If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda | Powerful Life Poetry
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- Опубліковано 29 вер 2024
- “If You Forget Me” is a poem by the Nobel Prize winning poet Pablo Neruda.
Translated from its original Spanish. It was originally titled as ‘Si Tu Me Olvidas’ and belongs to the “Captain Verses” collection.
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,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
Read by Dave Luukkonen
Music : Scott Buckley
Snowfall
/ @scottbuckley
: By Attribution 4.0 License
creativecommons...
#PabloNeruda #Iove #PowerfulLifePoetry
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Who could ever forget someone who expresses his love so sweetly?
Wouldn't it be wonderful to be so loved 😔 ( ahhh *deep sigh )
She has forgotten me, and soon I will forget her too.
My loving branches were not strong enough to hang her swing.
My little leaves like kisses, could not cover her in a cool, comfortable shade.
She is gone, but each day the sun rises.
Each day I tow my frail and withered trunk to the richness of the sun.
It’s golden fingers saturate my soul with the nectar of vitality and strength.
The winter winds may come, and I may shed my leaves as tears of heartbreak.
But one day, she or someone else will be able to laugh and play at the stoop of this solemn frame.
They will enjoy the tender fruits of my hardships.
But until then, she is gone.
One day I will be ready.
Just a little something from my broken heart. I hope someone can enjoy it.
Fucking beautiful man
beautiful
Im screenshoting this so it can stay on my phone forever. So i may always look back at it and smile
well writtern
astounding ...
This is amazing. The ability of some people to use words to paint vivid pictures in our minds, or stir intense emotions, is something I do not have a talent for. I am, therefore, very grateful for people with such skills, such as Mr Neruda and, as in this case, the person who read this so well.
Wonderful poem, wonderful narration
Wow!!!! Neruda’s words !!!! Also what a great voice and talent you have 🎉
In the poem, the speaker talks
to his lover about what will happen if her love fades away. This poem was most likely
written while the poet was in exile.
Just what I thought
This poem works on multiple levels. Pablo Neruda was wounded by exile yet also recalls the sensation of feeling deeply connected to a secure source of replenishing and reciprocated love and mutual attraction, affiliation and deep attachment. Rejection, isolation and ostracism hurt. This man tapped into emotional depths and used his pain to create art.
40 years ago you were taken and not a moment goes by I don't miss you and wish only to be with you... I love you Jenny.
Was she your wife? I'm sorry for your loss
such a beautiful poem
💕 nice, love this poem...💕
Thanks for listening.
What comes round, will go's a'round.
Beautiful ❤
Thank you! 😊
If you use a poem like this you should credit the translator!
I don't ever forget you..
Oh,please read this poem. Thinking of ❤YOU❤ my love.
poetry is life; make you go on fire give life and death
❤️🌹👁️
𝚁𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒.
❤❤ 🇧🇩
Impossible
Venus FLy Trapp.
….man ska inte köpslå om kärlek….
…..det finns mycket tänkvärt i hans texter….
…en kvinna från latinamerika gav mig en liten tavla med text av Pablo Neruda… minns inte texten men det hon sa….
….från en speciell person till en speciell…..?…..
…saknar tavlan som är borta…😢
SOPHIE - Lili
You know you don’t belong to us he said unto the child
We found you poorly in the swamp deep within the mire
Your eyes bright red by moonlight, grey blue before the fire
We knew that you were different, a difference deep and wild
And we were drawn by deepest love this pen cannot explain
No thoughts could ever pass our minds of fleeing from the pain. -
The pain of one so young and cold we took from death’s dark claws
As you grew within our hovel, submissive, bright and smart
A child, a girl with deep black curls, brown skin without a flaw
We loved you more as time passed by and death called once again
To take the man that you called Pa. You never shed a tear
You watched the Moon, you understood as Nature made its claim. -
I noticed then you hardly slept, in silent meditation deep
Things would move before your stare, you never suffered ills
You would sing verse you weren’t taught, draw creatures from their sleep
And they would sing along with you, nightbirds, raccoons and frogs
Until an orchestra of sound rose up so beautiful to hear
Surprising to myself as well, I never suffered fear. -
But when you grew past childhood, when blood began to flow
You ventured nightly through the woods following the song
That seemed to spring from all the trees, song I didn’t know
When young men came along to call, they froze at your red eyes
And went away not to return, then rumors began to grow
Fear from all the Villagers, the stories, hate and cries. -
One bright morning we were taken by a tap upon our door
Standing there all dressed in brown, four girls of Sophie’s age
They came inside and took her hand, outside a man on horse
She knew them all, they took a draught, then all sat on the floor
A chant began, rose to a scream, the sound was tempest worse
They took her then, she bade Goodbye, her happiness I saw. -
I live alone, shunned by all, inside my mind I know
When Moonlight falls and nightbirds sing I feel that I am blessed
She’s watching o’er my life and trials, she brings the sun and snow
And as I age I feel her here when chairs and tables move
A whisper low, a song I hear, the call of her pet crow.
Blessed be.
This sounds like a twisted love. I hear anger and warning, but if she does as he expects then all will be well. Not a love I want.
you totaly missed the point
this poem says dont expect for me to wait on you to decide if all is good or not its either you love me or you dont if you do youll have the same in return if you dont well dont expect me the ediot to wait for you to change your mind
Absolutely breathtaking....the one who read it should be thanked many times
This is a tragic love poem. The poet understands the fickle nature of romantic love and is a realist.
Please give the man who read this poem a huge credit, what a voice!
Indeed
It’s in the description
I find it delighting to make breakfast and coffee starting my day with these porms, everyday i pick up a new concept of meaning from them
You might also enjoy these poems from Pablo Neruda and the movie „Il Postino“ ua-cam.com/play/PLEsVRWgXiB4OtkJXMiV3I94fHK0mZltBu.html ❤
I would say it's a system that changes your voice.
I love Pablo Neruda's surrealistic style of poetry. This poem is beautiful. 💖
Really beautiful!
My love feeds on your love my beloved.... This is a passionate and wonderful poem that describes the way that love is an ongoing mutual transaction to nourish and meet each other's desire to keep working to make each other feel satisfied, needed, comfortable and happier together than alone.
Please, give to Pablo Neruda the Oscar of the poem…if it exists.
Neruda got Nobel, probably in 1972, for his poem.
Neruda was my ex's favorite poet. These are touching something in me I wish didn't hurt anymore.
You should move on
Beautifully put. 'Amanda
Neruda obviously never agreed with Shakespeare: Love is not love if alters when it alteration finds. Having truly, madly, deeply loved and thinking I'd put it all behind me. One day, I woke up and saw how I had deceived myself all these years. There she was. In my heart of hearts after all with an unaltered sense of oneness in the soul beyond time and space. I was, in fact, relieved to find out that I have always loved her, still love her and now realize, I always shall...like no other. I now look back on all the ridiculousness of my pursuits without her and it is not a life wasted having finally seen that I could be nothing without her. Strangely, this comforts me and the anguish, though poignant again as if it were yesterday, is somehow sweet in its bitterness. Bill was right. Pablo was wrong.
I think Pablo's understanding is more mature. His style of love is a REFLECTION of the other person's love.
Women fall out of love with you if you love them like Bill suggests.
But they love you if you reflect STRENGTH and their own shallow form of love in their face.
How could poetry be right or wrong? How could the perception of a human which cascades with the myriad experiences of the soul, and the myriad souls which alters experience? Poetry is not right. Poetry is not wrong. Poetry is God unending and finding you in words, limiting and fragile
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,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
I was once very ill, and lay in hospital, when my 8 year old daughter insisted, unbeknownst to me, to her guardian that she needed to go out immediately to buy me a “single, young rose-bud” - that very day. She had feared I might die before she could give it to me. He took her to three different flower shops before she found what she said she had to have, turning many other flower suggestions down.
Even as ill as I was, I was so overcome by her tender loving gift when she held it out to me. As I looked into her eyes, I saw her heart break as I realized she really thought I might die. Later that night, I was still thinking of how worried she must feel, and I wanted somehow to write my feelings down to reflect on the emotional trauma we both had experienced, so I wrote these words, that almost tripped out of my thoughts, and I called it:
THE TRUE BEAUTY OF A ROSE…. @. Lynn Robinson 1983
The true beauty of a rose
shared with another,
has very little to do
with its scent or its colour.
But a rarer beauty still,
that flows like a river,
can be found in the love,
in the heart of the giver.
And later when I was home again, I gave it to her as my gift back to her. Much, much later, I was persuaded to enter it into a contest, and it ended up winning, and eventually published in a British anthology collection. I hope you don’t mind that I have shared this with you. I’ve never really thought of it as anything really “professional”, but it just seemed to really help both of us show how much we loved each other., and we each reached out to show it in our own ways. Thank you.
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing that.
I like your poem far more x
Thank you so very much. Writing is not something I feel I ever “chose”. It seemed to be something that chose me: and it did so at a very young age. I will be involved doing something, just anything, and suddenly, words start to come to me…….and they will not stop “bothering” me until I sit down and write whatever it is that my soul itself seems to be requiring at that moment. Yes, they are always things that I feel very strongly about, but I am almost always writing “ feelings” down, one way or another : mine or others, they “ tip-toe through my mind”, begging to be acknowledged.
I keep a gardening journal, I keep a daily journal, and I have often been asked to write things for others - everything from love poems for Valentines, to pieces for others to reflect on someone they loved very much, but who has passed, and even pieces for others to help them express someone else’s achievements in life. I have written stories from my own growing up, and I’m writing a book based on real life tragedies that took place in my own family from the late 1800’s. I must admit that writing “ feeds my soul” and I find it very rewarding. @@jeanhopman5659
Thank you...❤
❤
I adore this Poem.i would like to send it to my ❤Love❤!
Stop your world of activities and actions and let this flow thru your being, your heart, your life. These are insights from a master teacher.
Passionate love is the highlight of being alive. Companionate, altruistic and familial bonds are very satisfying. Being willing to be vulnerable, open and intimate is one of life's greatest gifts. We remember those we love deeply and passionately, who are willing to be raw and truly open themselves much more than casual flings.
Yall he wrote this to his lover not his wife, and also, its conditional love not unconditional why would yall want anyone to love you like this?" If you forget me i would have already forgotten you "
It's not about who he wrote it to, when or why. Poems are great because every person will find a different meaning in them. Fine, you might want to seek the authors meaning and reasoning, but trust me that it is better to seek your own meaning and attach that to your own story.
Little by Little
Because sometimes love isn’t enough.
This is such a mature and healthy poem. I love it a lot ❤️
I do agree with you!
Officially melted. Sublime. ❤
If little by little you stop loving me.
I'm forgetting what love is like in a world filled with negativity.
I just keep my light alive while I think others have lost there's
Love to whoever recited the poem. Please upload more poems recited by him. He brings poems to life ❤
☕️♥️🤙😇🌹Soft are the words spoken and unspoken where love abides.Remembering that a butterfly never forgets their way to a flower as their means to survive.The flower may change but love remains drawing them close to their source to continue their cycle.Our existence depends on love and can we see this in the beauty of a butterfly.🦋
Wow ! This hits the heart 😢
Every time...every time, this poem gets to me. Magical words taking you on a journey ...
One day i'll find you. Until that day, i'll keep on reading magical words that enthral the mind, enrich the soul and mend the heart.
This poem it's like a personal handwritten letter to his love that he shared with us.
One of the Most beautiful poems❤❤❤
The attractive print inversely advise because drum socioeconomically plug failing a responsible utensil. blue-eyed, changeable rocket
please don't ever give up on me. I did not what I wanted to do, because of so many other things.. wish I had a second chance to prove.. I miss you, and I think every day about these mistakes I made
Thanks for posting this brilliant work of art.
Thanks for listening. I'm glad you enjoyed it.
This poem touched my heart 💗made my day 😍
Truly one of the greats.
When you read a poem yourself , you read it with a certain tune. When you hear someone else read it , it never matches your tone and always falls short. Dave luukkonen's reading of this poem however surpasses any version of it in my memory. I guess as far as this poem is concerned this will be the only memory of it.
In love with this beautiful poem and his voice.
This poem sums up what it feels like living with BPD, so much love to give if you only accept it but as soon as you even feel like rejecting me I have rejected you first. Very difficult to live with but always passionate for good or bad
I was in his house in Valpariso. The view from his bedroom struck me. Then his little personal bar in the back room. Really inspirational
Neruda keeps you focused!!!
Damn...Neruda must have been the sweetest dude ever 🙄
Search for an article about him abandoned his wife and daughter just because she born with a “defect” according to him… bet that was not to sweet of him.
My favourite poem ….my favourite poet …i adore his work
You must be made of stone or never loved or been lived if this didn’t touch you on a deep level . I was shocked ti find myself crying my eyes out. Perhaps im more heartbroken than i realised.
“ My roots will set off to seek another land “
Beautifully expressed.❤
Thanks for listening.
Love from Kerala (India )❤
Beautiful on so many levels. Great job 👏
Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it.
❤
I would just like to say how beautiful I have found all of the selections below - each and every one came from deep within them. I think it’s so nice that all of these people were able to share these with all of us. A very big thank you to all who shared their “ inner beauty”!
Love this poem!❤
it's a sad realization to know that i've already been forgotten 😢
Nina I will not forget you.
To the forgotten ones❤
144&LOVE CLAIMED THE ONEEEEEEEEEE
I have loved his poetry for years and his books are here on my shelves.
Vickie his books are not on your shelves, his heart an soul are.
Once, I inquired, "How can one simply cease to love?"
He responded, "Oh, beloved, love is not something you can just undo." His words I embraced. My love stands resilient, like an oak tree braving the tempest's wrath. His affection, however, was fleeting as a dandelion, whisked away by the merest whisper of the wind.
I yearn for a world less harsh, for souls like mine who perceive the silent weeping of flora. I trust he will one day rue his choice. And when he returns, bearing blossoms, seeking forgiveness, I shall be absent. I will repose, distant from his reach, cradled by Mother Earth's embrace. Yet, I believe, in the celestial realm beyond the stars, our paths shall cross once more.
Mussay
God bless you 🌹 good night beautiful angels ❤❤my favorite for decades in my night time 💋
I AM Illumination
The ad by George Stephanopoulos blew me away too, just saying. But this poem made Naruda accesible to me. I was like, romance, gah, but this is about life.
Pablo's voice was Nothing like this. He sounds like a bored trans. (No insult meant - do what you want but don't do it around me) High-pitched and horrendous. Thank God for his generous soul.
Love like this doesn’t happen anymore. Now days, all this would sound a bit crazy…
I wish you could feel the love as you never wear rc hebepbile ptiests veil... As a man who loves a woman... You were not...???!!!
For ❤YOU❤! My love feeds on your love, poem by : Pablo Naruda
A Smile In A Photograph
The scent of her perfume
a smile in a photograph
to myself I pretend and live in yesterdays
she is far away and I am left alone
melancholy moving day to day
pacing my time from dream to dream
waking to see the moon and wondering
if its light is shinning upon her face
does it have any magic it still can show
back to sleep I go, back to dreams
this is how I live
pacing my time from dream to dream
Never knew Pablo Neruda's writing before the other day 😮
Yeah, I’m empty. All my feelings are a reflection of your’s. Maybe that’s because I’m only a boy and I don’t really have any.
The presumed ”man”. It can be for all we know a non-entity called AI or a trans-woman or what not. Maybe it is your brain speaking to you as if you existed in her.
This poem is the only things that calm me down, I love this poem so much
I can't forget you but I can't stand this pain to love you alone any longer. I will try to go alone as best as I can with my life. I love your soo much I don't wanna us to get hurt. There is no way you can come and love me. I just try my best to live alone I will love you in my dreams😢
One of my favorite poems 💚
Love this poem for the way he makes love an experience and journey to make both partners feel more alive and content in their union.
"Everything carries me to you" yes ...Everything 😊
What is that kind of voice called?
Such a distinct style of expression. Loved it.
Thank you!
❤
* what is life but a vapor? that appeareth for a little while... then vanisheth away ⛬ 🌊 🗺 ⛩
Garcia Michael Young Mary Garcia Angela
💝 So romantic 💝
Wish İ were the poet of this poem
This be driving 33908 Pray Kray!
Thank you. Beautiful words!!
Most beautiful poem!
Yo pablo this is hot garbage.
LAYNE LE MA STILL AND FOR EVER❤💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔
For you angels 🌍❤️🌹🔥🇻🇪
I DEADICATE THIS POEM TO YOU. CERTO È IN ITALIAN0.
McKenzie Stream
I will always love you, Rex Horton.
My absolute favorite poem!!💝🤗💝
*gorgeous* ❤️