Neruda O you marvelousmaker of music whose succulent Spanishcelebrated all the ten thousandthousand things of our timeworn worldwhen you wrote open-heartedodes: knowing songs on such smalland strange objects as piscine scissors,soft woolly socks, y perro y gato,plato y pan. Neruda, you neverknew a thing you didn’t like.Dutiful diviner of unsettle sorrowshaped as a guitar. Childlike, youcharmed us, cataloging joy in this or thathumble gem; ever weighing our wantsfinding them wanting. O wooer of wonderwhat should we do? Teach us,the terrible materialists to answer life’sappetites with awe. For nothing is simplynominal. No, a cache for loveis kept in common things.Read More