Odes to Common Things Quotes by Pablo Neruda
Pablo Neruda's Poem - Ode to things
Odes to Common Things Quotes
Posted 6 years ago by athinkingwomansleepswithmonsters. Postage by Greg Cooper. Icons by PixelResort. Daily Neruda Every day I will fan open one of my volumes of Neruda, and share the poem that falls open to my touch. It's a sort of bibliomancy I practice, a daily touchstone. I thought the rest of you might like to join me in my quest for meaning in words strung together by someone dead but somehow still sitting with us, quiet at our kitchen tables, a sympathetic piece of driftwood to which we cling in the middle of a menacing but shining sea.
Things get broken at home like they were pushed by an invisible, deliberate smasher. It's not my hands or yours It wasn't the girls with their hard fingernails or the motion of the planet. It wasn't anything or anybody It wasn't the wind It wasn't the orange-colored noontime Or night over the earth It wasn't even the nose or the elbow Or the hips getting bigger or the ankle or the air. The plate broke, the lamp fell All the flower pots tumbled over one by one. That pot which overflowed with scarlet in the middle of October, it got tired from all the violets and another empty one rolled round and round and round all through winter until it was only the powder of a flowerpot, a broken memory, shining dust. And that clock whose sound was the voice of our lives, the secret thread of our weeks, which released one by one, so many hours for honey and silence for so many births and jobs, that clock also fell and its delicate blue guts vibrated among the broken glass its wide heart unsprung.
This post was contributed by a community member. The views expressed here are the author's own. You knew it would come to this — I hinted at it in my. But before I get to business, I'd like to amend that blog: I finished Room Temperature and ended up really enjoying it. It's sweet, charmingly contemplative and the father-daughter relationship is a lovely thing. So okay, we're square.