On Romancing Poetry

Sonnet XVII
by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other waythan this:

where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Today was a Neruda kind of day. I love the way he molds language. If the english translations are so gorgeous, how layered and divine must the Spanish original sound? Another reason to learn Spanish. So I can read Neruda. :) So I can feel the words running through my mouth the way he meant them to run. The joy of poetry is in saying it aloud. Feeling the syllables tumble and roll in your mouth as you breathe them into life. And surely, a poet as sensual and sensitive as Neruda would attach as much importance to the feel and texture of every word as to its meaning. So I want to learn Spanish, to romance Neruda's poetry.