Monday, March 25, 2013


And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
and open,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
likeness, image of
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind. 
                 -Pablo Neruda

This week's poem was taken from the book entitled, Saved by a Poem, by Kim Rosen. Recently, I have been thinking a great deal about new beginnings and next steps. Do you think one must create them, or are they sent to us somehow in the form of intuition, similar to how Pablo Neruda seemed to be introduced to poetry? The intimacy of this poem was what really drew me to it. So beautiful, so wide open. 


  1. Beautiful poem! It's exciting thinking about new beginnings isn't it? Next steps. I often think of this myself...

  2. Glad that you enjoyed the poem. And yes, new beginnings/next steps are awesome :))