Pablo Neruda

(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973 / Parral)

Pablo Neruda Poems

81. Death Alone 3/22/2010
82. Ode To Maize 1/3/2003
83. Sonnet Viii 1/3/2003
84. Magellanic Penguin 1/13/2003
85. Ode To Salt 1/20/2003
86. Water 1/3/2003
87. I Remember You As You Were 3/22/2010
88. Ode To A Large Tuna In The Market 1/20/2003
89. The White Mans Burden 1/13/2003
90. Ode To Wine 1/3/2003
91. Here I Love You 3/22/2010
92. The Song Of Despair 1/3/2003
93. Ode To The Book 1/3/2003
94. It’s Good To Feel You Are Close To Me 3/22/2010
95. Lost In The Forest... 1/3/2003
96. Sonnet Xxxiv (You Are The Daughter Of The Sea) 1/13/2003
97. Love Sonnet XVII 3/29/2010
98. Puedo Escribir 1/13/2003
99. The Dead Woman 1/10/2005
100. ‘in The Wave-Strike Over Unquiet Stones’ 3/22/2010
101. I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair 5/5/2011
102. Brown And Agile Child 1/3/2003
103. Ode To Sadness 1/3/2003
104. Sonnet Xi 1/3/2003
105. The Light Wraps You 1/13/2003
106. The Question 1/3/2003
107. Absence 3/22/2010
108. Fleas Interest Me So Much 1/3/2003
109. ‘perhaps Not To Be Is To Be Without Your Being.’ 3/22/2010
110. Walking Around 1/13/2003
111. We Are Many 1/3/2003
112. Cat's Dream 1/13/2003
113. Leaning Into The Afternoons 1/3/2003
114. Sonnet Xxv 4/5/2003
115. Nothing But Death 1/13/2003
116. Sonnet Lxxxi 1/3/2003
117. Always 3/22/2010
118. From The Book Of Questions 1/20/2003
119. Love 1/13/2003
120. ‘carnal Apple, Woman Filled, Burning Moon,’ 3/22/2010
Best Poem of Pablo Neruda

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,...

Read the full of If You Forget Me

Some Beasts

It was the twilight of the iguana:

From a rainbowing battlement,
a tongue like a javelin
lunging in verdure;
an ant heap treading the jungle,
monastic, on musical feet;
the guanaco, oxygen-fine
in the high places swarthed with distances,

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