“Again, please,” she whispered. (Allie to Wes)” ~ Jodi Thomas, To Kiss a Texan
Photography by Diana Mary Sharpton titled "Fire and Ice"
Sometimes one experiences a moment that never leaves them. It wedges tightly in between the soul and the mind. Logic can neither articulate nor define its existence, nor will it be extinguished or die. It is there. I wanted to express the emotional impact this moment has had on me through poetry and believe that Pablo Neruda’s “Every Day You Play” vividly captures this mindset.
It is no secret that Pablo Neruda was inspired by a deep affection he had for Matilde Urrutia, his life partner of twenty plus years, lover and muse. He wrote hundreds poems about their love and had a brilliance that, in my humble opinion, to this day cannot be compared. He is the stupendous painter of love.
I hope you enjoy this poem as much as I do.
Every Day You Play
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Diana Mary Sharpton ~ Poetry & Photography ©All Rights Reserve 2017 Contact: DianaMSharpton@Gmail.com
Diana Mary Sharpton
Diana Mary Sharpton
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”