There’s No
Forgetting (Sonata)
If you ask me where I’ve
been,
I’d have to say, “It
happens”.
I’d have to speak of the
soil clouding the stones,
of the enduring river
that’s destroyed:
I know only the things birds lose,
the sea abandons, or my
sister's weeping.
Why so many regions, why
one day
close on another day, why
black night
collecting in the mouth?
Why the dead?
If you ask where I come
from I’d have to speak with broken things,
with implements grown too
bitter,
with large beasts most of
the time gone rotten
and with my stricken
heart.
The ones who’ve crossed
over aren’t remembered,
nor is the sallow dove
that sleeps in forgetting,
only faces with tears,
fingers on the throat,
and what collapses from
the leaves:
the darkness of a
transpired day,
of a day fed on our
sorrowful blood.
Here there are violets,
swallows,
as many as please us and
appear
in the sweet cards of the
long line
where time and sweetness
go walking.
But let’s not penetrate
beyond those teeth,
let's not bite the husks
the silence collects.
Because I don’t know how
to answer:
there are so many dead,
and so many breakwaters
the red sun split,
and so many heads banging
against boats,
and so many hands that
have locked away kisses,
and so much I want to
forget.
Pablo Neruda, “No hay
olvido (Sonata)”
Translation by Jack
Hayes
© 2017
Image links to its source on Wiki Commons:
"Grafiti pintado en la fachada del restaurante Capri, calle Cochrane 664, Valparaíso" 27 November 2015, by Rodrigo Fernández [link provided with his name is empty],
"Grafiti pintado en la fachada del restaurante Capri, calle Cochrane 664, Valparaíso" 27 November 2015, by Rodrigo Fernández [link provided with his name is empty],
who makes it available under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.
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