Third Annual Bloggers’ (Silent) Poetry Reading for the Feast of St. Brigid

Today is the Third Annual Bloggers’ (Silent) Poetry Reading for the Feast of St. Brigid. (Year One; Year Two)

A Smell of Cordwood
Pablo Neruda

Later, when stars
opened out to the cold,
I opened the door
on an ocean
of galloping hooves.

Then from the dark
of the house, like a hand,
that savage
of wood on the woodpile.

An odor
that lives
like a tree,
a visible odor.
As if cordwood pulsed like a tree.

made visible

A visible
breaking of branches.

I turned back
the house
in the circle
of darkening
a sparkle
of motes in the sky,
like lodestones.
But the wood-smell
took hold of
my heart,
like a hand and its fingers,
like jasmine,
like a memory cherished.

Not harrowing
not that way,
not slashed
not like
the green
exhalation of arbors —
something more recondite,
a fragrance
that gives itself
once, and once
among all things visible,
a world
or a house, a night
by the wintering water;
that awaited me there,
occult in the smell,
of the rose,
an earth-heart plucked out,
that struck like a wave,
a sundered
and was lost in my blood
when I opened the door
of the night.

15 thoughts on “Third Annual Bloggers’ (Silent) Poetry Reading for the Feast of St. Brigid”

  1. I haven’t read that one. Do you know what collection it is in? I love it. Growing up in a logging town, the smell of fresh-cut wood still appeals to me, even though logging doesn’t.

  2. pretty. I love the stars in the night as well. I wonder if our cedar trees are anything like the smell he is describing? *sigh* I can’t wait for a warm night to take baby out and look at stars while talking to her about them.

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