Communists

"Since Trotsky came to Mexico I have understood his error. I was never a Trotskyist."

"I have suffered two grave accidents in my life, one in which a streetcar knocked me down... The other accident is Diego."

"His [Diego Rivera's] supposed mythomania is in direct relation to his tremendous imagination. That is to say, he is as much of a liar as the poets or as the children who have not yet been turned into idiots by school or mothers. I have heard him tell all kinds of lies: from the most innocent, to the most complicated stories about people whom his imagination combined in a fantastic situation or actions, always with a great sense of humor and a marvelous critical sense; but I have never heard him say a single stupid or banal lie. Lying, or playing at lying, he unmasks many people, he learns the interior mechanism of others, who are much more ingenuously liars than he, and the most curious thing about the supposed lies of Diego, is that in the long and short of it, those who are involved in the imaginary combination become angry, not because of the lie, but because of the truth contained in the lie, that always comes to the surface."

"I am a poor little deer."

"I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best."

"Until always and forever. Now in 1944. After all the hours lived through. The vectors continue in their original direction. Nothing stops them. With no more knowledge than live emotion. With no other wish than to go on until they meet. Slowly. With great unease, but with the certainty that all is guided by the "golden section". There is cellular arrangement. There is movement. There is light. All centers are the same. Folly doesn’t exist. We are the same as we were and as we will be. Not counting on idiotic destiny."

"I drank because I wanted to drown my sorrows, but now the damned things have learned to swim."

"I'll be in Detroit two more weeks. I would like to tell you every thing that happened to me since the last time we saw each other, but most of them are sad and you mustn't know sad things now. After all I shouldn't complain because I have been happy in many ways though. Diego is good to me, and you can't imagine how happy he has been working on the frescoes here. I have been painting a little too and that helped. I thought of you a lot and never forget your wonderful hands and the color of your eyes. I will see you soon. I am sure that in New York I will be much happier. If you still in the hospital when I come back I will bring you flowers."

"I’m more and more convinced it’s only through communism that we can become human."

"A little while ago, not much more than a few days ago, I was a child who went about in a world of colors, of hard and tangible forms. Everything was mysterious and something was hidden, guessing what it was was a game for me. If you knew how terrible it is to know suddenly, as if a bolt of lightning elucidated the earth. Now I live in a painful planet, transparent as ice; but it is as if I had learned everything at once in seconds."

"Pablo Neruda is a New World poet whose fate differs from the other Whitman descendants because he was born into a country where the majority of the citizens did not mistake themselves for Englishmen or long to find themselves struggling, at most, with cucumber sandwiches and tea. He was never European. His anguish was not aroused by three piece suits and rolled umbrellas... Specifically, Neruda's self-conscious decision to write in a manner readily comprehensible to the masses of his countrymen, and his self-conscious decision to specify, outright, the United Fruit Company when that was the instigating subject of his become unfortunate moments in an otherwise supposedly sublime, not to mention surrealist, deeply Old World and European but nonetheless Chilean case history. To assure the validity of this perspective, the usual American critic and translator presents you with a smattering of the unfortunate, ostensibly political poetry and, on the other hand, buries you under volumes of Neruda's early work that antedates the Spanish Civil War or, in other words, that antedates Neruda's serious conversion to a political world view."

"I love poets who bring together poetry and life in all its motion: Neruda, Forché, Cardenal, Dugan, Bishop"

"I love Chilean writer Pablo Neruda, for that powerful lyric voice he has, and also the commitment he had for his people."

"I always wonder why some poets become "international"? I guess they were tremendously good. I think of people like Pablo Neruda. He crossed all sorts of geographical lines. But he was also from that place, located in that place."

"I'm fairly certain that if you study any poet of any given time, any sex, any class background, the question of searching for identity is there. It's inherent. It is a process of self-understanding, of going through life. Take Pablo Neruda, ambassador for his country, writing poetry reflecting the issues of his life. What I'm saying is that the difference between me and Neruda is that I'm not a man from a middle-class elitist background. My government is not sending me as ambassador so I can go and write poetry in some other place. What is different with women of color is that they are the very last permitted a voice. What we are hearing now is this very unique, silenced, previously censored voice."

"I don't know if he influenced my writing but he's a big influence in my life. Pablo Neruda is a poet of the senses. For example, I think of his "Ode to Oil." You may have used oil all your life, but you've never seen the transparency or the color, felt the texture, smelled it; you don't know where it comes from or how it's made. The beautiful nature of oil becomes real when you read Neruda."

"The influence of Pablo Neruda began to be felt after I left Chile. I took along a suitcase, photographs of my family, a small bag filled with soil and one volume of the complete works of Pablo Neruda. Every time I felt the need to recover my country, I read Neruda because he is Chile, he is the voice of Chile. It is a beautiful metaphor that he died following the military coup. With his death, the voice of the people and the voice of freedom grew silent...Pablo Neruda is a poet of emotion and sensuality. Although he is lacking Gabriela Mistral's mystical bent, I feel very close to his way of approaching, smelling, touching, tasting, and walking the world. I like this very much."

"Podrán cortar todas las flores, pero no podrán detener la primavera."

"Muere lentamente quien no viaja, quien no lee, quien no oye música, quien no encuentra gracia en sí mismo. Muere lentamente quien destruye su amor propio, quien no se deja ayudar..."

"Preguntaréis ¿por qué su poesía no nos habla del sueño, de las hojas, de los grandes volcanes de su país natal?'Venid a ver la sangre por las calles, venid a ver la sangre por las calles, venid a ver la sangre por las calles!"

"Preguntaréis: ¿Y dónde están las lilas? ¿Y la metafísica cubierta de amapolas? ¿Y la lluvia que a menudo golpeaba sus palabras llenándolas de agujeros y pájaros?"

"Si me preguntáis en dónde he estado debo decir "Sucede." Debo de hablar del suelo que oscurecen las piedras, del río que durando se destruye: no sé sino las cosas que los pájaros pierden, el mar dejado atrás, o mi hermana llorando. ¿Por qué tantas regiones, por qué un día se junta con un día? ¿Por qué una negra noche se acumula en la boca? ¿Por qué muertos?"

"No quiero para mí tantas desgracias. No quiero continuar de raíz y de tumba, de subterráneo solo, de bodega con muertos ateridos, muriéndome de pena."

"Enterrado junto al cocotero hallarás más tarde el cuchillo que escodí allí por temor de que me mataras, y ahora repentinamente quisiera oler su acero de cocina acostumbrado al peso de tu mano y al brillo de tu pie: bajo la humedad de la tierra, entre las sordas raíces, de los lenguajes humanos el pobre sólo sabría tu nombre, y la espesa tierra no comprende tu nombre hecho de impenetrables y substancias divinas."

"Estoy solo entre materias desvencijadas, la lluvia cae sobre mí, y se me parece, se me parece con su desvarío,solitaria en el mundo muerto, rechazada al caer, y sin forma obstinada."

"Es tan corto el amor y tan largo el olvido."

"Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche."

"Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente, y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca."

"Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos."

"¿Quién escribe tu nombre con letras de humo entre las estrellas del sur? Ah déjame recordarte cómo eras entonces, cuando aún no existías."

"Un pilar soportando consuelos Y no me digan nada ¿Y bien? ¿Te sana el metaloide pálido? Tengo un miedo terrible de ser un animal íY, si después de tantos palabras La cólera que quiebra al hombre en niños"

"Sólo con una ardiente paciencia conquistaremos la espléndida ciudad que dará luz, justicia y dignidad a todos los hombres. Así la poesía no habrá cantado en vano."

"Es la hora, amor mío, de apartar esta rosa sombría, cerrar las estrellas, enterrar la ceniza en la tierra: y, en la insurrección de la luz, despertar con los que despertaron o seguir en el sueño alcanzando la otra orilla del mar que no tiene otra orilla."

"Allí en Rangoon comprendí que los dioses eran tan enemigos como Dios del pobre ser humano. Dioses de alabastro tendidos como ballenas blancas, dioses dorados como las espigas, dioses serpientes enroscados al crimen de nacer, budhas desnudos y elegantes sonriendo en el coktail de la vacía eternidad como Cristo en su cruz horrible, todos dispuestos a todo, a imponernos su cielo, todos con llagas o pistola para comprar piedad o quemarnos la sangre, dioses feroces del hombre para esconder la cobardía, y allí todo era así, toda la tierra olía a cielo, a mercadería celeste."

"Y algo golpeaba en mi alma, fiebre o alas perdidas, y me fui haciendo solo, descifrando aquella quemadura y escribí la primera línea vaga, vaga, sin cuerpo, pura, tontería pura sabiduría del que no sabe nada, y vi de pronto el cielo desgranado y abierto."

"¿Sabes que en las calles no hay nadie y adentro de las casas tampoco?'Sólo hay ojos en las ventanas. Si no tienes dònde dormir toca una puerta y te abrirán, te abrirán hasta cierto punto y verás que hace frío adentro, que aquella casa está vacía, y no quiere nada contigo, no valen nada tus historias, y si insistes con tu ternura te muerden el perro y el gato."

"Mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada"

"Debajo de tu piel vive la luna."

"Neruda adored life. He was wild about everything - painting, art in general, books, rare editions, food, drink. Eating and drinking were almost a mystical experience for him. A wonderfully likeable man, full of vitality-if you forget his poems in praise of Stalin, of course. He lived in a near-feudal world, where everything led to his rejoicing, his sweet-toothed exuberance for life. I had the good fortune to spend a weekend on Isla Negra. It was wonderful! A kind of social machinery worked around him: hordes of people who cooked and worked-and always quantities of guests. It was a very funny society, extraordinarily alive, without the slightest trace of intellectualism. Neruda was exactly the opposite of Borges, the man who appeared never to drink, smoke, or eat, who one would have said had never made love, for whom all these things seemed completely secondary, and if he had done them it was out of politeness and nothing more. That's because ideas, reading, reflection, and creation were his life, the purely cerebral life. Neruda comes out of the Jorge Amado and Rafael Alberti tradition that says literature is generated by a sensual experience of life."

"I also read poetry — from Pablo Neruda to Warsan Shire — fairly regularly, and it keeps my sense of what words can do wide open and my sense of beauty awake."

"Pablo Neruda of Chile, one of the world’s greatest poets"

"Neruda died on the day that the military junta took power. Even more than in his life, he became a symbol of Chilean resistance. Both in his writings of and for and to his country, and in his countrypeople's response to him, there was a dialogue reaching beyond death. He was internationally famous, of course; of the middle class; a male. It was not the poetry of a dark-skinned mestizo-still less, a mestiza-that so commanded love and respect. Yet he could have betrayed, and did not; could have escaped into the international literary elite, and did not. The fence below his locked and off-limits house became a place for people to continue voicing their hopes and angers, a collective page greater even than the poet's books, a page made possible because of his books, because of the hand that had once crawled over line after line, writing the poems."

"When I was in high school, I had never read Black poetry. The one poet of color whom I had read, and loved, was Pablo Neruda. I have to say that Neruda and Millay were the two poets I loved. All the others didn't make much sense."

"We hold that all countries, big or small, rich or poor, should be equal, and that international economic affairs should be jointly managed by all the countries of the world instead of being monopolized by the one or two superpowers. We support the full right of the developing countries, which comprise the great majority of the world’s population, to take part in all decision-making on international trade, monetary, shipping and other matters."

"We hold that in both political and economic relations, countries should base themselves on the Five Principles of mutual respect for sovereignty and territorial integrity, mutual non-aggression, non-interference in each other’s internal affairs, equality and mutual benefit, and peaceful coexistence. We are opposed to the establishment of hegemony and spheres of influence by any country in any part of the world in violation of these principles."

"Self-reliance in no way means “self-seclusion” and rejection of foreign aid. We have always considered it beneficial and necessary for the development of the national economy that countries should carry on economic and technical exchanges on the basis of respect for state sovereignty, equality and mutual benefit, and the exchange of needed goods to make up for each other’s deficiencies."

"If you open a window for fresh air, you have to expect some flies to blow in."

"We mustn't fear to adopt the advanced management methods applied in capitalist countries (...) The very essence of socialism is the liberation and development of the productive systems (...) Socialism and market economy are not incompatible (...) We should be concerned about right-wing deviations, but most of all, we must be concerned about left-wing deviations."

"A basic contradiction between socialism and the market economy does not exist."

"When our thousands of Chinese students abroad return home, you will see how China will transform itself."