Pablo Neruda: Memoirs

[Heteronym]

Memoirs…

Americans have an uncanny ability to ruin good titles. They translated Pimo Levi’s Auschwitz’ memoirs as ‘Survival in Auschwitz’ (a redundancy if there ever was one: if Levi hadn’t survived he couldn’t have written it). The original title of Neruda’s autobiography roughly translates as ‘I Confess I Lived’. What may sound as a witty title is in fact a cry of revolt from a man who was chased almost his entire life for his beliefs. Many people would rather Neruda had never been born, and this book is a satisfying slap on the faces all of all those people.

Neruda spent much of his early life as a Chilean consul, first in Asia, then in Europe. In Ceylon, Rangoon and Batavia he fell in love with the local culture and resented the prejudiced and ostracising British culture.

In Europe he witnessed the Spanish Civil War firsthand and fought Franco the way only a poet can: writing inspiring poems for the soldiers; denouncing Franco’s ideology; raising awareness. Together with dozens of other poets, Neruda constituted an intellectual front against the dictator. Neruda remembers with sadness the day his poet friend, Federico García Lorca, was assassinated. Using his consul powers he managed to ship hundreds of Spanish to the Americas, where they’d be safe from the prison camps. For this he received only spite from his own government.

Around the ‘40s, when he returned to Chile, Neruda became a senator. He took up the cause of thousands of Chilean copper mine workers against the foreign companies that exploited them. Overnight Neruda became a despised, hunted man: the government tried to arrest him; Neruda remained free by changing hideouts dozens of times, until he escaped to Europe, where he continued to be a persona non grata: wherever he want authorities refused him entry or tried to expel him under false accusations.

His belief in human dignity, freedom and love inevitably turned him, like many other intellectuals at the time, into a communist: he visited Russia and China, believed in the Soviet revolution, and never lost faith in the ideology even when its atrocities became obvious. He met Mao, Che Guevara (who had a book of poems by Neruda in his sack when he died) and Fidel Castro. He received favours from Staline himself. He supported Salvador Allende. For this reason thousands wanted him dead. Hence the original title of this book, his strong declaration in favour of life.

Meanwhile he always kept writing poetry. He narrates with joy how he recited his poems to peasants and mine workers, and how it bewildered they understood him. Once he filled a Brazilian stadium with 130,000 people. He met writers from all around the world (after all the nice things he says about Jorge Amado, I have to read him), and organized countless literary events.

Reading Pablo Neruda’s memoirs will leave you with a new taste for life and especially poetry.

[Eric]

The Wikipedia article on Neruda is exceptionally thorough:

Pablo Neruda - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[Irene Wilde]

One of my prized books is a copy of "20 Love Poems and a Song of Despair" -- written by Neruda, illustrated by Picasso, and translated by WS Merwin. It was put out, in dual language, by Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition.

[Mirabell]

The memoir is probably atrociously translated into German, I read, dunno, 30-100 pages and then just couldn't take it anymore, So either Neruda's writing is horrible or the translation is. Odds are the translator, as usual, fucked up, because in this country, no one cares. The title is a direct translation though.

I have an edition of his poetry, in German and I am puzzled by the adoration and adulation, because he doesn't seem worth it, I thought I had another Thomas Mann on my hands, but native speakers on another board assured me that Neruda translates badly into other languages, and with me believing German translators are the most inept lot to ever attempt a translation...

so I stalled my reading of Neruda until my Spanish is up to snuff.

[Irene Wilde]

Have you tried Merwin's English translations:

But you, cloudless girl, question of smoke, corn tassel,
You were what the wind was making with illuminated leaves.
Behind the nocturnal mountains, white lily of conflagration,
ah, I can say nothing! You were made of everything.

My Spanish isn't great, but I'm pretty sure that's a correct translation from "Casi fuera del cielo" or "Almost out of the Sky" and while today I'm much too cynical to be touched by such words, once, when I was younger and in love, I felt exactly like that about someone. "You were what the wind was making with illuminated leaves...you were made of everything." Yeah, I thought Neruda was on to something with that.

[Heteronym]

His memoirs were wonderfully translated into Portuguese: it had the sensuality, fragrance and colorfulness of García Márquez' prose. And somehow it affected me because just last week I bought a book of poems, something I haven't done in years.

[imjohn]

Can Anyone has english translation of this book in eForm

[Stewart]

Originally Posted by imjohn

Can Anyone has english translation of this book in eForm

I don't think the book is available in eBook forum, imjohn. Looking at the Amazon.com page for it brings up a link where people can register their interest to read the book on the Kindle (*cough, spit*) and they'll pass the sentiments along to the publisher.