Treasure Island

Warren Falcon

(04/23/52 - xxxx / Spartanburg, South Carolina, USA)

What Pablo Saw In His Final Dream - Una Cancion Por Pablo Neruda

for Jose - 'now he is with the Lamb'

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Por Pablo Neruda, para su compleanos (1904-1973) , nacido en Chile, acunado en los senos del mar, que crece en las ramas de los árboles en peligro de extinción de la selva de Parral, liberados por la pluma, buscó a los trabajadores libres en todo el mundo por su defensa de la poesía, cada uno un poema, cada mujer de un poema, cada niño y la niña nuevo aliento para hablar, a cantar un poema nuevo, libre de la suciedad de la injusticia...

'También recuerdo que un día, mientras que la caza detrás de mi casa para el pequeño objeto y los seres minúsculos de mi mundo, he descubierto un agujero en una de las tablas de la cerca. Miré a través de la apertura y vi un pedazo de tierra como la nuestra, descuidado y salvaje. Me retiré unos pasos, porque yo tenía una vaga sensación de que algo iba a suceder. de repente, una mano llegó. era una pequeña mano de un niño de mi edad. Cuando me acerqué, la mano era desaparecido y en su lugar había una oveja blanca.

'Era una oveja de lana que se había desvanecido. Las ruedas en la que había planeado se habían ido. Yo nunca había visto una oveja encantadora. Me fui a mi casa y regresó con un regalo, que me fui en el mismo lugar: un cono de pino, entreabierta, olorosa y resinosa, y muy valioso para mí.

'Nunca vi al chico nuevo. Nunca he vuelto a ver una ovejita como aquella. Lo perdí en el incendio. Y aún hoy, cuando voy más allá de una tienda de juguetes, me veo en las ventanas escondidas. Pero no es utilizar. Una oveja, como que uno nunca se hizo de nuevo. '


Born in Chile, cradled in the breasts of the sea, grown in the limbs of the endangered trees of the forest of Parral, freed by the pen, sought to free workers around the world by his advocacy of poetry, every man a poem, every woman a poem, each boy and girl the new breath to speak, to sing a new poem free from the dirt of injustice...

'I also recall that one day, while hunting behind my house for the tiny object and miniscule beings of my world, I discovered a hole in one of the fence boards. I looked through the opening and saw a patch of land just like ours, untended and wild. I drew back a few steps, because I had a vague feeling that something was about to happen. Suddenly a hand came through. It was a small hand of a boy my own age. When I moved closer, the hand was gone and in its place was a little white sheep.

'It was a sheep made of wool that had faded. The wheels on which it had glided were gone. I had never seen such a lovely sheep. I went into my house and came back with a gift, which I left in the same place: a pine cone, partly open, fragrant and resinous, and very precious to me.

'I never saw the boy again. I have never again seen a little sheep like that one. I lost it in the fire. And even today, when I go past a toy shop, I look in the windows furtively. But it is no use. A sheep like that one was never made again.'

- from Neruda's 'Memoirs, Confieso Que He Vivido'

Comments about this poem (What Pablo Saw In His Final Dream - Una Cancion Por Pablo Neruda by Warren Falcon )

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  • Romeo Della Valle (7/15/2012 7:47:00 PM)

    Excellent! A well crafted and poignant write full of rich imagery and penning words! 10+++ Thank you for sharing and keep it up! God Bless You! Love and Peace for always! Romeo from New York City! (Report) Reply

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