There are those among us who develop life long passions, “favorites,” or interests. I am not one of those individuals. One of the most annoying aspects of social networking sites in my opinion is generating lists of “favorites.” Why would this task seem so daunting? Its simple really, my opinions and change rather rapidly. It makes me a unique individual, but I spend majority of my time half-heartedly enjoying something and then moving in a totally different direction.
Whether it be music, movies, art, or career aspirations, there is a good chance it will have changed by next week. In fact, I rather envy those who develop such a strong appreciation for something that they know it inside and out–such as memorizing all of the albums ever made by say The Beetles and the release dates. I am not sure what use that information will ever have, but I envy the drive behind it all the same.
That is not to say that I never develop a true appreciation for anything, but it is generally to a lesser degree than others. I cannot even answer what my favorite color is. Get to the point right? The point is, I do have one favorite that has stayed the same for about six or seven years for now, and I would like to share that with you. Love sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda.
Pablo Neruda although not a household name, won the Nobel Prize in 1971 for his literature. He is also known for his political interests, (once an active member of the communist party in Chile.) What astounds me about his poetry is how well it translates into english. Even in english his work keeps the tone of the poem.
I hope that you will all enjoy this and share with us some of your favorites. I would also like to hear your opinions and takes on this sonnet.
Love Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were a 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.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
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.
eelliso1 is a contributing writer for projectgroupthink.wordpress.com. Get instant updates for this blog via Twitter: PGTblog.