Saturday, September 13, 2008

Cuban Tody


It was passed from one bird to another,
the whole gift of the day.
The day went from flute to flute,
went dressed in vegetation,
in flights which opened a tunnel
through the wind would pass
to where birds were breaking open
the dense blue air -
and there, night came in.

When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography -
I saw how wings worked,
how perfumes are transmitted
by feathery telegraph,
and from above I saw the path,
the springs and the roof tiles,
the fishermen at their trades,
the trousers of the foam;
I saw it all from my green sky.
I had no more alphabet
than the swallows in their courses,
the tiny, shining water
of the small bird on fire
which dances out of the pollen.

Pablo Neruda


Anonymous said...

you know i do love birds who write poetry ;) and pablo neruda too. this was a great poem to read as i watch the sunrise here this morning dear!

Qiuqiu's parents said...

What a lovely bird!
My mother has spent most of her adult life painting birds. I think there's something poetic in that choice of occupation. And I wish I were so singleminded about my career. But I'm too scattered. I'm more of a hummingbird, flitting from flower to flower.

FishermansDaughter said...

So captivating. Vibrant and frail at the same time. Birds are magical.