Pablo Neruda July 12, 1904 – September 23, 1973

Here I Love You

By: Pablo Neruda

Here I love you.

In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.

The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.

Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

　　

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.

A silver gull slips down from the west.

Sometimes a sail. High, high stars. 　　

Oh the black cross of a ship.

Alone.

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.

Far away the sea sounds and resounds.

This is a port.

Here I love you.

　　

Here I love you and the horizo​​n hides you in vain.

I love you still among these cold things.

Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels

that cross the sea towards no arrival.

　　

I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.

My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.

I love what I do not have. You are so far.

My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.

But night comes and starts to sing to me.

　　

The moon turns its clockwork dream.

The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.

And as I l​​ove you, the pines in the wind

want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

我思念著你

Pablo Neruda著長風譯

我思念著你。

黑暗的松林，微風習習。

月光下，海面波光粼粼。

日子，一如往昔，慢慢逝去。

雪，漫天飛舞。

一隻白色的海鷗自西邊滑落。

偶爾，有一葉帆船，高懸的星，

噢，十字桅杆的剪影，

和孤寂。

有時我早起，心情陰鬱。

遠處大海的濤聲響起。

這是一個港口。

我思念著你。

我思念著你，地平線無力將你遮蔽。

我身處冰冷的環境，但依然愛你。

有時，我的吻搭上沉重的航船

穿越大海，和無邊的天際。

我被遺忘，如舊錨被拋棄。

黃昏降臨，碼頭籠罩悲戚。

我已疲憊，再無期許。

你是如此的遙遠，鍾情卻無法相聚。

暮色沉沉，離恨淒淒。

不經意，黑夜唱響它的序曲。

　　

月亮進入夢境。

注目的明星，如同你的眼睛。

當我思念你，松樹隨風搖曳，

千萬松針都在呼喚你。

1904年7月12日智利詩人聶魯達出生，他以《二十首情詩和一支絕望的歌》揚名文壇，並著有《地球上的住處》和《詩歌總集》 ，1971年獲得諾貝爾文學獎。聽一曲智利傳統吉他曲，吟一首他的情詩“不知道有多少顆風兒的心臟，在我們相愛的寂靜裡跳動。”

Tonight i can write the saddest lines 今夜我可以寫下最哀傷的詩句 write,for example,"the night ie shattered and blue stars shiver in the distance." 寫,譬如,"夜色零落,藍色的星光在遠方顫抖." the night wind revolves in the sky and sings 夜風在天空中迴旋吟唱 tonight i can write the saddest lines 今夜我可以寫下最哀傷的詩句 and i loved her,and sometimes she loved me too 我愛過她,而且有時她也愛我 through nights like this one i held her in my arms 多少個如今的晚上,我曾擁她入懷 i kissed her again and again under the endless sky 在無垠的天空下一遍又一遍的吻她 she loved me and sometimes i loved her too 她愛過我,有時我也愛她 how could one not have loved her great still eyes 我怎麼能不愛上她那一雙沉靜的雙眼 tonight i can write the saddest lines 今夜我可以寫下最哀傷的詩句 to think that i do not have her,to feel that i have lost her 我不再擁有她,因為我已失去她 to hear the immense night,still moer immense without her 聆聽廣闊的夜空,因為沒有她而更加廣闊 and the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture 而詩句墜在靈魂上,如同露水墜在牧草上 what does it matter that my love could not keep her? 我的愛留不住她,那又有什麼關係? the night is shattered and she is not with me 夜色零落,而她不在我身邊 this is all in the distance someone is singing in the distance 這就是一切了.遠處有人唱著歌 my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her 我的靈魂因失去了她而失落 my sights searches for her as though to go to her 我用目光搜尋她,像要向她靠近 my heart looks for her,and she is not with me 我用心尋找她,她卻不在我身邊 the same night,whitening the same trees 相同的夜讓相同的樹林泛白 we,of that time,are no longer the same 彼時,我們也不再相似如初 i no longer love her,that is certain,but how i loved her 我不再愛她,這是確定的,但我曾經多麼愛她 my voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing 我的聲音試著找尋風來觸碰她的聽覺 another is.she will be another is.like my kiss before 別人的,她將會是別人的,如同我從前的吻 her voice,her bright body,her infinite eyes 她的聲音,她潔白的身體,她深邃的眸子 i no longer love her,that is certain,but maybe i love her 我不再愛她,這是確定的,但也許我還愛著她 Love is so short, forgetting is so long 愛情太短，而忘卻太長 because through nights like this one i held her in my arms 因為多少個如今夜的晚上,我曾擁她入懷 my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her 我的靈魂因為失去了她而失落 though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer 這是她最後一次讓我承受傷痛 and these the last verses that i write for her 而這些,是我最後一次為她寫下的詩句 blo Neruda

 ( Spanish:  [ˈpaβ̞lo̞ ne̞ˈɾuð̞a] ; July 12, 1904 – September 23, 1973) was the pen name and, later, legal name of the Chilean  poet-diplomat  and politician  Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto . He chose his pen name after the Czech  poet  Jan Neruda . In 1971 Neruda won the  Nobel Prize for Literature .

Walking Around

It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.

The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.

It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.

Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.

I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.

I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.

That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the
night.

And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist
houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.

There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical
cords.

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.

Neruda became known as a poet while still a teenager. He wrote in a variety of styles including  surrealist  poems, historical epics, overtly political manifestos, a prose autobiography, and erotically-charged love poems such as the ones in his 1924 collection  Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair . He often wrote in green ink, which was his personal symbol for desire and hope.

我不會愛上你，除非出於愛

我從愛你到放棄愛

從等你到不再等待

心從漠然轉向憤然

愛上你皆因你是我唯一的愛

我好恨你，恨著你

卻又傾慕於你，刻骨銘心把你思念

 

我不愛你只因我曾深愛你

看不見你時卻為你神魂顛倒

待到一月陽光來臨，或許我的心已成死灰

從此魂不守舍

看不見你時卻為你神魂顛倒

待到一月陽光來臨，或許我的心已成死灰

從此魂不守舍

故事到此為止，我是那唯一要死的人，唯一的人，我願死於愛，因為我愛你

因為我愛你

真愛，讓血與火為我送行

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

If You Forget Me

By:  Pablo Neruda

I want you to know

one thing.

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists:

aromas, light, m​​etals,

were little boats that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

  如果你選擇遺忘

聶魯達著長風譯

我想讓你知道

一件事情。

其實你也明白：

如果

我仰望明月，或者眺望窗外

秋日的紅葉，

如果

我觸摸篝火旁

細膩的灰燼

或者粗糙的木柴，

我會想起你；

各種真實的感覺：

香味，光亮，和金屬感，

如同小船，

帶我劃向你翹首以盼的島嶼。

不過，

如果你漸漸疏遠我

那麼我也會漸漸疏遠你。

如果

你突如其來地忘記我，

請不用再尋找我，

因為我應該已經忘記了你。

如果

你因我生命中的起起伏伏，

而思前想後，

最後決定離開

我心紮根的

海岸，

請記住

在那一天，

和那一刻，

我的心會連根拔起，

轉身尋找

另一塊土地。

然而，

如果

在每一天和每一刻

無盡的甜蜜中，

你心有所屬；

如果每一天

你接受花朵的親吻來感受我的愛撫；

噢，我的愛，我的心肝，

我也會點燃情感的烈火，

永不熄滅，永不遺忘；

我們懷抱的愛，我的寶貝，

會與日俱增，

直到你生命最後一刻。

  

And now you’re mine (Love Sonnet LXXXI)

Now, you are mine. Rest with your dream inside my dream.
Love, pain, and work, must sleep now.
Night revolves on invisible wheels
and joined to me you are pure as sleeping amber.

No one else will sleep with my dream, love.
You will go; we will go joined by the waters of time.
No other one will travel the shadows with me,
only you, ever green, ever sun, ever moon.

Already your hands have opened their delicate fists
and let fall, without direction, their gentle signs,
your eyes enclosing themselves like two grey wings,
while I follow the waters you bring that take me onwards:
night, Earth, winds weave their fate, and already,
not only am I not without you, I alone am your dream.

In my sky at twilightIn my sky at twilight 

In my sky at twilight and your form 
and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.

The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.

You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin. 

Absence

I have scarcely left you
When you go in me, crystalline,
Or trembling,
Or uneasy, wounded by me
Or overwhelmed with love, as
when your eyes
Close upon the gift of life
That without cease I give you.

My love,
We have found each other
Thirsty and we have
Drunk up all the water and the
Blood,
We found each other
Hungry
And we bit each other
As fire bites,
Leaving wounds in us.

But wait for me,
Keep for me your sweetness.
I will give you too
A rose.

I Like It When You're Quiet-Pablo Neruda 英译本

I like it when you're quiet, It's as is you weren't here now, 
and you heard me from a distance, and my voice couldn't reach you. 
It's as if your eyes had flown away from you, and as if your mouth were closed because I leaned to kiss you. 

Just as all living things are filled with my soul, 
You emerge from all living things filled with the soul of me. 
It's as if, a butterfly in dreams, you were my soul, 
and as if you were the soul's word, melancholy. 

I like it when you are quiet. It's as if you'd gone away now. 
And you'd become the keening, the butterfly's insistence. 
And you heard me from a distance and my voice didn't reach you: 
it's then that what I want is to be quiet with your silence. 

It's then that what I want is to speak to your silence 
in a speech as clear as lamplight, as plain as a gold ring. 
You are quiet like the night, and like the night you're star-lit. 
Your silences are star-like, they're a distant and a simple thing. 

I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you weren't here now. 
Aws if you were dead now, and sorrowful, and distant. 
A word then is sufficient, or a smile, to make me happy, 
Happy that it seems so certain that you're present. 

---original (In Spanish) 西班牙语原文
Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente, 
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca. 
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado 
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca. 

Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma 
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía. 
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma, 
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía. 

Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante. 
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo. 
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza: 
déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo. 

Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio 
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo. 
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada. 
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo. 

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente. 
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto. 
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan. 
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.