April is National Poetry Month, and though I didn’t post about it on here, I observed it as I always do. I love poetry. I truly think poetry is the only voice that many people have in this world. I know my students connect to poetry, and I know when I was their age, I connected to it as well. And as I’ve grown, I still connect to it, but in a very different way. Instead of writing poetry about my complex feelings, I’ve read the poetry of others. I’ve enveloped myself in the musings of others as they deal with their own complex emotions.
If I had to name my favorite poet of all time, I think it’d be Ricardo Eliécer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto, better known by his pen name (and later his legal name) Pablo Neruda. Neruda’s poetry has always touched me. Last year I wrote about my favorite love poem of his, “Tu Risa.” This year, however, I’m sharing a different poem.
This poem, “Keeping Quiet” is one that resonates with me in today’s atmosphere. I don’t just mean the political atmosphere, though to talk about Neruda’s poetry is to talk about the political atmosphere. I mean in this world that is full of hate and greed and envy. This atmosphere in which we spend more time tearing each other down than building each other up. Sometimes I am truly overcome with grief at the way people behave toward one another. I’ve caught myself crying at interactions on Facebook and at the grocery store. I just want to shout a refrain of, “why can’t we all get along?”
Neruda has taught me that I’m not alone in this sentiment. Maybe if we all took a moment to count to twelve, if we all stood still and looked around as brothers and sisters, maybe we could find love for one another, instead of hatred.
| “Keeping Quiet” Pablo Neruda Now we will count to twelve and we will all keep still. This one time upon the earth, let’s not speak any language, let’s stop for one second, and not move our arms so much. It would be a delicious moment, without hurry, without locomotives, all of us would be together in a sudden uneasiness. The fishermen in the cold sea would do no harm to the whales and the peasant gathering salt would look at his torn hands. Those who prepare green wars, wars of gas, wars of fire, victories without survivors, would put on clean clothing and would walk alongside their brothers in the shade, without doing a thing. What I want shouldn’t be confused with final inactivity: life alone is what matters, I want nothing to do with death. If we weren’t unanimous about keeping our lives so much in motion, if we could do nothing for once, perhaps a great silence would interrupt this sadness, this never understanding ourselves and threatening ourselves with death, perhaps the earth is teaching us when everything seems to be dead and then everything is alive. Now I will count to twelve and you keep quiet and I’ll go. | “A Callarse” Pablo Neruda Ahora contaremos doce y nos quedamos todos quietos. Por una vez sobre la tierra no hablemos en ningún idioma, por un segundo detengámonos, no movamos tanto los brazos. Sería un minuto fragante, sin prisa, sin locomotoras, todos estaríamos juntos en una inquietud instantánea. Los pescadores del mar frió no harían daño a las ballenas y el trabajador de la sal miraría sus manos rotas. Los que preparan guerras verdes, guerras de gas, guerras de fuego, victorias sin sobrevivientes, se pondrían un traje puro y andarían son sus hermanos por la sombra, sin hacer nada. No se confunda lo quiero con la inacción definitiva: la vida es solo lo que se hace, no quiero nada con la muerte. Si no pudimos ser unánimes moviendo tanto nuestras vidas tal vez no hacer nada una vez, tal vez un gran silencio pueda interrumpir esta tristeza, este no entendernos jamás y amenazarnos con la muerte, tal vez la tierra nos enseñe cuando todo parece muerto y luego todo estaba vivo. Ahora contare hasta doce y tú te callas y me voy. |
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