Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto

When someone adopts a name in order to avoid family disapproval, it is like cleaning grime out from under the fingernails of a bulldog, the going is messy, and the end result looks just the same as the beginning. How can a person see accomplishment if he can't feel it or vice versa?

Pablo Neruda is a muse. He writes: "My soul is an empty carousel at sunset." I, too, feel his pain, his longing for the buzz of everyday life, the people, the city.

From this point on, I will read a Pablo Neruda poem everyday. I will write of my incidents, be they unscrupulous or shabby, full of euphoria or full of the other stuff we step in. I will not try to wander aimlessly; however, I haven't really decided on a goal either.

How is this going to work with me working? The form of this blog will follow the function which is to be determined.

What form does Neruda follow? He speaks of the body parts of people the same way he speaks of nature. For the poet, there is no dividing line between the Chilean hills surrounding the city of Santiago and the hills of a woman, lying on her back and waiting for rapture. He loves to make love to it all.

Yet, this is what I am afraid of. I worry this attempt at some form of constant in my life will turn into an array of negligible and trite moments, that I am trying too hard to squeeze every last drop of the air we breathe into something meaningful.

Well, I will read a poem a day by the fluid Chilean bard and let my mind wander.

Jan. 30, 2010