Haunting Poetry

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being,
without your going, that cuts noon light
like a blue flower, without your passing
later through fog and stones,
without the torch you lift in your hand
that others may not see as golden,
that perhaps no one believed blossomed
the glowing origin of the rose,
without, in the end, your being, your coming
suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life,
blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze:
and it follows that I am, because you are:
it follows from ‘you are’, that I am, and we:
and, because of love, you will, I will,
We will, come to be.

(Neruda)

I've recently fallen in love with poet Pablo Neruda. I have never claimed to be a poet and have never written decent poetry. But I very much appreciate those who can. I do love poetry; I love its shape on the page, the way such few words can create a magical image. No other genre is as powerful or beautiful as poetry. All writing is art, but poetry really seems like art. It feels like art.

Evocation.

Poetry has this influencing authority, this command about it that makes you feel things...emotions you don't even want to feel. You look down to see tears staining the page, blurring the words in front of you before you even realize you're crying. Then you hate poetry for a raging moment--maybe cast the book to the floor, hate the poet for the turmoil he's caused to your insides. It's haunting, though. It won't leave you alone. That's the thing about poetry. Such few lines. Such power those few lines hold. So I always pick up the book again.

One final Neruda poem. It's been haunting me. So I let it haunt.

Absence

I have scarcely left you
When you go in me, crystalline,
Or trembling,
Or uneasy, wounded by me
Or overwhelmed with love, as
when your eyes
Close upon the gift of life
That without cease I give you.

My love,
We have found each other
Thirsty and we have
Drunk up all the water and the
Blood,
We found each other
Hungry
And we bit each other
As fire bites,
Leaving wounds in us.

But wait for me,
Keep for me your sweetness.
I will give you too
A rose.