On the Surface of Everyday Life

XXVI
by Pablo Neruda, from Las Piedras del Cielo

Leave me a place underground, a labyrinth,
where I can go, when I wish to turn,
without eyes, without touch,
in the void, to dumb stone,
or the finger of shadow.

I know that you cannot, no one, no thing
can deliver up that place, or that path,
but what can I do with my pitiful passions,
if they are no use, on the surface
of everyday life,
if I cannot look to survive,
except by dying, going beyond, entering
into the state, metallic and slumbering,
of primeval flame?

Born Again

"Under the earth there is a ray of light, my path, and faith is the last thing that is lost...I have been born again."

~ Víctor Zamora Bugueño, carrier pigeon handler, poet, and the fourteenth minor rescued from the Copiapo mine today.

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From “Trapped Miners Celebrate Independence,” by Karl Penhaul, CNN, September 20, 2010:

Zamora, who has a 4-year-old son Arturo, has emerged as the poet among the 33 trapped miners. He has composed rhymes praising the rescue workers and the valor of his fellow miners.

"He's discovered something beautiful down there," his mother said. "He writes letters like poems."

"I guess he's discovered that talent because he was was in pain being so far from his loved ones," wife Cortes said.

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See also: “Why Poetry is as Essential as Air,” by Paul Vallely,The Independent, September 12, 2010