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User Rating:
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7.2
/10
(239 votes)
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My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.
Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.
Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.
No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.
Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.
There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.
So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.
Translated, from the Spanish, by Alfred Yankauer
Pablo Neruda
| Submitted Date |
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Monday, January 13, 2003 |
| Submitted Date |
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Monday, March 22, 2010 |
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Read poems about / on: dog, believe, heaven, sea, lonely, ocean, winter, sky, star, together, happy, hair, lost, alone
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Comments about this poem (A Dog Has Died
by
Pablo Neruda
) |
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Albert Rodriguez (10/9/2010 1:05:00 PM)
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Neruda has the brilliant art of making you feel where nothing has ever been felt. He defines what a poet is.
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Adnan Khalifeh (3/11/2010 3:42:00 AM)
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Wonderful....I like this part the most:
.....................
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
.........................
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Lewis Neil Is Awsome (11/4/2009 4:48:00 PM)
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Wow, that was pretty good, but i hear there is this poem called 'Neil is awsome', it was life changing and insperational. Read it and vote it a 10!
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Pritam Chaudhury (10/11/2009 1:56:00 AM)
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Extraordinary thinking! Neruda surely is in a league of his own.
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Paul Cutting (9/15/2009 1:08:00 PM)
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to know that this is art is to feel it, and I did wonderful just wonderful
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Aziz Alkaabi (9/10/2009 6:14:00 PM)
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Thank you Alfred for this astounding translation.
I am studying Spanish currently and found your translation to be an incredible source that brought even closer to this poet I adore.
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Elisa Martinez (6/21/2009 9:02:00 PM)
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I KNOW HOW U FEEL BECAUSE LOST A ANIMAL WITCH IT WAS A BUNNY IT JUST PASS AWAY I ALSO BURIED HER IN OUR GARDEN! ! !
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Kainwo Moses (5/25/2009 10:43:00 AM)
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I envy those Spanish readers who might access the poem in the original. Thanks Alfred, you have done us favour who can only read the great works in the English Language. Dogs, and the friendship the offer, have a place in a heaven that only Pablo could paint...
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Ruth Walters (5/9/2009 3:45:00 AM)
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This near on brought a tear to my eyes......extremely well written and so poignant.
May I post it under your name on a site for older people that I belong to? They are avid readers and most have pets, dogs themselves.
Superb poem.
Ruth why not come and read some of mine?
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Bhaswat Chakraborty (4/13/2009 6:30:00 AM)
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This poem is an amazing expression of a relationship that was not bound by any threat. The death of dog, a reality for any living being, also unfolded some of the human realities of the poet. In Neruda's brush, theme expresses itself with such a vibrant might! !
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