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By Pablo Neruda

Translated by William O'Daly

Matilde, years or days   
sleeping, feverish,   
here or there,
gazing off,
twisting my spine,   
bleeding true blood,   
perhaps I awaken   
or am lost, sleeping:
hospital beds, foreign windows,
white uniforms of the silent walkers,
the clumsiness of feet.


And then, these journeys   
and my sea of renewal:   
your head on the pillow,   
your hands floating
in the light, in my light,   
over my earth.


It was beautiful to live   
when you lived!


The world is bluer and of the earth   
at night, when I sleep
enormous, within your small hands.


Reprinted from The Sea and the Bells (2002) by Pablo Neruda, translated by William O’Daly. Used by permission of Copper Canyon Press, www.coppercanyonpress.org.

Source: The Sea and the Bells (City Lights Books, 2002)

  • Living
  • Love
  • Relationships

Poet Bio

Pablo Neruda
Born Ricardo Eliezer Neftali Reyes y Basoalto, Pablo Neruda adopted the pseudonym under which he would become famous while still in his early teens. He grew up in Temuco in the backwoods of southern Chile. Neruda is considered one of the greatest and most influential poets of the twentieth century. His work has been translated into dozens of languages. See More By This Poet

More By This Poet

Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market

Here,   
among the market vegetables,
this torpedo
from the ocean   
depths,   
a missile   
that swam,
now   
lying in front of me
dead.

Surrounded
by the earth's green froth   
—these lettuces,
bunches of carrots—
only you   
lived through
the sea's truth, survived
the unknown, the
unfathomable
darkness, the depths   
of the sea,
the great   
abyss,
le grand abîme,
only you:   
varnished
black-pitched   
witness
to that deepest night.

Only you:
dark bullet
barreled   
from...

By Pablo Neruda

  • Living
  • Nature

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