Author: Pablo Nerdua, trans. by Stephen Tapscott
Review: August 18, 2009
Edition: 2006 printing
Pages: 222
Overall Rating: 4/5 [Good]
Synopsis: A collection of love sonnets.
Strengths: Imaginative, surreal, well-written.
Weaknesses: Sometimes repetitive, a few poems translated somewhat too far from the original.
Further Review: First off, I'm glad I have a bilingual edition of this book (although I'm unsure if one could get just an English-language copy); even though this translation is good as a whole, reading something in its original language versus its nearest connotative translation is still a different experience. In this case, in Spanish the poems really strongly remind me of natural forces; rivers, seas, jungles or forests, mountains and volcanoes. It's less a picture in the brain since it's not simply the words he uses; rather, it's more a sense of two things residing parallel to one another (in this case, nature and love); something in his choice of rhythm is reminiscent of nature, it's the way he puts words together rather than the words he uses. In the English, the poems sort of lose some of this feel but instead become more surreal in terms of words or small phrases. More simply, I find the rhythm of the Spanish version prettier and the word choice of the English prettier (or less mundane). For this reason I'm satisfied with a bilingual version. Again, the translations are good and in the translator's note Stephen Tapscott mentions that he tried to capture the sense of the original poems. He largely achieves this goal for the majority of the poems, but for one or two it seems that there is a huge difference between the two---in these rare cases, it's almost like reading two separate poems. (This, however, may stem from the fact that I acquired Spanish artificially; English is my native language. I learned Spanish from a text-book and reinforced it by staying in Honduras, and I am still not fluent in it.) The translation is pure enough in feeling that I'd definitely recommend this translator's work to someone who wants to read the poems only in English.

However, to readers of this version I'd suggest reading the notes at the end of the book first (to clarify some geographical locations mentioned in the book and their personal importance to Neruda), and the translator's note and Neruda's dedication after finishing the collection rather than before. I read all three at the end, but I feel that even though the dedication reinforced what I walked away with from the poems, it would have spoiled the fun in noticing during my reading.

As for the poems themselves, almost all of them are uniquely beautiful although they do sometimes become repetitive (which, I suppose, is understandable given a limited topic). What I love in Neruda's poems is a sense of simplicity; his poems rarely carry a sense of being epic, but rather celebrate ordinary but beautiful things. How his lover moves in the kitchen, the almonds of her fingernails, wheat, "diamonds of frost," threads, the seasons, fire are all themes that tie the every day into a timeless love; this simply purity is what makes these poems so beautifully romantic, personal to Neruda's dreams but familiar in that they contain things we have all loved, done, or desired. However, there is still something very rich about his writing, which makes these poems difficult to read in quantity. It took me two years to make my way through this collection!

Neruda's most popular sonnet is probably number seventeen; at least, I see it posted everywhere. (I do not love you as if you were 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.) Therefore, I'll sample with you [in English] another two from this collection (numbers thirty-six and fifty) ; although I do not like them as much as seventeen, these two are among my favorites.

36.
My heart, queen of the beehive and the barnyard,
little leopard of the string and the onions,
I love to watch your miniature empire
sparkle: your weapons of wax and wine and oil,

garlic, and the soil that opens for your hands,
the blue material that ignites in your hands,
the transmigration of dream into salad,
the snake rolled up in the garden hose.

You with your sickle that lifts the perfumes,
you with the bossy soapsuds,
you climbing my crazy ladders and stairs.

You taking charge: even my handwriting, its characteristics,
even the sand grains in my notebooks---finding in those pages
lost syllables that were searching for your mouth.
50.
Cotapos says your laughter drops
like a hawk from a stony tower. It's true:
daughter of the sky, you slit the world
and its green leaves, with one bolt of your lightning:

it falls, it thunders: the tongues of the dew,
the waters of a diamond, the light with its bees
leap. And there where a long-bearded silence had lived,
little bombs of light explode, the sun and the stars,

down comes the sky, with its thick-shadowed night,
bells and carnations glow in the full moon,
the saddlemakers' horses gallop.

Because you are small as you are, let it
rip: let the meteor of your laughter
fly: electrify the natural names of things! ( )

Beautifully written in Italian, enchanting translated to English. You can almost feel when his heart breaks in some, or the passion in others. It's an encompassing compilation of some of the most well written poetry ever penned. ( )

Absolutely gorgeous sonnets. ( )

Oh Pablo, you woo me in English, if only I could comprehend you in Spanish. Alas. ( )

This is simply one of the most beautiful, readable books of love poetry in the world. Even people who hate poetry will love Neruda. ( )