Poem 17 from Neruda’s “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair” (Another Translation)
I do not love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz
or a carnation of fire that shoots arrows:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the soul and the shadow.
I love you, like a plant that does not bloom but only holds
the hidden light of certain flowers, within you,
because of your love, living in my body
that closeness, untouched and blind.
I love you, not knowing how, when, or where,
I love you without complications: so I love you
because I know no other way to love.
Except in this way, where there is no me, no you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that when you close your eyes, I fall asleep.
One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII (I Do Not Love You As If You Were a Rose)
I do not love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or a dart of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that does not blossom and carries
within itself, hidden, the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, lives darkly in my body
the concentrated aroma that ascended from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you this way because I know no other way to love,
but this way, in which I am neither you nor I,
so close that your hand on my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dream.
I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way
to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
