Pablo Neruda

(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973 / Parral / Chile)

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You


I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
........................
........................
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# 14 poem on top 500 Poems


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  • Rookie Bob Crackhead (4/24/2013 9:31:00 AM)

    i think the maker of this poem is the wel known rapist michel jackson it takes 2 to tango (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Mary Pierce (1/21/2013 7:17:00 PM)

    For me, the last stanza of this poem holds the key to understanding the pain in the poet's heart. Neruda says clearly...I am the one who / Dies, the only one... He is telling the beloved that he hates that he/she has died. Moreover, the poet says, I will die of love because I love you, .... This is a poem of bereavement; not of unrequited love, but of a mature love by a committed lover for a beloved who has left him behind and his only comfort is the cold and dark of January. Or the cold and dark of his grief turning to self sacrifice (...I am the one who dies..) if only this, his own death, would bring back to life the dead beloved. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Aciam Kiwelet (11/30/2012 8:18:00 PM)

    It's like how I feel of... afraid of loving without receiving any return =_='
    That's why no one can't blame me if I am too confidential with my life..'m just afraid that if that person knew that I admire him, he would make his distance from me... Lalala :)

    Anyway, all would be a part of my history and if my heart will decide, would be a lifetime I guess :) hope so.. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Aciam Kiwelet (11/30/2012 8:18:00 PM)

    It's like how I feel of... afraid of loving without receiving any return =_='
    That's why no one can't blame me if I am too confidential with my life..'m just afraid that if that person knew that I admire him, he would make his distance from me... Lalala :)

    Anyway, all would be a part of my history and if my heart will decide, would be a lifetime I guess :) hope so.. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Chano Leal (11/18/2012 4:11:00 PM)

    Hah, it is only true love if it goes in both directions, akin a two way street, an emotion emitted and that same emotion returned. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Shiela Marie Anunciacion (11/17/2012 4:34:00 AM)

    Love is painful when you are aware that it is unrequited. Furthermore, sometimes you hate the person you love because he/she cannot/don't love you back. You think you want to stop loving that person but then you know you cannot, cruel cruel fate for those who loves in secret... (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 12 Points Meera Panigrahi (9/9/2012 8:25:00 AM)

    There is great suffering in love and this poem brings it out with great poignancy. Hate and love are indistinguishable, and the poet's authenticity cannot be questioned. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie John Dickson (8/17/2012 7:04:00 AM)

    This beautiful poem describes the submission to a destructive obsession, a love that has died for one partner but not for the poet, and the recognition that he has to love but he knows it's killing him.
    A poem I always re-read when I visit this site. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Cozette Graham (8/12/2012 2:28:00 AM)

    Even to hate means to still care about something or someone. For me, to not hate or to not love something or someone would cause an indifference which means I wouldn't care, nor put forth any effort or energy or emotion to care. He hated, which can only mean he still cared. When we hate someone, we must have been hurt by them in some way, shape, or form, but we still care enough to have an emotion for them. Why? Beautifully written poem. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Cozette Graham (8/12/2012 2:25:00 AM)

    Even to hate means to still care about something or someone. For me, to not hate or to not love something or someone would cause an indifference which means I wouldn't care, nor put forth any effort or energy or emotion to care. He hated, which can only mean he still cared. When we hate someone, we must have been hurt by them in some way, shape, or form, but we still care enough to have an emotion for them. Why? Beautifully written poem. (Report) Reply

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