Pablo Neruda

(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973 / Parral)

Sonnet Xxv - Poem by Pablo Neruda

Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among
Nothing mattered or had a name:
The world was made of air, which waited.

I knew rooms full of ashes,
Tunnels where the moon lived,
Rough warehouses that growled 'get lost',
Questions that insisted in the sand.

Everything was empty, dead, mute,
Fallen abandoned, and decayed:
Inconceivably alien, it all

Belonged to someone else - to no one:
Till your beauty and your poverty
Filled the autumn plentiful with gifts.

Comments about Sonnet Xxv by Pablo Neruda

  • Mary Skarpathiotaki (12/20/2017 2:55:00 AM)

    Ήξερα δωμάτια γεμάτα στάχτες,
    Σήραγγες όπου ζούσε το φεγγάρι,
    Ανάκατες αποθήκες που γκρίνιαζαν «χάσου»,
    Ερωτήσεις που επέμεναν στην άμμο.

    Όλα ήταν άδεια, νεκρα, σιωπηλα,
    Ο νεκρός εγκαταλείφθηκε και κατέρρευσε:
    απροσδόκητα ξένα όλα

    Ανήκαν σε κάποιον άλλο - σε κανέναν:
    Μέχρι η ομορφιά σου και η φτώχεια σου
    Να γεμίσουν το φθινόπωρο με δώρα.

    Pablo Neruda

    (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Mary Skarpathiotaki (12/20/2017 2:55:00 AM)

    Προτού σας αγαπήσω,
    η αγάπη, δεν ήταν δική μου:
    Κοιτούσα μέσα στους δρόμους,
    Τίποτα δεν είχε σημασία ή είχε όνομα:
    Ο κόσμος ήταν φτιαγμένος από αέρα,
    που περίμενε.
    (Report) Reply

  • Mary Skarpathiotaki (12/20/2017 2:50:00 AM)

    excellent poem i love it i vote 10+++Thank a lot! ! (Report) Reply

  • Mohammed Asim Nehal (2/11/2016 1:29:00 AM)

    Superb imagery and the status of man in love loosing self. (Report) Reply

    Souren Mondal (2/14/2016 12:07:00 AM)

    I agree with you Asim.. It is a beautiful poem..

  • Fabrizio Frosini (11/24/2015 5:38:00 AM)

    Soneto XXV... em português...

    Antes de amar-te, amor, nada era meu:
    vacilei pelas ruas e as coisas:
    nada contava nem tinha nome:
    o mundo era do ar que esperava.

    E conheci salões cinzentos,
    túneis habitados pela lua,
    hangares cruéis que se despediam,
    perguntas que insistiam na areia.

    Tudo estava vazio, morto e mudo,
    caído, abandonado e decaído,
    tudo era inalienavelmente alheio,

    tudo era dos outros e de ninguém,
    até que tua beleza e tua pobreza
    de dádivas encheram o outono.
    (Report) Reply

  • john tiong chunghoo (7/4/2006 7:57:00 AM)

    your genius shines through in this poem. you use so many apt and effective examples to let us feel your pain and joy for a love.; (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: poverty, autumn, moon, beauty, lost, world, love, sonnet

Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 5, 2003

Poem Edited: Friday, May 16, 2008

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