Wednesday, November 4, 2015

Some Neruda for you

“We met each other when we were young, before we knew enough about disappointment, and once we did we found we reminded each other of it.”

Image : Michiel Huisman on Pinterest

Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.
Oh the black cross of a ship.

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.

Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

Pablo Neruda

Sunday, October 19, 2014

A time I love

When I found this quote or excerpt I didn't know who Katherine Mansfield was.  I don't know from which book it  was taken, but that is not really important to me.
The words she wrote are universal . . .  

Thank you Amanda Patterson of Writers Write for introducing me to her work.

Sunday, August 31, 2014


There are lovers content with longing
I am not one of them

Tuesday, June 24, 2014


Sometimes I wonder how it would be to live in a rooftop flat in the middle of Paris,to write my memoirs,  at a table in front of an open window, at night, listening to late night noises of the city  . . .
I wonder, is Paris quiet at night?

But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.

Ernest Hemingway

Monday, December 23, 2013

The Book of Questions III

Image: Tumblr

Tell me, is the rose naked
 or is that her only dress?

 Why do trees conceal
 the splendor of their roots?

 Who hears the regrets
 of the thieving automobile? 

Is there anything in the world sadder
 than a train standing in the rain?

Pablo Neruda

Sunday, November 17, 2013

The spaces between seconds

“I don’t know what they are called, the spaces between seconds– but I think of you always in those intervals.” 

Sunday, July 28, 2013