Sunday, April 24, 2005


Again, I have been reading, losing myself in others' words, because mine are so lacking. Cher cites Neruda as one of her favorites, one who influences her style. He wrote in Spanish, and has been translated. Im sure there is much lost in translation, the 2 languages don't necessarily run parallel. But tonight, I found some of his work, both in Spanish and in English. I wish I could read the Spanish, but I'll settle for someone's translation.

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers
I ache from the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face,
I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues
drowsing in the parks, the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.

I've seen this formatted different ways - but this seems most appropriate. It's beautiful don't you think?

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