This is what makes Neruda so much a poet of the common people. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. He focuses on the details of the stars, the wind, and the moonlit trees because they remind him of the nights he shared with this woman. You occupy everything, you occupy everything. Her voice, her light body. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through the poem the speaker primarily recalls their passionate romance; mourns its loss; and expresses the difficulty he is experiencing in forgetting her.
I shivered in those solitudes when I heard the voice of the salt in the desert. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To hear the immense night, more immense without her. The wind of anguish still hauls on them as usual. My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
That all is the same but different. I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water, You are more than this white head that I hold tightly as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands. Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her. Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos. Although this may be the last pain she causes me, and this may be the last poem I write for her.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos. Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart. Walking Around is seen as a powerful expression of disgust regarding the destruction of the world by the human race. I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her. The same night that whitens the same trees. I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
I could only count at most three personifications Lines 18, 20 and 24 and one simile Line 12. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms, my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Sometimes it grew so much in sleep Like a tiger's great-grandfather, And would leap in the darkness over Rooftops, clouds and volcanoes. There, in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames; Its arms turning like a drowning man's. Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs, still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.
I send out red signals across your absent eyes That wave like the sea, or the beach by a lighthouse. Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. O tower of light, sad beauty that magnified necklaces and statues in the sea, calcareous eye, insignia of the vast waters, cry of the mourning petrel, tooth of the sea, wife of the Oceanian wind, O separate rose from the long stem of the trampled bush that the depths, converted into archipelago, O natural star, green diadem, alone in your lonesome dynasty, still unattainable, elusive, desolate like one drop, like one grape, like the sea. I made the wall of shadow draw back, beyond desire and act, I walked on.
And I watch my words from a long way off. While I agree with you that Neruda was wrting about the loss of love, I believe that it was about a particuliar lost love, not just the loss of that feeling--that is too broad. Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos. Day-colored wine, night-colored wine, wine with purple feet or wine with topaz blood, wine, starry child of earth, wine, smooth as a golden sword, soft as lascivious velvet, wine, spiral-seashelled and full of wonder, amorous, marine; never has one goblet contained you, one song, one man, you are choral, gregarious, at the least, you must be shared.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing. Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Dharmender Kumar Dharmender is a writer by passion, and a lawyer by profession. The badgers scratch the river's feet, scenting the nest whost throbbing delicacy they attack with red teeth. Her voice, her bright body.
To feel that I've lost her. Pablo Neruda is a Chilean poet, author, and communist activist considered one of the most influential poets of the 20th century. Runner and filaments bleach in the vineyards, whereon rise the vines. Analyzing Neruda's Theme Neruda's central theme regards the pain that a memory can cause someone, and it is conveyed through the struggle the speaker has to forget his former love. . My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.