A poem called "Poetry" by Pablo Neruda

Pablo Neruda is on of my favorite poets. I discovered his writing when I lived in Santiago, Chile several years ago. He is so delicate in his writing, so loving, so raw. He has such a way with words, it would make you think that the poem is telling him secretly exactly what it needs to be, which is exactly how poetry should be. Good poetry is nature. It is truth. There is no fabrication or creative manipulating because it practically writes itself, beautifully, with ease and in perfect harmony.

"Poetry" by Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don’t know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating planations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.”