Pablo Neruda

(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973 / Parral)

I'M Explaining A Few Things - Poem by Pablo Neruda

You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?
and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?
and the rain repeatedly spattering
its words and drilling them full
of apertures and birds?
I'll tell you all the news.

I lived in a suburb,
a suburb of Madrid, with bells,
and clocks, and trees.

From there you could look out
over Castille's dry face:
a leather ocean.
My house was called
the house of flowers, because in every cranny
geraniums burst: it was
a good-looking house
with its dogs and children.
Remember, Raul?
Eh, Rafel? Federico, do you remember
from under the ground
my balconies on which
the light of June drowned flowers in your mouth?
Brother, my brother!
loud with big voices, the salt of merchandises,
pile-ups of palpitating bread,
the stalls of my suburb of Arguelles with its statue
like a drained inkwell in a swirl of hake:
oil flowed into spoons,
a deep baying
of feet and hands swelled in the streets,
metres, litres, the sharp
measure of life,
stacked-up fish,
the texture of roofs with a cold sun in which
the weather vane falters,
the fine, frenzied ivory of potatoes,
wave on wave of tomatoes rolling down the sea.

And one morning all that was burning,
one morning the bonfires
leapt out of the earth
devouring human beings --
and from then on fire,
gunpowder from then on,
and from then on blood.
Bandits with planes and Moors,
bandits with finger-rings and duchesses,
bandits with black friars spattering blessings
came through the sky to kill children
and the blood of children ran through the streets
without fuss, like children's blood.

Jackals that the jackals would despise,
stones that the dry thistle would bite on and spit out,
vipers that the vipers would abominate!

Face to face with you I have seen the blood
of Spain tower like a tide
to drown you in one wave
of pride and knives!

see my dead house,
look at broken Spain :
from every house burning metal flows
instead of flowers,
from every socket of Spain
Spain emerges
and from every dead child a rifle with eyes,
and from every crime bullets are born
which will one day find
the bull's eye of your hearts.

And you'll ask: why doesn't his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?

Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see
The blood in the streets.
Come and see the blood
In the streets!

Comments about I'M Explaining A Few Things by Pablo Neruda

  • (10/11/2018 9:35:00 PM)

    I have read many poems of Neruda translated into my mother tongue Malayalam by Prof K Satchidanandan, Nobel Nomiee. But the severity and the burning acidicness is missing. As I always say, I can only imagine the intensity of Neruda’s poems in the original Spanish, much lost in translation. 😔 sad that I read no Spanish. (Report) Reply

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  • (10/11/2018 9:34:00 PM)

    I am acquainted with Neruda’s fiercely intense poems, especially on love. We have here, an equally or more intense one on a totally different subject. Nature, war, loss... Very agitating narrative. (Report) Reply

  • Susan Williams (9/25/2018 4:06:00 PM)

    Incredible poem and handled with the fire that he is known for about other topics. I was pleased to see he has a strong and memorable voice for other things than love (Report) Reply

  • Geeta Radhakrishna Menon (9/25/2018 12:16:00 PM)

    A fantastic poem of Pablo Neruda that portrays anger that is most justified, where the flowers, birds of the beautiful Madrid is converted into streets of complete destruction.
    An intense poem that questions man of his crimes and brutality of war.
    (Report) Reply

  • Edward Kofi Louis (9/25/2018 12:07:00 PM)

    The blood in the streets! ! !

    Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
    (Report) Reply

  • Adrian Flett (9/25/2018 6:17:00 AM)

    The war poet sees blood in the streets not dreams and leaves. A poem filled with vivid images 'every dead child a rifle with eyes'. (Report) Reply

  • Kumarmani Mahakul (9/25/2018 5:29:00 AM)

    and from every crime bullets are born
    which will one day find
    the bull's eye of your touching and impressive. Beautiful poem.
    (Report) Reply

  • (9/25/2018 2:41:00 AM)

    A poem of anger at those who brought a beautiful country to its knees? .........well written. (Report) Reply

  • (2/8/2018 7:00:00 AM)

    Summary of I am explaining A few things (Report) Reply

  • Mohit Katyal (11/8/2017 1:08:00 PM)

    This one touched my heart (Report) Reply

  • Subhas Chandra Chakra (9/4/2016 8:04:00 AM)

    a deep baying
    of feet and hands swelled in the streets,
    metres, litres, the sharp
    measure of life,
    stacked-up fish,
    the texture of roofs with a cold sun in which
    the weather vane falters
    A beautiful and superb poem.
    (Report) Reply

  • Thomas Case (11/25/2015 4:45:00 PM)

    Amazing....great imagery, so vivid and in your face (Report) Reply

  • Primrose Tee (5/5/2014 5:20:00 AM)

    great poet..wonderful poems (Report) Reply

  • Brian Jani (4/27/2014 5:14:00 AM)

    Awesome I like this poem, check mine out  (Report) Reply

  • Sharad Kaplingad (9/12/2012 3:18:00 PM)

    One of the best poems (Report) Reply

  • (10/1/2009 5:23:00 AM)

    Superb...what better words to describe the horrors of war than these! ! (Report) Reply

  • (5/6/2008 3:42:00 PM)

    pure genius born out of love as genius always is (Report) Reply

  • (6/11/2004 12:29:00 PM)

    It would be useful to know, if not in the original language, who has translated a poem.
    In this case, I recognise the translation as by Nathaniel Tarn.
    (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: house, children, brother, june, remember, weather, poetry, fish, pride, ocean, child, rain, fire, sea, sky, sun, light, flower, fishing, dog

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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