Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Ode to Summer

Ode to Summer

Summer, red violin,
clear cloud,
the hum
of a saw
of cicadas
announce your arrival.

The heavens
arch
to a smoothness,
lucent
as an eye,
and below your gaze,
summer, you are
an infinite sky-fish,
shameless messenger
of praise,
lazy,
sleepy-eyed one,
little bee belly,
mischievous
sun,
terrible paternal sun,
sweaty as a toiling ox,
and the scorching sun
in one's head
is like a
sudden blow,
sun of thirst
crossing the sand,
summer,
desert sea.

Seed beds
burn,
wheat
rustles,
blue insects
seek
shade,
touch
refreshment,
dive
headlong
into diamonds.

Oh lush
Summer,
ripe
apple
cart,
verdant
strawberry
mouth,
lips of wild plum,
roads
of tender
dust on dust,
midday
coppery red drum.


In the afternoon,
fire
rests,
air
makes clover
dance; it enters
the deserted factory:
a fresh star
rises
in
the cloudy sky.

A summer night
sizzles
without
burning.

Pablo Neruda
Post a Comment