In an earlier blog, I quoted an excerpt from the Chilean poet and writer, Pablo Neruda’s essay on “The Word.”
One of Neruda’s books, The Book of Questions, was translated by William O’Daly, in 1991.
Following is one of his poetic questions:
When I see the sea once more
will the sea have seen or not seen me?
Why do the waves ask me
the same questions I ask them?
And why do they strike the rock
with so much wasted passion?
Don’t they get tired of repeating
their declaration to the sand?
I’ve read this little nugget of a poem several times. It’s comparable to a Koan–“a paradoxical anecdote or riddle, used in Zen Buddhism to demonstrate the inadequacy of logical reasoning and to provoke enlightenment.” Wikipedia
I read that Neruda began writing poetry when he was ten years old. I’m imagining that everything became a poem to him. As children, we are full of our questions wanting answers. Frequently, we befuddled the adults around us as there are so many unanswerable questions. Yet, we must ask them. It feels to me like Neruda gave himself permission to ask his questions, our questions, universal questions and then to answer them by furthering his own interrogative reasoning within the bounds of a poem.
His offered questions provoke our own questions and contemplation.
Have you considered your own questions? What questions would you like answers to? Might you find some answers as you write your own poetry? Or at least a place to safely log the questions?