderas, suben hilos eléctricos, amasan hasta tarde en la noche el pan de cada día, con una lanza de hierro perforan las entrañas de la tierra y convierten el hierro en cerraduras, suben al cielo y llevan cartas, sollozos, besos, en cada puerta hay alguien, nace alguno, o me espera la que amo, y yo paso y las cosas me piden que las cante, yo no tengo tiempo, debo pensar en todo, debo volver a casa, pasar al Partido, qué puedo hacer, todo me pide que hable, todo me pide que cante y cante siempre, todo está lleno de sueños y sonidos, la vida es una caja llena de cantos, se abre y vuela y viene una bandada their miseries and their joys, everyone comes by and everyone tells me something new, and how many things they do!
What to read after Sublime Blue: Selected Early Odes By Pablo Neruda?
You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Pablo Neruda to read onlineMoreLess
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