, of a day when he finally “set down a few words. of reading books about breadfruit and Malaysia. of catching bumblebees in his, handkerchief. Even though the swan was almost his size, Neruda carried him in his arms down to the river every day until he, “found out that swans don’t sing when they die.” Half of a page, then, Neruda writes of eating green plums dipped in salt. He recalls a battered swan he tended for twenty days, when he was a child. Neruda begins with the, brutal hunting of swans, poor flyers, clumsy, easily caught and killed, with sticks. hairy spiders? Neruda writes, “The closest, thing to poetry is a loaf of bread or a ceramic dish or a piece of wood, lovingly carved, even if by clumsy hands.” How easy! Poetry must be, everywhere, and we must all be poets., The section, “My First Poem,” is typical of the others and, certainly, does not start with Neruda’s first poem. the search for rich, white vellum and the feel of, wicker. the panther with eyes like, yellow knives.
But when he, abandons messages and loses himself in the writing, Memoirs is too, rich to eat in big servings., The book has many flavors, but they do not blend: the man who, owned a Stradivarius so beautiful he would not allow it to be played, even taking the violin into his coffin. Neruda can become tedious when he decides to tell the, reader what he thinks the reader should know. Memoirs by Pablo Neruda, Memoirs by Pablo Neruda, the Nobel-Prize-winning poet, is a loosely, chronological, autobiographical journal, mostly composed of, observations and commentary, not thorough, nor factual, perhaps not, even sensible.
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