Vox Populi
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Pablo Neruda: Oda a las nubes (Ode to clouds)
translation by Wally Swist
Oda a las nubes Nubes del cielo Sur, nubes aladas, nubes de impeccable vapor, trajes del cielo, petales, peces puras del estia, boca arriba en el pasto, en las arenas de toda el cielo suis las muchachas celestes, la seda al sol, la primavera blanca, la juventud del cielo. Derramadas, corriendo apenas sostenidas por el aire, plumones de la luz, nidos del agua! Ahora un solo Ribete de combustion, de ira enciende las praderas celestials y los aimendras en flor, la equinoccial lavandeia es devorada por leopardos verdes, contados por allanjes, atacadas por bocas incendiarias. Nubes desesperadas y pumtuales en el fallecimiento del sol de cada dia, baile ritual de todo el horizonte, apemas si cruzan el aspacio lentas, aves del mar, vuelos sobre la perspectiva, se desgarran las nubes, se disuelve la luz del ahanica delirante, vida y fuego no existen, eran solo ceremonias del cielo. Pero a ti, nuberrona de tempestad, reserve aquel espacio de monte a mar, de sombra, de panico y tinieblas sobre al mundo, sea sobre las haces de la espuma en la joche iracunda del oceano o sobre la callada cabellera de los bosques nocturnos, nube, tinta de acero desparramas, algodones de luto en que se ahogan las palidas estrellas. De tu paraguas cae con densidad de plomo la oscuridad y ponto agua elecreica y humo tiemblan como banderas oscuras, sacudidas por el mieda. Riegas y unes tu oscuridad al sueno de las negras raices, y asi de la tormenta sale a la luz de nueva el esplendor terrestre. Nube de primavera, nave alorosa, pura azucena del cielo, manto de viuda desdichada, negra madre del truena, quiera un traje de nube, una camisa de vuestras materiales, y llevadme en el hila de la luz o en al caballa de la sambra a recorrer el cielo, todo el cielo. Asi tocare bosques, arreciles, cruzare cataratas y ciedades, vera la inimidad del universa, basta que con la lluvia regesare a la tierra a conversar en paz con las raices. --- Ode to Clouds Clouds of the southern sky, winged clouds, clouds of impeccable vapor, suits of the sky, petals, pure summer fish, uphill in the grass, and the sands, from all the sky you are the celestial girls, silk in the sun, white blooms, the sky’s youth. Spilling, running, barely supported by the air, plumes of the light, nests of water! Now a single edging of combustion, of anger ignites the celestial meadows, and the almond trees in blossom, at equinox this laundry is devoured by green leopards, cut by cutlasses, attacked by fire hydrants. Clouds, desperate and punctual in death of the sun, of each day, the ritual dance of the entire horizon, barely crossing space, the flights of slow seabirds offer perspective, the clouds tear apart, the light of a delirious fan dissolves, neither are they life or fire, only just the sky’s celebration. But to you, storm cloud, I reserve that space above the mountain to sea, of shadow, of panic and darkness over the world, be it over the beams of foam in the angry night of the ocean, or on the hill of thatch of nocturnal forests, cloud, steely ink, you scatter cotton balls of mourning in which the pale stars drown. The darkness falls from your umbrella with the density of lead, and soon electrified water and smoke tremble like dark flags, shaken by fear. You water and unite your darkness to the dream of the black roots, and thus the terrestrial splendor again emerges to light after the storm. Spring cloud, fragrant ship, pure lily of the sky, unfortunate widow’s cloak, black mother of thunder, I would like a suit of clouds, a shirt of your material. Take me by the thread from the light or to the horse of shadow to travel the sky, the entire sky. So, I will touch forests and reefs, I will cross waterfalls and cities, I will see the intimacy of the universe, until I return to earth with the rain to converse in peace with the roots.
Translation copyright 2022 Wally Swist. Pablo Neruda’s poem is included in Vox Populi for educational use only.
Vox Populi 
That seemingly simple way of building a poem, using images like pieces of a puzzle to make a “larger” puzzle with them. It LOOKS easy. Until you try. Damn he’s good! I love Neruda… Thanks for this Ode I don’t remember reading…
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Inimitable Neruda. None like him.
What keeps me away from him?
Its like forgetting to pray—Then remembrance comes hard, like too much rain.
Distance and proximity, equally perilous.
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Beatiful. Thank you, Sean.
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