Bluebottle

Bluebottle © Jennifer Phillips

In the grass

Image © Jennifer Phillips

Your tongue drips honey from my secret hollow,
my nectared pleasure domes...

On golden haunches poised -
soft sweet-tipped breasts sweep the clouds

Warm gentle breeze eddies, wafts -
caresses my grass-etched skin.

We roll together and worlds collide
Smooth contractions, fierce ablutions.

The sun lights starbursts in my eyes -
I cry ecstasy as the birds wheel above,

and I suck the scent of grass,
fresh pressed by firm flesh -

We roll honey-dewed in pleasure,
coupled in the grass.

© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

Image © Jennifer Phillips

Forest

But indeed, it is not so much for its beauty

that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts,

as for that subtle something,

that quality of the air,

that emanation from the old trees,

that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.

by Robert Louis Stevenson - "Essays of Travel"  (1905) Forest Notes.

Forest at Marysville © Jennifer Phillips

Birds over water

We used to be free

Like birds over water

Small mysteries

Lost and forgotten

You kissed the moon

And I hugged the sea

Troublesome things

They fall down on me

Fall down on me

Drifting back in

To the slick again

We used to be free

Like birds over water

by Jesse Sykes

Seascape © Jennifer Phillips

I love David Walliams

Image © ITV

David Walliams (born Williams, 20 August 1971) is an English comedian, writer, children's author, and actor, best known for his partnership with Matt Lucas on the TV sketch show “Little Britain”.

I am such a fan because with Lucas, he (in my opinion) really pushed the boundaries of comedy, by skilfully negotiating taboo terrain.

His success was not quick – he slogged for years in comedy venues – honing his material in front of live audiences. He was dogged in his determination to succeed.

I admire him because he is a very complex multidimensional character.

He has been greatly conflicted in his life. He was bullied throughout his school years. I have great respect for him as he has given all the naysayers a good thumping!

He achieved this through his outstanding success in his performing art, his writing, his charity work, and perhaps the small fact he is married to a lovely Dutch model, Lara Stone. This year they welcomed their first child - a son - Alfred.

He is also just plain funny – in interviews and in scripted and impromptu television appearances.

He writes similarly to Roald Dahl and my children adore his books. These include:

• 25 June 2009 – “The Boy In The Dress”
• 27 May 2010 – “Mr Stink”
• 9 June 2011 – “Billionaire Boy”
• 27 October 2011 – “Gangsta Granny”
• 19 September 2012  - “Ratburger”

Mr. Stink is now a movie.

In 2012, he released his autobiography - "Camp David" - which explores his earlier, not so well-known history - it details an often incredibly difficult and challenging life - up until the time he became famous. He does not hold back, detailing horrific episodes of depression, which included suicide attempts.



In September 2012 he spent eight days swimming the 225.3 kilometre (140 mile) length of the Thames, from Gloucestershire to Westminster Bridge (despite falling ill as a result of pathogens in the water, and battling strong currents). He raised £2,501,240 for the Sport Relief charity.

 

To learn more,

• See Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Walliams
• His website: http://david-walliams.co.uk/
• Twitter: https://twitter.com/davidwalliams

Image © The Sun

Unfinished business

You slide back into my world

subtly, as if you never left.

I live and walk a waking dream - 

Did all those years mean nothing?

We were nothing, really,

just words which leapt off the page.

Yet these words burn fresh

in my subtext, always.

A life half-lived, or a safe bet.

Unknown blessings from shared fruits

Soul's connection cannot sustain - 

I need your presence, so I can feel you.

Worlds apart, we whisper bandwidth

with hearts' echoes down the years

All that we have is ephemeral,

and our lives' responsibilities hem us in.

Creativity stifled, we fall on our swords.

Words are wings, fly me to you - 

Minds' connection, soul shards, moon harvested,

yet gifts of flesh not exchanged.

My lover of words, my muse, my bard,

Can we wait a lifetime

or like moths to a flame,

fall exhausted, for want of a better dance?

© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

Sunset over Murray River at Swan Hill © Jennifer Phillips

The bed of a Jedd

Continuing the childhood theme, one of my favourite books was Dr. Seuss's Sleep Book.

My favourite poem was about the bed of a Jedd. It goes:

A Jedd is in bed,

And the bed of a Jedd

Is the softest of beds in the world,

It is said.

He makes it from pom poms

He grows on his head.

And he's sleeping right now

On the softest of fluff,

Completely exhausted

From growing the stuff.

Image © Random House New York

When I was little

These are some photographs of me when I was small.

Image © Jennifer Phillips

Age two on a tricycle. Note thongs in the back!



Image © Jennifer Phillips

My favourite spot to sit, aged 3, among the lamb's ears in the sun.



Image © Jennifer Phillips

Age 7, on a homemade boat (made by my father) on one of the dams on the farm we owned.



Image © Jennifer Phillips

Aged 11, on my pony Koko, with 6 year old brother riding tandem.

Crystal array

Crystal array © Jennifer Phillips

My country

The love of field and coppice,

Of green and shaded lanes.

Of ordered woods and gardens

Is running in your veins,

Strong love of grey-blue distance

Brown streams and soft dim skies

I know but cannot share it,

My love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country,

A land of sweeping plains,

Of ragged mountain ranges,

Of droughts and flooding rains.

I love her far horizons,

I love her jewel-sea,

Her beauty and her terror -

The wide brown land for me!

A stark white ring-barked forest

All tragic to the moon,

The sapphire-misted mountains,

The hot gold hush of noon.

Green tangle of the brushes,

Where lithe lianas coil,

And orchids deck the tree-tops

And ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country!

Her pitiless blue sky,

When sick at heart, around us,

We see the cattle die -

But then the grey clouds gather,

And we can bless again

The drumming of an army,

The steady, soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country!

Land of the Rainbow Gold,

For flood and fire and famine,

She pays us back threefold -

Over the thirsty paddocks,

Watch, after many days,

The filmy veil of greenness

That thickens as we gaze.

An opal-hearted country,

A wilful, lavish land -

All you who have not loved her,

You will not understand -

Though earth holds many splendours,

Wherever I may die,

I know to what brown country

My homing thoughts will fly.

by Dorothea Mackellar

Mangrove tree at Merimbula © Jennifer Phillips

When you are old

When you are old and gray and full of sleep  

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,  

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look  

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;  

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true;  

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,  

And loved the sorrows of your changing face.  

And bending down beside the glowing bars,  

Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead,  

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

By William Butler Yeats

Tiger's eye © Jennifer Phillips 

Toys

My kids love it when I make toys for them - they say - "Mum, I want an owl, or a fish, or a sad creature"... so we get out some paper and draw an outline, then cut out some old clothes, sew them together, then raid a cushion for stuffing, and voila - new toys! I have to say that they are much preferred to store bought toys.

Toys © Jennifer Phillips

Here we have Boo Boo (the brown owl), Saddy, Happy, Goldy (the fish) and Bluey (the blue owl).

Below is a picture of Mumma Dog, my daughter's favourite and best loved toy - they have been inseparable since my daughter was 10 months old...

Mumma Dog © Jennifer Phillips

Saddy © Jennifer Phillips

"Saddy" (paper and glue) by my daughter.

Jim Unger: "Herman"

My favourite comic is "Herman" by Jim Unger, who sadly passed away last year.

"To me, life is like an orchard. You pick the fruit when you see it. For years, I bummed around the world looking for happiness. Then one day I realised happiness isn't something you find. All the happiness in the world is between your two ears." 
From "Herman - The Third Treasury".

I also quote the final part of his essay at the start of "Herman - The Fourth Treasury":

"....If you want to be creative or artistic, forget groups. Incidentally, that includes race, nationality, religion, politics, and football teams. Whatever else it does it will make you a lot happier; and that's what this book is all about anyway.

One of my favourite quotations came from a Zen philosopher many, many years ago. He wrote, 'Painting a beautiful picture is simple. First become a beautiful person, then paint naturally.'

I sincerely believe that there is a natural beauty in all of us, buried beneath misconception and self-conscious awareness. Naturalness unmolested is always beautiful, just as art is always beautiful.

Whether we are sixteen or sixty, it's a strange irony that the more natural we are, the more attractive we are to others. Sadly, we are very often led to believe the exact opposite.

Love is blind because it lives in that part of the brain that is beyond the reach and control of your thoughts. You can't think you love; you know it.

Thoughts and senses provide all the information, but only the mind can love, just as only the mind can fear. This being so, our minds often feel alone and lost in the universe and are quick to find comfort in the naturalness of others. When we catch a glimpse of true nature, we rejoice in it because we see ourselves in the naturalness of others and realise we are amongst friends.

When I draw Herman, I draw funny-looking people, saying and doing very natural things. I know why you laugh and I think you know why you laugh. It may be a comfort to you to know that millions of other people around the world are laughing too. It's certainly a comfort to me. I was beginning to think I was on the wrong planet.

I hope this book makes you happy."

To view a selection of his works, please see: http://www.gocomics.com/herman

On population and environmental diversity...

“Beyond a critical point within a finite space, freedom diminishes as numbers increase. This is as true of humans in the finite space of a planetary ecosystem as it is of gas molecules in a sealed flask. The human question is not how many can possibly survive within the system, but what kind of existence is possible for those who do survive.”

Pheasants @ Olsen Game Birds © Jennifer Phillips

“There’s an internally recognised beauty of motion and balance on any man-healthy planet. You see in this beauty a dynamic stabilising effect essential to all life. Its aim is simple: to maintain and produce coordinated patterns of greater and greater diversity. Life improves the closed system’s capacity to sustain life. Life - all life -  is in the service of life. Necessary nutrients are made available to life by life in greater and greater richness as the diversity of life increases. The entire landscape comes alive, filled with relationships within relationships, within relationships.”

Waterfall Way - Northern Tablelands © Jennifer Phillips

Source: "Dune" by Frank Herbert 1965

Migraine

Slow spinning trails of dullness churn in my brain

The dull ache spreads, sharp pressing fingers encroach

The world stutters and wavers - fogbound I curl

Pain slices through my vision and my thoughts,

concertinas this throbbing corner of my mind.

Thunder and lightning flash as synapses fail

I writhe, my hands pressing into temples

Darkness draws me, while sounds splinter in my head

I crave to crawl into a black hole and hibernate,

nurse this pain

Days on, I open my eyes clear to the world.

Cautiously I make my way into the day,

joyful in normalcy.

The day is fresh and new and I am free of pain.

How quickly I forget its grip.

© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

Rocks at Sorrento Beach © Jennifer Phillips

Heart's ice

Your words make me cry -

they cut like fire, like ice.

Chill my heart's core,
frozen to a solid piece.

I blink away tears,
they crash frozen to the floor.

Dust motes waft on aimless journeys
around this contorted room.

My heart's peace,
fresh awoken to break anew.

Bleed warm tears, feels like blood
between the cracks in the boards.

The long wait of good not great.

The quiet desperation in every life,
pain echoes through the ages.

Seeking warmth and comfort - 
ease by the fire.

Only I watch my frozen heart.
Ice melts, and my blood runs solid.


© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

Wet indentations at Mimosa Rocks © Jennifer Phillips

Some song, and some dance...

Song...

Bic Runga - "Sway"

No Doubt - "Don't Speak"

LINK: Tinpan Orange - "Romeo Don't Come"

Cockatoo at Olsen Game Birds © Jennifer Phillips

Dance...

Alex and Eliana Contemporary: "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)"- So You Think You Can Dance Season 9

Cyrus "Glitch" Spencer dancing to remix of Gotye's "Somebody That I Used To Know"

Hampton Williams "Exorcist Style"- So You Think You Can Dance Season 9

Plumage

Image © Jennifer Phillips

Image © Jennifer Phillips

Image © Jennifer Phillips 

Image © Jennifer Phillips

Image © Jennifer Phillips

Image © Jennifer Phillips

Image © Jennifer Phillips

Image © Jennifer Phillips

Image © Jennifer Phillips

White flowers

Last night

in the fields

I lay down in the darkness

to think about death,

but instead I fell asleep,

as if in a vast and sloping room

filled with those white flowers

that open all summer,

sticky and untidy,

in the warm fields.

When I woke

the morning light was just slipping

in front of the stars,

and I was covered

with blossoms.

I don’t know

how it happened—

I don’t know

if my body went diving down

under the sugary vines

in some sleep-sharpened affinity

with the depths, or whether

that green energy

rose like a wave

and curled over me, claiming me

in its husky arms.

I pushed them away, but I didn’t rise.

Never in my life had I felt so plush,

or so slippery,

or so resplendently empty.

Never in my life

had I felt myself so near

that porous line

where my own body was done with

and the roots and the stems and the flowers

began.

by Mary Oliver

Magnolias at Cruden Farm © Jennifer Phillips

Let me in

The years have gathered like collected sheaves of wheat at harvest.

A dusky golden sunset tinges the memories.

You have loosed the hold on your mind and dropped the guard

of walls the surround you, built up through years of feeling the outsider..

Walls within and walls without,

stone by stone I have felt my way along

for the opening to your door.

Lichens have mossed here, thick and dripping.

Hints of moisture and time,

so long has it been since you let someone in.

Yet through a chink in that guard,

I saw your heart

secretly beating, encased in red velvet.

The love the sea gives the shoreline – repeatedly touching,

tenderly, harshly, sometimes violent – the clamour of waves

crashing through your reserve, your hesitance, your fear.

Love that caresses then pushes

toward the aperture in your heart which wants to give and to love,

but has lost the knowledge of how.

But repeated reassurance from me like the waves stroking the shore

coaxed your heart from the confines of your fortress,

so strong you had almost forgotten how to leave

even though you wanted to.

Because now I stroke you, you have opened the door, and you have let me in

by the fire your heart beats warm, your head in my lap,

enclosed by me.

These years on we have learnt how to give and what we need.

© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

Tura Beach sunrise © Jennifer Phillips

Patterns

There is in all things a pattern that is part of our universe. It has symmetry, elegance and grace - those qualities you find always in that which the true artist captures. 

You can find it in the turning of the seasons, in the way sand trails along a ridge, in the branch clusters of the creosote bush or the pattern of its leaves. 

We try to copy these patterns in our lives and our society, seeking the rhythms, the dances, the forms that comfort. Yet, it is possible to see peril in the finding of ultimate perfection. 

It is clear that the ultimate pattern contains its own fixity. In such perfection, all things move towards death.

From "Dune" by Frank Herbert, 1965.

Banksia © Jennifer Phillips

My childrens' art

My childrens' art inspires me..

My 8 year old daughter drew me this picture of flowers today:

Flower chain © Jennifer Phillips

My 6 year old son drew me this owl:

Owl © Jennifer Phillips

Mahna mahna

Image © The Muppets (The Walt Disney Company)

Friends remembered

You crash into my consciousness like a tidal wave.
Not to be denied.
Slow years of low eddies and hidden currents
Boom! The jolt awakes, lightning flashes!
Silver strands span oceans' breadth...
Land and seas heave and roll, 
reflected in cascading droplets,
to meet in sweet solace,
to sink in the easeful depths
of my remembering.


© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

Waves crashing at Mimosa Rocks © Jennifer Phillips

"How can I go on?" and "Barcelona"

"How can I go on?" - Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballé

When all the salt is taken from the sea

I stand dethroned

I'm naked and I bleed

But when your finger points so savagely,

Is anybody there to believe in me

To hear my plea and take care of me?

How can I go on

From day to day

Who can make me strong in every way

Where can I be safe

Where can I belong

In this great big world of sadness

How can I forget

Those beautiful dreams that we shared

They're lost and they're no where to be found

How can I go on?

Sometimes I tremble in the dark

I cannot see

When people frighten me

I try to hide myself so far from the crowd

Is anybody there to comfort me

Lord... take care of me.

How can I go on

From day to day

Who can make me strong in every way

Where can I be safe

Where can I belong

In this great big world of sadness

How can I forget

Those beautiful dreams that we shared

They're lost and they're no where to be found

How can I go on?

"Barcelona"  - Freddie Mercury & Montserrat Caballé

I had this perfect dream

un sueno me envolvio

This dream was me and you

tal vez estas aqui.

I want all the world to see

un stinto me guiaba

A miracle sensation

my guide and inspiration!

Now my dream is slowly coming true.

The wind is a gentle breeze

el me hablo de ti.

The bells are ringing out

el canto vuela.

They're calling us together

guiding vs forever

Wish my dream would never go away.

- Barcelona - It was the first time that we met

- Barcelona - How can I forget

The moment that you stepped into the room

You took my breath away.

- Barcelona - La musica vibro y e Ilanos unio

And if God is willing we will meet again

some day.

Let the songs begin

deialo nacer

Let the music play

ahh.

Make the voices sing

nace un gran amor

Start the celebration

ven a mi

and cry

grita!

Come alive

vive

and shake the foundations from the skies.

Ah

ah

shaking all our lives!

- Barcelona - Such a beautiful horizon

- Barcelona - Like a iewel in the sun.

Por ti sere gaviota de tu bella.

- Barcelona - Suenan las campanas

- Barcelona - Abre tus pvertos al mundo.

If God is willing

if God is willing

If God is willing

friends until the end

Viva Barcelona!

Image © christianpellino

Pebbles

Imagine you sit quietly here in the sun, on the sand, beside a shallow stream.

The water sparkles and gleams, makes its way laughingly over a carpet of coloured stones.

Idly, you dangle your hand in the water. 

Clear and cold, your fingers caress the smooth round surface of a pebble. 

Dripping, you lift it out, water coursing down your arm, your hand. 

Note the slippery seal-skin surface, cut with white quartz.

Intrigued, you dip again, reveal a shiny stone, laced with citrine. 

Soon you have a little stack of varied stones beside you. 

You caress them, keep a few, plop some back in the water.

Often you visit, sit a little time, dip your hand in, nestle a stone on your palm.

My site is this place. A collection - quiet repose, reflection, sensation and imagination.

© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

Mimosa Rocks © Jennifer Phillips

Painted in light

Shards of light on the bedroom floor,
Patterns of diamonds glint on your naked back.
So smooth, my hand traces their sharp edges
across the contours of your skin.

You roll to your side slowly, languidly.
Diamonds of light move across your body
like the far-flung colours from a spinning disco ball.
They stop as you raise yourself on one elbow.

Painted in light, I see through your camouflage.
You open your eyes and regard me
with wonder and fast-fading disbelief.
Yes, I am here, I am finally here.

You want to touch me – am I real?
This girl caught up in diamonds of sunlight.

© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

Me, toy disco ball and sky © Jennifer Phillips

Does God exist?

If you are having trouble seeing any pictures on this site, just click on the picture and you will be taken to a full-size image.

© Leunig - in "The Age" Newspaper

Somebody that I used to know

Somebody that I used to know

(feat. Kimbra)

[Gotye:]
Now and then I think of when we were together
Like when you said you felt so happy you could die
Told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was love and it's an ache I still remember

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end
So when we found that we could not make sense
Well you said that we would still be friends
But I'll admit that I was glad it was over

But you didn't have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don't need that though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

Now you're just somebody that I used to know
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

[Kimbra:]
Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over
But had me believing it was always something that I'd done
But I don't wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
You said that you could let it go
And I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know

[Gotye:]
But you didn't have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don't need that though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

[x2]
Somebody
(I used to know)
Somebody
(Now you're just somebody that I used to know)

(I used to know)
(That I used to know)
(I used to know)
Somebody

by Wouter "Wally" De Backer (Gotye)

At Bruno Torfs' Art & Sculpture Garden at Marysville © Jennifer Phillips

My demons

Unable to stop myself, 
I slowly roll up the black door

... cut by foreboding ...

like the scent of old death, 
newly discovered.

Here they all are, my demons, 
ranged darkly against the walls, 

dangling crookedly, 
or crouched blackly in corners.

They leer and cackle, creak to life.

Abject terror makes my knees jelly,

and my heart pumps futile denial

All the world's pain and suffering...

The stain spreads, subsumes me.

I swoon in decay's embrace,

as my familiars take hold - 

Sucking greedily at the teat of my soul.

Privately, we dance.

Privately, I die.


© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

Branches reflected in lake at Daylesford © Jennifer Phillips

Dune

Recently I reviewed a manuscript for a book a friend had written. It was a work of science fiction, not my usual genre, but I really enjoyed reading and editing the work.

It brought to mind my favourite science fiction book of all time - "Dune" by Frank Herbert - written in 1965.

To provide a brief summary of the plot, to quote Wikipedia:

"Set in the far future amidst a feudal interstellar society in which noble houses, in control of individual planets, owe allegiance to the imperial House Corrino, Dune tells the story of young Paul Atreides, the heir apparent to Duke Leto Atreides as his family accepts control of the desert planet Arrakis, the only source of the "spice" melange. Melange is the most important and valuable substance in the universe, increasing Arrakis's value as a fief. The story explores the multi-layered interactions of politics, religion, ecology, technology, and human emotion, as the forces of the empire confront each other in a struggle for the control of Arrakis and its "spice".

To my mind, the value of water for mere survival in the story is even more relevant now, with global warming and climate change.

One of my favourite quotes is from when the Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother visits the protagonist, Paul and his mother, Jessica on their home planet Caladan, and warns them of a difficult future on Arrakis:

'Grave this on your memory lad: A world is supported by four things...' She held up four big-knuckled fingers. '...the learning of the wise, the justice of the great, the prayers of the righteous, and the valour of the brave. But all of these are as nothing...' She closed her fingers into a fist. '...without a ruler who knows the art of ruling. Make that the science of your tradition!'

Spring in the Netherworld

Strange fruits bluster forth, busy in ripeness

Cotton clouds waft, the moth-winged horse-snail soars.

Sentinel-moths emerge slowly from fronded chrysalis pods...

But watch! Hunger-pointing, the Indian-bird awaits.

Feathered words fly arrow-sharp across the skies

Quill-swinging Spring - feathers and ferns twist and spiral - 

fluttering down into moist opulence.

Beetle-black horns spear juicy selections for ready jaws.

Thistles bloom, flowers burst, and pods crackle into fruit.

All encroaches, corpulent abundance.

By Pumpkin constellation - over the mountains, across the valleys - 

the Neddy watches, and waits...

... for Alice.


© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

The poem above was my entry for "Writes of Spring", 
inspired by below picture,
 but unfortunately it did not make it into the book.

Image © Belinda Suzette

Poetry

I have populated my Poetry page with some of my poems. 

See MY POETRY link at the top of the page.

I gain inspiration from great poets such as Pablo Neruda and Rumi.

Here are two favourites:

“This being human is a guest house. Every morning is a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor...Welcome and entertain them all. Treat each guest honorably. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”

by Rumi

Tonight I Can Write

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is starry

and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.

Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

by Pablo Neruda