Pablo Neruda Sunday, Oct 29 2006

Me gustas cuando callas

by Pablo Neruda

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.

Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.

Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.

Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.

English Translation (which stinks, but what can you do?)

I Like for You to be Still

I like for you to be still: it as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does not

touch you

It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.

As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.

I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like

a dove

And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach

you:

Let me come to be still in your silence.

And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
Your are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it’s not true.

Pablo Neruda is my favorite spanish speaking poet, hands down. I know that most people don’t enjoy poetry at all, and even fewer guys do, but it’s really found a unique place in my life. Neruda directs his language so well in this poem, making you almost whisper most of it. Beautiful.

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Soneto VIII Thursday, Oct 26 2006

Soneto VIII
por Garcilaso de la Vega
~1500 a.d.

De aquella vista pura y excelente
salen espirtus vivos y encendidos,
y siendo por mis ojos recebidos,
me pasan hasta donde el mal se siente;

éntranse en el camino fácilmente
por do los mios, de tal calor movidos,
salen fuera de mí como perdidos,
llamados d’aquel bien que ’stá presente.

Ausente, en la memoria la imagino;
mis espirtus, pensando que la vían,
se mueven y se encienden sin medida;

mas no hallando fácil el camino,
que los suyos entrando derretían,
revientan por salir do no hay salida.

Sometimes learning a new language is really, really beautiful.

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The Peace Corps Tuesday, Oct 17 2006

I have been reading a book of stories from returned Peace Corps volunteers. I’m trapped between being really drawn to it, and being sort of put off by it. Some people learn some really amazing things, others seem to miss the point.

One story that really stuck out to me was a couple who went to New Guinea. One night they were showing the villagers (members of an extremely traditional, collectivist society) some pictures from back in the United States. The villagers noticed two men in the background of one of the pictures. They asked the two Peace Corps volunteers who they were. They were homeless men. This was incomprehensible to the people in the village, there was no such thing as homelessness among them. They took care of each other, no matter what. There was even a resident “town drunk” who simply stayed with one family for a couple of days and then moved on. He was not only tolerated, he was a beloved member of the village. Back to the other story. After explaining to the people the reason that these two men were homeless in a land of immeasureable wealth (picture shining skyscrapers in the background), the village elders stayed up nearly the entire night discussing this monumental problem. The next morning, they came to the volunteers and informed them that they had set aside two plots of land, would gather resources, plant a garden, and build homes for the two men if the volunteer couple could bring them to Papua New Guniea.

From one of the volunteers:
“They were offering to do what? I was stunned and overwhelmed. Their offer was bold and genuine. It was innocent and naive. It was beautiful. And, like the twist of a kaleidoscope, my worldview had completely changed.”

This was the kicker for me:
“Can a community reach a balance of material wealth and spiritual wealth? Why do these two societies exhibit so much of one and not much of the other? Do those two ends interfere with each other? How much spiritual wealth can we have? How much material wealth do we need? How has the world evolved so that some people own mansions and others lack shoes? How many people have love in their souls but diseased water in their drinking cups?”

Those are some big questions, especially with graduation only a year or so away. What am I going to choose? I’ve always wanted to give up material wealth to find spiritual wealth, but now a “career” seems so tempting. I don’t think there is anything is wrong with a career, I’ve just never wanted one; I don’t feel like it’s the thing that I NEED to do.

This is another way to say: “I can’t wait until next summer.”

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