I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does to the cherry trees.
~ Pablo Neruda
Happy Springtime, Beautiful Reader!
It’s official – Spring has sprung! It’s a magical time, given we experience equal parts of daylight and darkness on this day. We become balanced in our femininity and masculinity: As above, so below. Also, during this enchanting time, the mystics tell us the veils become thin between heaven and earth.
Springtime wins the golden cup of being the most sensual time of year as fruit trees burst into delicate blossoms and flower bulbs, nestled deep within the earth, begin to awaken, gorgeously blooming their way into the sunlight.
On the dawn of every spring, I’m reminded of Pablo Neruda’s erotically charged poem of light and shadow; love and desire. For me, it’s one of his most beautiful and enchanting poems. Each time I read it, it leaves me breathless.
You may already be acquainted with a tiny snippet of this luscious poem: “I want to do with you what spring does to the cherry trees.” That one line, alone, speaks volumes, but if you’re left yearning for more, then it is my pleasure and delight to share this poem with you in its entirety.
Joyeux Printemps! Avec beaucoup d’amour ~ Angela xoxox
EVERY DAY YOU PLAY
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the grey light unwind in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
~ Pablo Neruda, “Twenty Love Poems and a Song Of Despair” ~ Translated by W.S. Merwin