Editor's note: Bob's Books is an exciting new addition to The Saylavee Times. From time to time, Bob will be discussing various books and authors for the enjoyment of our readers.
As I navigated the tight aisle in coach I looked at my assigned seat and saw that the seat next to mine was already occupied. I tried to convince myself that it was ok (to be honest, my thought process was something along the lines of “great… I hope that lady isn’t wearing too much perfume and doesn’t try to steal my armrest). When I got to the seat, I tried to smile; it did not work very well. Noticing that she was Latina—and having just spent the week in Honduras—I involuntarily greeted her in Spanish, “¿Como esta?” She replied warmly, “Muy bien, gracias.”
I sat down and claimed my armrest. A simple turn of the head which probably appeared to be a glance out the window, was really a stealthy olfactory investigation to see if my allergies were going to suffer from a perfume-bomb… *sniff* *sniff*… nope, no perfume. Looks to be a good flight. Then I saw it: she was holding Cien Anos de Solidad (One Hundred Years of Solitude) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and that changed everything.
This brings me to my inaugural “Bob’s Books” entry. In the course of our discussion, my Bolivian friend asked me who my favorite Latino writer was. The choice was easy: Pablo Neruda. During the mid-1950’s his poetry moved from the political to odes of the simple and common. An English poetic form made most famous British Romantics like Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats, and Shelly, odes traditionally sought to praise the extraordinary, to acknowledge the superior nature of things, and to remind all of the glory an object holds. Yet Neruda’s odes changed all this. Rather than praising the Grecian Urn, a Nightingale, or Melancholy, Neruda chose as the subject matter of his odes the common things of life: socks, salt, clothes, cats, tomatoes, and wine.
Many of Neruda’s odes were published in collections of poetry like, Odas elementales (Elemental Odes) (1954), Nuevas Odas Elementales (New Elemental Odes) (1956) and Navegaciones y regresos (Voyages and Homecoming); however his odes are easily accessible on the internet (just search for “Neruda Odes”). It was partly this recognition of the glory of everyday objects—the way he turned the snobbish ode on its head—that won him the Nobel Prize in 1971. More importantly however, his “odes to the every day” remind us all how wonderful the little things in life really are.
In “Ode to My Socks,” Neruda tells of receiving a pair of handmade wool socks. After receiving this gift, the narrator says: “I slipped / my feet into them / as if / into / jewel cases / woven / with threads of / dusk / and sheep's wool.” He gazed at these “celestial socks” and with satisfaction notes: “They were / so beautiful / that for the first time / my feet seemed / unacceptable to me.” Similarly, in “Ode to Salt” Neruda sees not just a common seasoning. Instead, he experiences it through all his senses, and examines the mystery of salt’s origin. He imagines, “In its caves / the salt moans” and sees it as a “mountain / of buried light, / translucent cathedral, / crystal of the sea, oblivion / of the waves.” Tasting the salt, he notes, “Dust of the sea, in you / the tongue receives a kiss / from ocean night.”
Out of a seemingly banal thing, Neruda finds the extraordinary; out of the singular object, he identifies the universal. These are things that all people share—regardless of where you live, who runs your country, and what God you worship (if you worship a God at all). Since all people share these banal and singular objects, we also all share the extraordinary and universal commonalities associated with these objects. It is in enjoyment of socks and salt, Neruda seems to argue, that we find the seeds of humanity and peace.
It is through the humanity of literature that I found common ground with a woman from Bolivia. Though we had very little in common, our brief discussion on the literary merit of Marquez and other Latino writers led to a much longer dialogue on family, friends, and home. This is what literature can do. Thoughtfully placed words cross all ethnic, gender, and political lines. Literature can expose those universalities with which all humans can identify; words are, perhaps the most ordinary part of human existence, and yet they have the ability to bind the entire human race. Neruda’s final thoughts on salt could equally apply to the miraculous power of language: “the smallest, / miniature / wave from the saltcellar / reveals to us / more than domestic whiteness; / in it, we taste infinitude.”
As I navigated the tight aisle in coach I looked at my assigned seat and saw that the seat next to mine was already occupied. I tried to convince myself that it was ok (to be honest, my thought process was something along the lines of “great… I hope that lady isn’t wearing too much perfume and doesn’t try to steal my armrest). When I got to the seat, I tried to smile; it did not work very well. Noticing that she was Latina—and having just spent the week in Honduras—I involuntarily greeted her in Spanish, “¿Como esta?” She replied warmly, “Muy bien, gracias.”
I sat down and claimed my armrest. A simple turn of the head which probably appeared to be a glance out the window, was really a stealthy olfactory investigation to see if my allergies were going to suffer from a perfume-bomb… *sniff* *sniff*… nope, no perfume. Looks to be a good flight. Then I saw it: she was holding Cien Anos de Solidad (One Hundred Years of Solitude) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and that changed everything.
This brings me to my inaugural “Bob’s Books” entry. In the course of our discussion, my Bolivian friend asked me who my favorite Latino writer was. The choice was easy: Pablo Neruda. During the mid-1950’s his poetry moved from the political to odes of the simple and common. An English poetic form made most famous British Romantics like Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats, and Shelly, odes traditionally sought to praise the extraordinary, to acknowledge the superior nature of things, and to remind all of the glory an object holds. Yet Neruda’s odes changed all this. Rather than praising the Grecian Urn, a Nightingale, or Melancholy, Neruda chose as the subject matter of his odes the common things of life: socks, salt, clothes, cats, tomatoes, and wine.
Many of Neruda’s odes were published in collections of poetry like, Odas elementales (Elemental Odes) (1954), Nuevas Odas Elementales (New Elemental Odes) (1956) and Navegaciones y regresos (Voyages and Homecoming); however his odes are easily accessible on the internet (just search for “Neruda Odes”). It was partly this recognition of the glory of everyday objects—the way he turned the snobbish ode on its head—that won him the Nobel Prize in 1971. More importantly however, his “odes to the every day” remind us all how wonderful the little things in life really are.
In “Ode to My Socks,” Neruda tells of receiving a pair of handmade wool socks. After receiving this gift, the narrator says: “I slipped / my feet into them / as if / into / jewel cases / woven / with threads of / dusk / and sheep's wool.” He gazed at these “celestial socks” and with satisfaction notes: “They were / so beautiful / that for the first time / my feet seemed / unacceptable to me.” Similarly, in “Ode to Salt” Neruda sees not just a common seasoning. Instead, he experiences it through all his senses, and examines the mystery of salt’s origin. He imagines, “In its caves / the salt moans” and sees it as a “mountain / of buried light, / translucent cathedral, / crystal of the sea, oblivion / of the waves.” Tasting the salt, he notes, “Dust of the sea, in you / the tongue receives a kiss / from ocean night.”
Out of a seemingly banal thing, Neruda finds the extraordinary; out of the singular object, he identifies the universal. These are things that all people share—regardless of where you live, who runs your country, and what God you worship (if you worship a God at all). Since all people share these banal and singular objects, we also all share the extraordinary and universal commonalities associated with these objects. It is in enjoyment of socks and salt, Neruda seems to argue, that we find the seeds of humanity and peace.
It is through the humanity of literature that I found common ground with a woman from Bolivia. Though we had very little in common, our brief discussion on the literary merit of Marquez and other Latino writers led to a much longer dialogue on family, friends, and home. This is what literature can do. Thoughtfully placed words cross all ethnic, gender, and political lines. Literature can expose those universalities with which all humans can identify; words are, perhaps the most ordinary part of human existence, and yet they have the ability to bind the entire human race. Neruda’s final thoughts on salt could equally apply to the miraculous power of language: “the smallest, / miniature / wave from the saltcellar / reveals to us / more than domestic whiteness; / in it, we taste infinitude.”
