LIGHTS, TUNNELS AND PABLO NERUDA

I was checking the blog and realised that October had been and gone without an entry. I decided rather than wait for some one else to do an update I would go for a wander up the tunnel and look for the light switch. I do love a good metaphor. I'm a bit too fond of cliches as well but that is a story for another day.
Since our last meeting I have discovered a new poet, at least he is new to me. I was reading a poem by Claire Gaskine and there was a line 'reading Neruda naked', this intrigued me so I googled Neruda and discovered some quite amazing poetry. My favourite so far is WE ARE MANY. This poem speaks to the soul of my writer self and I feel a kinship with Pablo that transcends dimensions. I will attempt to copy it and post for your enjoyment.
See you all Wednesday
Tricia


We Are Many

Of the many men whom I am, whom we are,
I cannot settle on a single one.
They are lost to me under the cover of clothing
They have departed for another city.

When everything seems to be set
to show me off as a man of intelligence,
the fool I keep concealed on my person
takes over my talk and occupies my mouth.

On other occasions, I am dozing in the midst
of people of some distinction,
and when I summon my courageous self,
a coward completely unknown to me
swaddles my poor skeleton
in a thousand tiny reservations.

When a stately home bursts into flames,
instead of the fireman I summon,
an arsonist bursts on the scene,
and he is I. There is nothing I can do.
What must I do to distinguish myself?
How can I put myself together?

All the books I read
lionize dazzling hero figures,
brimming with self-assurance.
I die with envy of them;
and, in films where bullets fly on the wind,
I am left in envy of the cowboys,
left admiring even the horses.

But when I call upon my DASHING BEING,
out comes the same OLD LAZY SELF,
and so I never know just WHO I AM,
nor how many I am, nor WHO WE WILL BE BEING.
I would like to be able to touch a bell
and call up my real self, the truly me,
because if I really need my proper self,
I must not allow myself to disappear.

While I am writing, I am far away;
and when I come back, I have already left.
I should like to see if the same thing happens
to other people as it does to me,
to see if as many people are as I am,
and if they seem the same way to themselves.
When this problem has been thoroughly explored,
I am going to school myself so well in things
that, when I try to explain my problems,
I shall speak, not of self, but of geography.

Pablo Neruda