Sunday, 5 January 2014

Pablo Neruda and the creative bag

When I was little and I had flu, my mum would gift me a surprise bag from the kiosk near my home. It was a little bag with different toys and cards inside, and the "surprise" was you never knew in advance what was inside: I loved to be sick just for that!
Would I ever think that I would get older and get a book surprise bag? No, I didn't! It was a Xmas present from somebody who knows me veeeeryyy well. It is a red shopping bag with: 3 random books, 1 cd, 1 ebook and 1 movie to download. Every bag apparently has a different set of books. I got this red bag and felt already happy, I opened it and felt again like a kid!
Why is this bag even nicer? Coz it is made by people of Scampia -to say it very grossly the Bronx of Naples (have you watched the movie Gomorrah?)- by buying this bag you become  a supporter of a local book shop and book editor. For more infos (sorry in Italian) you can go here:

Among the books in the creative bag there was one about the life of the poet Pablo Neruda in Italy. One of those books I would never have bought myself, but indeed very interesting.
Have you have watched the movie "Il postino" (The postman), well if you didn't...DO, it is one of my favourite movies, with my favourite actor (Massimo Troisi, who died very young) and it also talks about Neruda, who was exiled to a small island in Italy. Actually, after watching the movie you should also visit the island I would say. Well, thanks to this book I discovered Neruda was friend with a lot of "important" people like Picasso, who helped him many times, or  Carlo Levi. I discovered that Italy made a mark on his life and his poetry and that he had a secret lover who inspired most of his love poems. A different reading for sure!

Desnuda eres tan simple como una de tus manos,
lisa, terrestre, mínima, redonda, transparente,
tienes líneas de luna, caminos de manzana,
desnuda eres delgada como el trigo desnudo.
Desnuda eres azul como la noche en Cuba,
tienes enredaderas y estrellas en el pelo,
desnuda eres enorme y amarilla
como el verano en una iglesia de oro.
Desnuda eres pequeña como una de tus uñas,
curva, sutil, rosada hasta que nace el día
y te metes en el subterráneo del mundo
como en un largo túnel de trajes y trabajos:
tu claridad se apaga, se viste, se deshoja
y otra vez vuelve a ser una mano desnuda.

Nude, you're as simple as one of your hands.
Smooth.  Earthy.  Tiny.  Round.  Transparent.
You have lines of the moon, streets of apple.
You're as slim in the nude as the undressed wheat.
Nude, you're blue as the Cuban night is blue.
There are vines and stars in your hair.
You're yellow and enormous, nude,
like summer in a church of gold.
Nude, you're as small as one of your nails,
curved, subtle and rose-colored till the dawn of day,
when you place yourself in the underworld
as in a long tunnel of clothing and work.
Your clarity fades, drops its leaves, and dresses itself,
to turn once more to being just a naked hand.

[Pablo Neruda Sonnet XXVII]

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