Beyond the Anthology: Why You Should Consider Reading Neruda's Obras completas

I recall being somewhat surprised when my professor/mentor once said that he felt there was no need to read all of Pablo Neruda’s poetry.  I suppose there are many reasons to agree with him.  If I’m not mistaken, Neruda’s Obras completas comprises three (roughly) 1000 page tomes.  Also, poetry, by nature, requires time and meditation.  It is not very practical to dedicate so much time to one poet unless you happen to be (or want to be) an expert in their work, especially for an academic.

Still, that same professor frequently interrogated my classmates and I with the following question: “What makes a work good (or great)?”  To this day I struggle with that question.  Though I tend to enjoy most works I read in anthologies, it is not an infrequent occurrence for me to read a celebrated work by a famous author and think that it wasn’t “good.”  I can’t explain to someone else exactly what it is that makes a work “good.”  Reading, for me, is a personal engagement and my tendency is to enjoy works that resonate with me for some reason or another.  Those works, especially in the case of poetry and short stories, regularly fall outside the reach of anthologies, reading lists, or even the canon itself.

I recently received an e-mail from that (now, former) professor.  In fact, the e-mail came the same day I started composing this post and the content of the e-mail forced me to change the direction I was heading with my comments.  My friend (former prof.) is reading Neruda’s Obras completas, in his own words, “for fun, for personal enjoyment.  I no longer have to think about publishing something from it.   And I like it that way.”

I too like it that way.  I don’t want to publish a great deal, I don’t aspire to wide recognition, nor do I have much to say within the academic discourse.  I started down this road because I wanted to do something I loved, something that would bring me personal enjoyment and make it fun to go to work.

I was glad to hear that my old professor is reading all of Neruda’s works and enjoying it.  Had I taken his initial advice to heart, I may never have read this poem, from Neruda’s non-canonical book, La rosa separada, written within a year or two of the poet’s death.  (My apologies to the gringos, I couldn’t find a translation).

"Los Hombres"

Somos torpes los transeúntes, nos atropellamos de codos,

de pies, de pantalones, de maletas,

bajamos del tren, del jet, de la nave, bajamos

con arrugados trajes y sombreros funestos.
Somos culpables, somos pecadores,

llegamos de hoteles estancados o de la paz industrial,

ésta es tal vez la última camisa limpia,

perdimos la corbata,

pero aun así, desquiciados, solemnes,

hijos de puta considerados en los mejores ambientes,
o simples taciturnos que no debemos nada a nadie,

somos los mismos y los mismos frente al tiempo,

frente a la soledad: los pobres hombres

que se ganaron la vida y la muerte trabajando
de manera normal o burotrágica,

sentados o hacinados en las estaciones del metro,

en los barcos, las minas, los centros de estudios, las cárceles,

las universidades, las fábricas de cerveza,
(debajo de la ropa la misma piel sedienta)
(el pelo, el mismo pelo, repartido en colores).

- Pablo Neruda.  La rosa separada, 1971-72.