Poetry Wednesday 12/03/08: Seven Poems by Pablo Neruda

Left: Mossimo Troisi as Mario Ruoppolo and Phillippe Noiret as Pablo Neruda in the Italian film: Il Postino.

Il Postino was an 1994 Italian film that was recommended to me by my sister, Sans Souci. It was originally released in the United States as The Postman, but it was later changed to Il Postino because of the release of Kevin Costner’s film of the same name.

The film is a fictional story in which the real life Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda, forms a relationship with a simple postman (Mario) who learns to love poetry.

Mario Ruppolo is a simple man who lives in an insular fishing village where time moves slowly.

Since Mario’s seesickness doesn’t allow him to fish, he is given the job of a postman, delivering mail on a bicycle to only one single customer, the famous Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda, who has been exiled to Italy for his communist views.

After a while, the two of them become very good friends. Mario meets a beautiful young lady, Beatrice Russo, in the village’s only cafe.

With the help of Neruda, Mario is better able to communicate his love to her through the use of metaphors. They are later married.

Pablo Neruda and his wife are able to return to Chile.

The film stars Phillipe Noiret, Massimo Troisi, and Maria Grazia Cucinotta. The film’s score won the Academy Award for Best Original Music Score, the film was also nominated for Best Actor in a Leading Role (Massimo Troisi), Best Director, Best Picture, and Best Writing, Screenplay Based on Material from Another Medium.

In 1994 to promote the movie, Miramax published, “The Postman (Il Postino): Music From The Miramax Motion Picture”, which besides the film’s score, composed by Luis Enriquez Bacalov, includes Neruda’s poems recited by Sting, Miranda Ricardson, Wesley Snipes, Ralph Fiennes, Ethan Hawke, Rufus Sewell, Glenn Close, Samuel L. Jackson, Andy Garcia, William Dafoe, Madonna, Vincent Perez, and Julia Roberts. Here are a few:

A Soundtrack of Poetry
.

Morning
recited by Sting

Naked you are simple as one of your hands;
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round.
You΄ve moon-lines, apple pathways
Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.

Naked you are blue as a night in Cuba;
you΄ve vines and stars in your hair.
Naked you are spacious and yellow
as summer in a golden church.

Naked you are tiny as one of your nails;
curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born,
and you withdraw to the underground world.

As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores;
your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves,
and becomes a naked hand again.

Leaning into the Afternoons
recited by Wesley Snipes

Leaning into the afternoons
I cast my sad nets towards your oceanic eyes.
There, in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames;
its arms turning like a drowning man΄s.
I send out red signals across your absent eyes
that wave like the sea, or the beach by a lighthouse.
You keep only darkness my distant female;
from your regard sometimes, the coast of dread emerges.

Leaning into the afternoons,
I fling my sad nets to that sea that is thrashed
by your oceanic eyes.
The birds of night peck at the first stars
that flash like my soul when I love you.
The night, gallops on its shadowy mare,
Shedding blue tassels over the land.

Adonic Angela
recited by William Dufoe

Today I stretched out next
to a pure young woman
as if at the shore of a white ocean,
as if at the centre of a burning star
of slow space.

From her lengthily green gaze
the light fell like dry water,
in transparent and deep circles
of fresh force.

Her bosom like a two flamed fire
burned raised in two regions,
and in a double river reached
her large, clear feet.

A climate of gold scarcely ripened
the diurnal length of her body
filling it with extended fruit
sand hidden fire.

I Like For You to be Still
recited by Glenn Close

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.

As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.
I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:

Let me come to be still in your silence.
And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it΄s not true.

If You Forget Me

I want you to know one thing
you know how this is
if I look at the crystal moon
at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window,
If I touch near the fire the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log.
Everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals, or little boats
that sail towards those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well now, if little by little you stop loving me,
I shall stop loving you, little by little.
If suddenly you forget me, do not look for me
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think at long and mad the wind banners that passes through my life
and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots,
remember than on that day, at that hour I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off to seek another land.

But if each day each hour
you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness.
If each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love,
ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love beloved,
and as long as you live in will be in your arms without leaving mine.

Tonight I Can Write
recited by Andy Garcia

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, ‘The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

And Now You’re Mine
(Love Sonnet LXXXI)
recited by Julia Roberts and Andy Garcia

Now, you are mine. Rest with your dream inside my dream.
Love, pain, and work, must sleep now.
Night revolves on invisible wheels
and joined to me you are pure as sleeping amber.
No one else will sleep with my dream, love.
You will go; we will go joined by the waters of time.
No other one will travel the shadows with me,
only you, ever green, ever sun, ever moon.

Already your hands have opened their delicate fists
and let fall, without direction, their gentle signs,
your eyes enclosing themselves like two grey wings,
while I follow the waters you bring that take me onwards:
night, Earth, winds weave their fate, and already,
not only am I not without you, I alone am your dream.

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