Home > Work > Odes to Common Things
1 " So the freshness lives onin a lemon,in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,the proportions, arcane and acerb. "
― Pablo Neruda , Odes to Common Things
2 " A book,a book fullof human touches,of shirts,a bookwithout loneliness, with menand tools,a bookis victory. "
3 " ThenScale by scale,We strip offThe delicacyAnd eatThe peaceful mushOf its green heart. "
4 " Ode to My SocksMaru Mori brought mea pairof socksknitted with her ownshepherd's hands,two socks softas rabbits.I slippedmy feet into themas ifintojewel caseswovenwith threads ofduskand sheep's wool.Audacious socks,my feet becametwo woolenfish,two long sharksof lapis blueshotwith a golden thread,two mammoth blackbirds,two cannons,thus honoredweremy feetby thesecelestialsocks.They were so beautifulthat for the first time my feet seemed unacceptable to me,two tired oldfire fightersnot worthyof the wovenfireof those luminoussocks.Nonetheless,I resistedthe strong temptationto save themthe way schoolboysbottlefireflies,the way scholarshoardsacred documents.I resistedthe wild impulseto place them in a cage of goldand daily feed thembirdseedand rosy melon flesh.Like explorers who in the forestsurrender a rareand tender deerto the spitand eat itwith remorse,I stuck out my feetand pulled onthe handsome socks,and then my shoes.So this is the moral of my ode:twice beautifulis beautyand what is good is doublygoodwhen it is a case of twowoolen socks in wintertime. "
5 " Ode to a Cluster of VioletsCrisp clusterplunged in shadow.Drops of violet waterand raw sunlightfloated up with your scent.A freshsubterranean beautyclimbed up from your budsthrilling my eyes and my life.One at a time, flowersthat stretched forwardsilvery stalks,creeping closer to an obscure lightshoot by shoot in the shadows,till they crownedthe mysterious masswith an intense weight of perfumeand togetherformed a single starwith a far-off scent and a purple center.Poignant clusterintimatescentof nature,you resemblea wave, or a head of hair,or the gazeof a ruined water nymphsunk in the depths.But up close,in your fragrance’sblue brazenness,you exhale the earth,an earthly flower, an earthensmell and your ultravioletgleamin volcanoes’ faraway fires.Into your loveliness I sinka weathered face,a face that dust has often abused.You deliversomething out of the soil.It isn’t simply perfume,nor simply the perfect cryof your entire color, no: it’sa word sprinkled with dew,a flowering wetness with roots.Fragile cluster of starryviolets,tiny, mysteriousplanetof marine phosphorescence,nocturnal bouquet nestled in green leaves:the truth isthere is no blue word to express you.Better than any wordis the pulse of your scent.Pablo Neruda, Odes to Common Things. (Bulfinch; Bilingual edition May 1, 1994) Originally published 1961. "
6 " Ode To A Lemon"Out of lemon flowersloosedon the moonlight, love'slashed and insatiableessences,sodden with fragrance,the lemon tree's yellowemerges,the lemonsmove downfrom the tree's planetarium Delicate merchandise!The harbors are big with it-bazaarsfor the light and thebarbarous gold.We openthe halvesof a miracle,and a clotting of acidsbrimsinto the starrydivisions:creation'soriginal juices,irreducible, changeless,alive:so the freshness lives onin a lemon,in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,the proportions, arcane and acerb. Cutting the lemonthe knifeleaves a little cathedral:alcoves unguessed by the eyethat open acidulous glassto the light; topazesriding the droplets,altars,aromatic facades. So, while the handholds the cut of the lemon,half a worldon a trencher,the gold of the universewellsto your touch:a cup yellowwith miracles,a breast and a nippleperfuming the earth;a flashing made fruitage,the diminutive fire of a planet. "
7 " Ode to My SocksMaru Mori brought mea pairof socksknitted with her ownshepherd's hands,two socks softas rabbits.I slippedmy feet into themas ifintojewel caseswovenwith threads ofduskand sheep's wool.Audacious socks,my feet becametwo woolenfish,two long sharksof lapis blueshotwith a golden thread,two mammoth blackbirds,two cannons,thus honoredweremy feetby thesecelestialsocks.They were so beautifulthat for the first time my feet seemed unacceptable to me,two tired oldfire fightersnot worthyof the wovenfireof those luminoussocks.Nonetheless,I resistedthe strong temptationto save themthe way schoolboysbottlefireflies,the way scholarshoardsacred documents.I resistedthe wild impulseto place them in a cage of goldand daily feed thembirdseedand rosy melon flesh.Like explorers who in the forestsurrender a rareand tender deerto the spitand eat itwith remorse,I stuck out my feetand pulled onthe handsome socks,and then my shoes.So this is the moral of my ode:twice beautifulis beautyand what is good doublygoodwhen it is a case of twowoolen socks in wintertime. "
8 " In your eyes the flames of twilight fought on. And the leaves fell on the water of your soul. "
9 " Ode to BeesMultitude of bees!in and out of thecrimson, the blue,the yellow,of the softestsoftness in the world;you tumbleheadlonginto a corollato conduct your business,and emergewearing a golden suitand quantities ofyellow boots.The waist,perfect,the abdomen stripedwith dark bars,the tiny,ever-busyhead,thewings,newly made of water;you enterevery sweet-scented window,opensilken doors,penetrate the bridal chamberof the most fragrantlove,discoveradropof diamonddew,and from every houseyou visityou removehoney,mysterious,rich and heavyhoney, thick aroma,liquid, guttering light,until you returnto yourcommunalpalaceand on its gothic parapetsdepositthe productof flower and flight,the seraphic and secret nuptial sun!Multitude of bees!Sacredelevationof unity,seethingschoolhouse.Buzzing,noisyworkersprocessthe nectar,swiftlyexchangingdropsof ambrosia;it is summersiesta in the greensolitudesof Osorno. High above,the sun casts its spearsinto the snow,volcanoes glisten,landstretchesendlessas the sea,space is blue,butsomethingtrembles, it isthe fiery,heartof summer,the honeyed heartmultiplied,the buzzingbee,the cracklinghoneycombof flight and gold!Bees,purest laborers,ogivalworkersfine, flashingproletariat,perfect,daring militiathat in combat attackwith suicidal sting;buzz,buzz abovethe earth's endowments,family of gold,multitude of the wind,shake the firefrom the flowers,thirst from the stamens,the sharp,aromaticthreadthat stitches together the days,and propagatehoney,passing overhumid continents, the mostdistant islands of thewestern sky.Yes:let the wax erectgreen statues,let honeyspill ininfinitetongues,let the ocean beabeehive,the earthtower and tunicof flowers,and the worlda waterfall,a comet's tail, anever-endingwealthof honeycombs! Pablo Neruda, Odes to Common Things. (Bulfinch; Illustrated edition, May 1, 1994) "