I should have mentioned it before, but I’ve been having a little blogging break. I seem to have done so much writing lately that I needed some breathing space and a little time to regroup. I’ll be back to writing proper posts very soon, I’m sure. In the meantime, I thought I’d offer you some poetry. I’ve been loving, loving the complete poems of Anne Sexton I was given for my birthday, particularly her Love Poems and Transformations. Okay so she was a living nightmare for her children, but my goodness me, that woman could write. I might post some bits and pieces from that tomorrow. But tonight, I thought I’d offer you something very beautiful by Pablo Neruda (with a little translation help from Mister Merwin). Enjoy.
The Morning Is Full
The morning is full of storm
in the heart of summer.
The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye
the wind, traveling, waving them in its hands.
The numberless heart of the wind
beating above our loving silence.
Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees
like a language full of wars and songs.
Wind that bears off the dead leaves with a quick raid
and deflects the pulsing arrows of the birds.
Wind that topples her in a wave without spray
and substance without weight, and leaning fires.
Her mass of kisses breaks and sinks,
assailed in the door of the summer’s wind.