Friday, May 6, 2011

ode to the present | pablo neruda

present moment,
as a wooden slab,
immaculate hour,
this day
as a new cup
from the past--
no spider web
with our fingers,
we caress
the present;
we cut it
according to our magnitude
we guide
the unfolding of its blossoms.
It is living,
it contains
from the unrepairable past,
from the lost past,
it is our
growing at
this very moment, adorned with
sand, eating from
our hands.
Grab it.
Don't let it slip away.
Don't lose it in dreams
or words.
Clutch it.
Tie it,
and order it
to obey you.
Make it a road,
a bell,
a machine,
a kiss, a book,
a caress.
Take a saw to its delicious
And make a chair;
braid its
test it.
Or then, build
a staircase!
Yes, a
the present,
by step,
press your feet
onto the resinous wood
of this moment,
going up,
going up,
not very high,
just so
you repair
the leaky roof.
Don't go all the way to heaven.
for apples,
not the clouds.
Let them
fluff through the sky,
skimming passage,
into the past.
your present,
your own apple.
Pick it from
your tree.
Raise it
in your hand.
It's gleaming,
rich with stars.
Claim it.
Take a luxurious bite
out of the present,
and whistle along the road
of your destiny.


  1. thank you. thank you. loving you and this delicious moment!
    love, sorrel

  2. This is so beautiful. I like the "active" nature of this take on being present. Thanks for sharing!

  3. Keeping Quiet
    by Pablo Neruda

    Now we will count to twelve
    and we will all keep still.
    For once on the face of the earth,
    let’s not speak in any language;
    let’s stop for one second,
    and not move our arms so much.
    It would be an exotic moment
    without rush, without engines;
    we would all be together
    in a sudden strangeness.
    Fishermen in the cold sea
    would not harm whales
    and the man gathering salt
    would look at his hurt hands.
    Those who prepare green wars,
    wars with gas, wars with fire,
    victories with no survivors,
    would put on clean clothes
    and walk about with their brothers
    in the shade, doing nothing.
    What I want should not be confused
    with total inactivity.
    Life is what it is about;
    I want no truck with death.
    If we were not so single-minded
    about keeping our lives moving,
    and for once could do nothing,
    perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness
    of never understanding ourselves
    and of threatening ourselves with death.
    Perhaps the earth can teach us
    as when everything seems dead
    and later proves to be alive.
    Now I’ll count up to twelve
    and you keep quiet and I will go.


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