Ode To The Cat Poem by Pablo Neruda

Ode To The Cat

Rating: 4.3

The animals were imperfect,
unfortunate in their heads.
Little by little they
put themselves together,
making themselves a landscape,
acquiring spots, grace, flight.
The cat,
only the cat
appeared complete and proud:
he was born completely finished,
walking alone and knowing what he wanted.

Man wants to be fish or fowl,
the snake would like to have wings
the dog is a disoriented lion,
the engineer would like to be a poet,
the fly studies to be a swift,
the poet tries to imitate the fly,
but the cat
only wants to be a cat
and any cat is a cat
from his whiskers to his tail,
from his hopeful vision of a rat
to the real thing,
from the night to his golden eyes.

There is no unity
like him,
the moon and the flower
do not have such context:
he is just one thing
like the sun or the topaz,
and the elastic line of his contours
is firm and subtle like
the line of a ship's prow.
His yellow eyes
have just one
to coin the gold of night time.

Oh little
emperor without a sphere of influence
conqueror without a country,
smallest living-room tiger, nuptial
sultan of the sky,
of the erotic roof-tiles,
the wind of love
in the storm
you claim
when you pass
and place
four delicate feet
on the ground,
all that is terrestrial,
because everything
is too unclean
for the immaculate foot of the cat.

Oh independent wild beast
of the house
vestige of the night,
lazy, gymnastic
and alien,
very deep cat,
secret policeman
of bedrooms,
of a
disappeared velvet,
surely there is no
in your manner,
perhaps you are not a mystery,
everyone knows of you
and you belong
to the least mysterious inhabitant,
perhaps everyone believes it,
everyone believes himself the owner,
of a cat,
or friend
of his cat.

Not me.
I do not subscribe.
I do not know the cat.
I know it all, life and its archipelago,
the sea and the incalculable city,
the gyneceum and its frenzies,
the plus and the minus of mathematics,
the volcanic frauds of the world,
the unreal shell of the crocodile,
the unknown kindness of the fireman,
the blue atavism of the priest,
but I cannot decipher a cat.
My reason slips on his indifference,
his eyes have golden numbers.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: animal
Timo Tuominen 29 October 2015

So true, so beautiful!

24 4 Reply
yasskween1969 11 March 2022

hahha niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice haaaaaaaha

0 1 Reply
Carol Williams 22 December 2020

I love this and can relate to its theme. The language really drew me in. Thank you

0 0 Reply
D M 20 August 2019

The dog is a disorientated lion? Mine is terrified of everything.

5 1 Reply
Superfluffyliz 22 February 2018

Captures the essence of Cat purrfectly! !

12 3 Reply

A lovely poem. However, having read the original, Spanish version, I find this translation to be a little choppy and awkward. It translates a few things a bit too literally or uses cognates instead of more accurate wording.

9 7 Reply
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