Pablo Neruda is my favourite poet. I had the chance to visit one of his homes in Santiago, Chile, now a museum. Its name, La Chascona, which means Tousled Hair, comes from his third wife, Matilde's, hair (also called Medusa). The two met while strolling in nearby Parque Forestal, and for years the house served as a romantic hideaway before they married. Winding garden paths, stairs, and bridges lead to the house. Scattered throughout are collections of butterflies, seashells, wineglasses, and other odd objects. Everything reflects his great love for the sea; the rooms in the house itself are built to resemble a ship. His beautiful poetry is timeless and some of the best are captured in this small collection of love poems.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Murals painted on the walls outside Pablo's home in Santiago of the poet.
