artwork: ralph murre
Talking to Neruda's
Ghost
by Sharon Auberle
So Pablo, how is it,
over there where you are?
I want you to know
we miss you here,
miss your glorious gusto,
your fragrance of ink,
sea and flowers.
We miss your odes
to plain things:
salt, artichokes,
dictionaries…
Do you remember your ode
to watermelon?
I dream of licking the rivers
of juice from your lips, Pablo.
And your socks, Pablo,
I would have learned, gladly,
to darn them, though
I am a woman who hates to sew.
I think I could have loved you.
Yes, there was Matilde,
your sun and moon,
your beloved, without whom,
you said, you would die.
I can live with that.
But Pablo, please,
say we go on, say
that you and Matilde
are out there tonight,
hands filled with clay and words,
say
you are shaping
poems into stars
to fling across the sky.
Matilde
by Sharmagne Leland-St. John
Did she slake your thirst
and fill your poet's heart
with flowery words
to spill across the empty page,
a river of green ink,
flowing?
Did you see the rainbows
in her eyes and pray
she'd never leave you,
as you had left the others?
Did you watch with wonder
when she twined the blossoms
of the bougainvillea
into tangled locks
and feel your soul
was laughing at the moon?
Did you listen for her footsteps
on the spiral stair,
waiting for her return
so you could breathe again?
Did you ever think
someone could love you
so completely?
How I Met Pablo
Neruda
by Estella Lauter
It was by accident.
Walking in Mexico City
I saw a poster about
a reading
at the National
Stadium.
A tribute to Pablo
Neruda.
Like something that
might
happen in a Greek
ruin
not in North America.
I had to bear witness.
My Cuban friend
guessed
from their dress and
speech
that people came
from all over
Mexico and South America,
and they knew their
man.
When the readers
spoke his lines
a steady whisper
surrounded us
as if the poems were
a rosary.
Suddenly from the
center came a chant,
Neruda esta aqui. Neruda
esta aqui.
In New York, Security would have dragged
the visionaries out
of there in minutes.
But no. The readers waited. People wept quietly.
When the voices
hushed, the program resumed.
No one was
frightened by this spirit.
Neruda was there. He was expected.
We were glad for
him.
Esta bien.
~ "Talking to Neruda's Ghost" and "Matilde" have previously appeared in Quill & Parchment; "How I Met Pablo Neruda" was first published in Wisconsin People & Ideas
