June 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
I have no idea why this struck me today. I happened on it by chance, just the last stanza, as a quote. The ruin refusing to be filled until perfect is at the door out of sheer taciturnity – I am the ceiling of this house.
Matilde, where are you? Down there I noticed,
under my necktie and just above my heart,
a certain pang of grief between the ribs,
you were gone that quickly.
I needed the light of your energy,
I looked around, devouring hope.
I watched the void without you that is like a house,
nothing left but tragic windows.
Out of sheer traciturnity the ceiling listens
to the fall of the ancient leafless rain,
to the feathers, to whatever the night imprisoned:
so I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me.
Till then my windows ache.
Pablo Neruda, 1959