Pablo Neruda Poems
- If You Forget Me I want you to know one thing. You know ...
- I Do Not Love You Except Becau...
- Don'T Go Far Off Don't go far off, not even for a day, ...
- Your Laughter Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air...
- Sonnet Xvii I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or ...
- Tonight I Can Write The Saddes... Tonight I can write the...
- A Dog Has Died My dog has died. I buried him in the ...
Pablo Neruda was the pen name and, later, legal name of the Chilean poet and politician Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto. He chose his pen name after Czech poet Jan Neruda.
Neruda wrote in a variety of styles such as erotically charged love poems as in his collection Twenty Poems of Love and a Song of Despair, surrealist poems, historical epics, and overtly political manifestos. In 1971 Neruda won the Nobel Prize for Literature. Colombian novelist Gabriel García Márquez once called him "the greatest poet of the 20th century in any language." Neruda always wrote in green ink as it was his personal color of hope.
On July 15, 1945, at Pacaembu Stadium in São ... more »
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Quotationsmore quotations »
''A bibliophile of little means is likely to suffer often. Books don't slip from his hands but fly past him through the air, high as birds, high as prices.''Pablo Neruda (1904-1973), Chilean poet. Memoirs, ch. 11 (1974, trans. 1977).
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is ...100 Love Sonnets
''“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.” ''
''“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.” ''Pablo Neruda, Love: Ten Poems
''“Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, youll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.” ''― Pablo Neruda
If You Forget Me
I want you to know
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
you forget me
do not look for me,...