Taken from: Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada. Escrito por Pablo Neruda
Translation: Copyrighted 1969 to W.S. Merwin, published 1969 by Grossman Publishers.
ISBN: 0-14-243770-0
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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