The Poet's Task - Pablo Neruda

[Larry Robinson]

The Poet's Task

Whoever isn't listening to the sea this Friday morning,
whoever is trapped inside some
house, office, factory---or mistress
or street corner or coal mine or solitary confinement:
to that person I make my way and without speaking or nodding come up and spring open the cage; and something begins to hum, faint but insistent; a great snapped-off clap of thunder harnesses itself to the weight of the planet and the foam; the hoarse rivers of the ocean rise up, a star shimmers and trills in its rose window, and the sea stumbles, falls, and continues on its way.

Then, with destiny as my pilot,
I will listen and listen harder to keep alive
in my memory the sea's outcry.
I must feel the impact of solid water
and save it in a cup outside of time
so that wherever anyone may be imprisoned,
wherever anyone is made to suffer in the dying year,
I will be there, whispering in the ceaseless tides.
I will drift through open windows,
and, hearing me, eyes will glance upward
saying, How can we get to the ocean?
And, without answering, I will pass on
the collapse of foam and liquid sand,
the salty kiss of withdrawal,
the gray keening of birds on the shore.
And so, through me, freedom and the sea
will bring solace to the downcast heart.

	- Pablo Neruda
	(translated from the Spanish by Alfred Corn)

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