{"id":47464,"date":"2021-06-16T12:07:55","date_gmt":"2021-06-16T12:07:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/dev6.blazedream.in\/ICSF\/samudra\/close-and-credits-15"},"modified":"2021-08-18T09:45:30","modified_gmt":"2021-08-18T09:45:30","slug":"close-and-credits-15","status":"publish","type":"samudra","link":"https:\/\/www.icsf.net\/samudra\/close-and-credits-15\/","title":{"rendered":"Close and Credits"},"content":{"rendered":"
Nothing But Death<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n There are cemeteries that are lonely,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n graves full of bones that do not make a sound,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n the heart moving through a tunnel,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n in it darkness, darkness, darkness,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n as though we were drowning inside our hearts,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n And there are corpses,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n feet made of cold and sticky clay,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n death is inside the bones,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n like a barking where there are no dogs,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n growing in the damp air like tears of rain.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n Sometimes I see alone<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n coffins under sail,embarking with the pale dead,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n with women that have dead hair,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n with bakers who are as white as angels,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n and pensive young girls married to notary publics,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n the river of dark purple,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n filled by the sound of death which is silence.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n Death arrives among all that sound<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n with no finger in it,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n comes and shouts with no mouth,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n with no tongue, with no throat.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n Nevertheless its steps can be heard<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n I’m not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n of violets that are at home in the earth,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n because the face of death is green,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n and the look death gives is green,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n and the somber color of embittered winter.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n death is inside the broom,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n it is the needle of death looking for thread.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n Death is inside the folding cots:<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n and the beds go sailing toward a port<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n by <\/i>Pablo Neruda<\/strong>, translated by <\/i>Robert Bly<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Nothing But Death There are cemeteries that are lonely, graves full of bones that do not make a sound, the heart moving through a tunnel, in it darkness, darkness, darkness, like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves, as though we were drowning inside our hearts, as though we lived falling out of the skin 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