Tag Archives: Translation

Neruda Writes

#ThePoetryProject is a hashtag I run on Instagram matching photographs that I take, with poetry that I love or write myself. For more private poetry, follow the hashtag via @reachnisha on Instagram — trespassers welcome.

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Monsoon. Fort Cochin, Kerala.

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

~ Pablo Neruda

Marina Tsvetaeva Writes

#ThePoetryProject is a hashtag I run on Instagram matching photographs that I take, with poetry that I love or write myself. For more private poetry, follow the hashtag via @reachnisha on Instagram — trespassers welcome.

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Cotton Seeds in a Pod. Madikeri, Coorg.

Where does such tenderness come from?
These aren’t the first curls
I’ve wound around my finger—
I’ve kissed lips darker than yours.

The sky is washed and dark
(Where does such tenderness come from?)
Other eyes have known
and shifted away from my eyes.

But I’ve never heard words like this
in the night
(Where does such tenderness come from?)
with my head on your chest, rest.

Where does this tenderness come from?
And what will I do with it? Young
stranger, poet, wandering through town,
you and your eyelashes—longer than anyone’s.

~Marina Tsvetaeva (1916), Translated by Ilya Kaminsky