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Neruda pays only loose tribute to the sonnet by employing a 14-line structure for each poem. As he says, his sonnets are made of wood, rather than the "silver, or crystal, or cannonfire" of a more refined sonnet. Neruda's humility is apparent as he refers again and again to the natural landscape of Isla Negra (the Pacific island where he and his wife lived) to describe his simple dedication to Matilde: "...I am like a scorched rock / that suddenly sings when you are near, because it drinks / the water you carry from the forest, in your voice."
Journeying from the erotic celebration of the body to the spiritual depths of eternal union, 100 Love Sonnets shows why "two happy lovers make one bread" and "waking, they leave one sun empty in their bed."
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Most helpful customer reviews
5.0 out of 5 stars
5 Stars plus! For Neruda,
By Heather Beiden (Washington DC, United States) - See all my reviews
This review is from: 100 Love Sonnets: Cien sonetos de amor (Paperback)
Neruda's poetry is passionate and rich, nostalgic and deep, he moves you from the core of your soul to the tip of the universe; he makes you feel the kind of love that most of us never find or are able to experience while we are alive; his writings make you dream and anyone who enjoys good poetry would not be dissapointed with him!In my personal opinnion he is the best romantic poet ever! Just exquisite!
6 of 6 people found the following review helpful
1.0 out of 5 stars
Neruda: Lost in Translation,
By Shooshie "Shooshie" (Dallas, TX USA) - See all my reviews
This review is from: 100 Love Sonnets: Cien sonetos de amor (Paperback)
I am very sad to report that this volume, the only volume I know of the 100 Love Sonnets, is poorly translated. I've owned it for a while, and always wondered why it never seemed powerful like Neruda's other works. So, I started translating them myself, and realized that Tapscott made some remarkable errors, and seems always to have chosen the least likely translation of words and idioms, and the least poetic phrasing. In many poems the sense is so far removed from the original, that I am reminded of those one-page instruction manuals that used to come with Chinese-manufactured products many years ago. For example: A trail crossing a meteor shower becomes "a streak of a meteor through rain." "Through that name run wooden vessels" (think of a play on veins, and ships, which later pour into his heart) becomes "Wooden ships sail through that name." "but leave me there in your name to sail and to sleep," becomes "only let me steer like a ship through your name; let me rest there." "the lonely trains follow rolling down with the rain" becomes "rolling with the rain we follow the tracks alone." These are not isolated occurances; this is a pattern that seems to prevail throughout every poem I've checked so far. Poetry is complex. Words are often used to mean many things at once. Tapscott, presumably a poet himself, should know this, but he makes choices that block most of the view, or which simply substitute another image altogether. That is often necessary in translations, but this goes way beyond artistic license. This is the product of simply not "getting it." In addition, his subjects often do not agree with verbs, or worse, he pairs the verb with the wrong subject. I wish I could support this book. It should be a very important one, but it sadly misrepresents Neruda's poetry. It makes me wonder about so many of the translations I read, and it makes me wonder if publishers accept any responsibility for the accuracy of a translated work. I commend Tapscott for having the fortitude to attempt this work and carry it out, but I don't believe he was really up to the task. Sorry, but only one star for this. Shooshie
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars
Takes my breath away,
By
This review is from: 100 Love Sonnets: Cien sonetos de amor (Paperback)
In my list of six favorite books for "The Week" magazine, I wrote: "I turned to this collection for a reading at my mother's funeral and again at the marriage of my son. "If I die, survive me with such a pure force you make the pallor and the coldness rage," one poem begins. Neruda paints emotion that takes my breath away."
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