He may not be as mysterious as James' man crush, the pseudonymed Kim Jong-Il, but I very much enjoy Pablo Neruda's poetry. I've always fancied myself more Latin than Asian, and between his works and my new favourite radio station, I'm swiftly approaching the point in my life where I need to break down and add Spanish to my repertoire to retain a modicum of authenticity. This is an excerpt from Walking Around which grabs me every time:
Just the same, it would be deliciousThough I am sure that in the mouth of someone like Antonio Banderas the spanish reading of this piece would melt me entirely, Sam Jackson's English redention is pretty sweet. I also recently heard Sam recite another piece of poetry:
To scare a notary with a cut lily,
Or knock a nun stone dead with one blow of an ear.
It would be beautiful
To go through the streets with a green knife
Shouting until I died of cold.
I do not want to go on
Being a root in the dark
Hesitating, stretched out
Shivering with dreams
Downward in the wet tripe of the earth
Soaking it up and thinking
Eating every day
I do not want to be the inheritor
Of so many misfortunes
I do not want to continue as a root
As a tomb, a sollitary tunnel
As a cellar full of corpses
Stiff with cold
Dying with pain.
You want my blood,
Take my blood.
1 comment:
I just thought of this poem. Unrelated, but you might like it.
"In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter, bitter," he answered;
"But I like it."
-Stephen Crane
-M.
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