by Pablo Neruda
I have a crazy,
crazy love of things.
I like pliers,
and scissors.
I love
cups,
rings
and bowls
not to speak, of course,
of hats.
I love
all things,
not just
the grandest,
the grandest,
also
the infinitely
small
the infinitely
small
and flower vases.
Oh yes,
the planet
is sublime!
the planet
is sublime!
It’s full of pipes
weavinghand-held
through tobacco smoke,
weavinghand-held
through tobacco smoke,
and salt shakers –
and each
newbloodless birth
of gold,
newbloodless birth
of gold,
brushes,
Mankind has built
oh so many
perfect
things!
oh so many
perfect
things!
remarkable
tables,
tables,
I love
all
things,
all
things,
not because they
are
passionate
passionate
but because,
I don’t know,
I don’t know,
because
this ocean is yours,
and mine;
this ocean is yours,
and mine;
and little
forgotten
treasures,
forgotten
treasures,
fans upon
whose feathers
love has scattered
its blossoms,
whose feathers
love has scattered
its blossoms,
all bear
the trace
of someone’s fingers
the trace
of someone’s fingers
lost
in the depths of forgetfulness.
in the depths of forgetfulness.
streets
and elevators
that one because
it’s as soft
as the softness of a woman’s hip,
it’s as soft
as the softness of a woman’s hip,
and that one for
its velvet feel.
O irrevocable
river
of things:
river
of things:
no one can say
that I loved
only
fish,
that I loved
only
fish,
that I loved
only
those things that leap and climb, desire, and survive.
only
those things that leap and climb, desire, and survive.
It’s not true:
many things conspired
to tell me the whole story.
many things conspired
to tell me the whole story.
they were
so close
so close
that they were a
part
of my being,
of my being,
and will die half
my death.
Un caro saluto a tutti
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