Poetry had always been an assignment rather than an art form. I did not connect well with poetry; whether it was due to the fact that I did not understand it or simply because I was forced to read it, I will never know. I flew through my public education experience with an apathetic approach to poetry and thought I would never have to encounter it again, let alone connect with it. My life drastically changed when directly after high school I chose to serve as a missionary for the church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Valparaiso: home to seven universities, known as "Little San Francisco," and the second biggest metropolitan area in Chile. Valparaiso became my home for ten months as I walked the streets as a missionary. Missionaries from the LDS church are volunteers that strive to share a message of Jesus Christ through religious proselyting. I was required to learn Spanish but did the majority of the learning process in a "hands on" sort of way. After six weeks in a training facility to learn the language we were tossed to the wolves and were required to converse with complete strangers in a language we hardly understood.
I lived with another missionary, American like me, who had more experience in the workings of proselyting and a broader understanding of the language. The two of us lived on the highest hill in Valparaiso. Being the "Little San Francisco" of South America denoted the steep hillside landscape that contained more stairs than people. Every day we descended the heights of our house to reach the main square where we would contact people to spread the message we bore. Along the way of this journey was a street that I especially enjoyed. Every wall of every house contained murals and poetry along the descent of my favorite street. There was a school at the top of the hill that contained a large mural of a man in a beret. The name of the school was "Pablo Neruda." Across the street from the school stood a square with statues, which I assumed were Neruda himself. We stopped often at that square to rest our feet and eat a snack, occasionally taking pictures with said statues. I would attempt to read and understand the poetry that scattered the streets but with limited Spanish ability it was harder than I expected.
I eventually returned to the US and began my life as a college student, forgetting about the Pablo Neruda memorial and the statues that had been my friends during a time when I could hardly speak Spanish. After teaching and recognizing a love of literature as a missionary, I decided to study English teaching and decided to minor in Spanish in order to master the language and open my horizons. I had forgotten about poetry and dreaded that part of the major in which I was embarking. As part of my studies I begrudgingly attended a poetry slam in Spanish at a nearby community library. The most commonly recited poet that night was Pablo Neruda. Suddenly all the memories from Chile flooded back and I remembered the memorial that had been a staple in my daily routine.
One piece in particular, Si Tú Me Olividas, stood out to me. The words of the piece whispered over me as I not only listened but felt the poem. I had been going through a break up, and as many college-aged young women, I was bitter and hurt. The poetry became a balm to calm the wounds.
Quiero que sepas I want you to know
una cosa. one thing.
. . . . . .
Ahora bien, Well, now,
si poco a poco dejas de quererme if little by little you stop loving me
dejaré de quererte poco a poco. I shall stop loving you little by little.
Si de pronto If suddenly
me olvidas you forget me
no me busques, do not look for me,
que ya te habré olvidado. for I shall have already forgotten you
I loved the way the words were expressed, especially in Spanish. At the time I only knew how I felt and not why the poetry made me feel as it did. I had suddenly begun to see poetry as an art form: a way of connecting. After looking up the poem both in English and Spanish I was able to identify the genius that Neruda employed. Neruda used descriptive language in a mesmerizing way to express the monotonousness of every day existence. He uses vibrant adjectives and personification in order to make the real world come alive. Neruda describes the "crystal moon" and "impalpable ash" which creates a picture of the world around us with a darkly romantic twist-- creating mood. He also describes the "wrinkled body of the log" which personifies a common object, making it also set the tone of the piece with a sense of the dark and deadly.
if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Additionally, Neruda uses several sound devices in this piece. Mesarchia (repetition of the same word or words at the beginning and middle of successive sentences) is also used when saying "little by little" to show the difference between the lover and the loved. Neruda employs consonance in the original Spanish language as the repeated "s" sound falls at the end of words and lines. See minute 0:36 for a small sample of explained consonance. This "s" sound only adds to the dark romanticism that Neruda has created through other devices. The consonance adds to the quiet and solemn nature of the piece as it seems to eerily whisper of past love. The mood that is portrayed in Si Tú Me Olividas allows the reader to understand the pain that the author has experienced as part of this separation.
At the very end of the piece, Neruda uses anaphora as the phrase "si cada dia" (if each day) to further the mood of desperation that the character feels. The repetition said phrase (and similar phrases such as "each hour") find themselves on their own lines, allowing a contrast to the bitter and lonely state of the character to the hopeful and wistful desires of his remembrance.
Pablo Neruda deserved every statue and artwork depiction that lined the Chilean streets from Valparaiso. While I didn't quite understand the importance of the words scrawled on the walls of the houses on Pablo Neruda's street, nor did I hardly understand the words themselves at the time, I did know that someday I would understand them. Fortunately, I stumbled upon the opportunity to make friends with Pablo Neruda's words once more. Perhaps "If You Forget Me" was powerful due to my tender situation. Perhaps it was powerful due to the connection to a growing time of life. Perhaps it was powerful because I could finally make sense of the Spanish being thrown into the air with literary appeal and artistry. But for whatever the reason, the poem is still one I read or listen to occasionally to remember Neruda, Chile, forgotten love, and a positive connection to poetry.
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