Chapter 11 Anthology of Neruda's Prose Poems

Yellow River Literature Pablo Neruda Chen Shi The woman from afar, this woman just fills my hands.She was fair-skinned and fair-haired, and I would lift her up in my hands like a basket of magnolias. This woman just filled my eyes.My eyes embrace her, and when my eyes embrace hers I see nothing. This woman just happens to fill my desires.Before the fire of my life she stood naked, and my desire burned her like a living coal. But, far away woman, my hands, my eyes, and the caress of my desire are reserved for you, for you alone, far away woman, alone just fill my heart. Heroes I found my heroes, exactly where I went to find them.As if I contained them in my worries.At first I did not know how to recognize them, but now that I am familiar with the structure of life, I have learned to give them a quality that they did not have.But I found that I was too tired to be oppressed by these heroes, so I had to give up on them.For now I want the man who hunches under insurrection, the man who screams at the first blow of the whip, the brooding hero who sees life as a damp cellar without sunlight, and who cannot laugh.

But now they are nowhere to be found.My worries are full of old heroes, heroes of yesteryear. Struggling to hold on to the memory My mind left me to wander, now on a friendly path.I banished all violent sorrow, paused, closed my eyes, and succumbed to the scent of some distant time and place, which I had preserved by my own humble struggle with life.People only live in yesterday. "Now" is just the naked expectation of desires, a temporary vow of aging for lack of love. Yesterday was a tree with draped branches and leaves.I'm just thinking about it in the shade. Suddenly, I was amazed to see the procession of pilgrims who, like myself, had come to the path; their eyes were full of the joy of remembrance, and they sang songs about the past.Anyway, I know they change to stay the same, they speak to be silent, they open wonder eyes to look at the stars to close their eyes to remember... I lie beside this new road, I try in vain to keep the ripples The river of time that flows through me.

These yellow granite grains of sand are unique and unsurpassed. (White sand, black sand clinging to skin and clothing, imperceptible but aggressive.) Like the tiniest rock, the golden grains of these black islands seem to come from a ruined planet, far away in The sky burns, and shakes far and golden. The whole world hunched, searched, and searched along this sandy coast, so some people called this coast "the island of lost things." The oceans are a perpetual supply of eroded wood, blue glass beads, corks, broken waves-washed bottles, the remains of scales, conch, and clams, devoured, and shattered by long-term stress.The meandering kochayoyo grass is the nourishment of the poor among the brittle thorn bushes or small hedgehogs, and the round and endless rhizomes, like sliding shiny eels, are always chased by wordless waves It's sea meets sandy beach.It is already known that this is the longest marine plant on earth, it can grow up to 400 meters, it is attached to the rock by a huge sucker, and it is supported by a section of floating body, while it feeds the big hair with thousands of small amber nipples .We are a small country, but our wings are huge, our hair washed by the sea is very long, we are gloomy existences in the warehouse of this sea, like eagles flying over the Andes, like all albatross races hope to reunite in the Chilean sea , like sperm whales or arctic whales sneaking into our waters and getting away with it.