I am posting this now due to the news that his remains are to be exhumed and examined to determine his cause of death; the dictator Pinochet MIGHT have had this poet silenced. (Meridian Hill is a large park in DC.)
http://www.euronews.com/2013/04/08/nobel-laureate-naruda-s-remains-to-be-exhumed-in-chile/
I am
shocked to learn that
you are a Communist: this matters
in 1992. El poeta: el, masculine; poeta, feminine;
that's something.
I bring
you to Meridian Hill,
near the statue of Jeanne d'Arc,
though she might have been too young, even
for you.
You are
a bi-lingual edition, naturally.
Mis novios de mis noches did
not, cumulatively, teach me very much, it seems.
How sad.
Only one
of the fountains works.
Its spray keeps cleanly to itself.
There is no wind; the face of the
water sleeps.
Bright but
not oppressive: the weather,
and not the Salvadoran hiding in
the shade. He is more shadow than he
is flesh.
Before sitting,
I take the view
at the rail: the cascade is
trim and clean; nothing but foam down the
thirteen steps.
I sit
facing the butt of
Jeanne's horse. I see the sword
in her hand and I ask, "How Christian
is that?"
I am
in profile to the
shady one. He spreads his legs
and cups himself, looking through dark bangs and
dark eyes.
I nod.
He stirs at my
suggestion, almond eyes and high cheeks.
He sees you in my hands and he
passes by.
Twenty years
later I don't now
give a fig that you were
a Communist, just that you blew my chance
for poetry.
October 2012