POEM OF THE DAY BY PABLO NERUDA

ODE TO SUMMER

Summer, red violin,

clear cloud,

the hum

of a saw

or cicadas

announce your arrival.

The heavens

arch

to a smoothness,

lucent as an eye,

and below your gaze,

summer, you are

an infinite sky-fish,

shameless messenger

of praise,

lazy,

sleepy-eyed one,

little bee belly,

mischievous

sun,

terrible paternal sun,

sweaty as a toiling ox,

and the scorching sun

in one’s head

is like a

sudden blow,

sun of thirst

crossing the sand,

summer,

desert sea.

The sulfur

miner

drips

yellow sweat,

the aviator

maps,

ray by ray,

the celestial sun,

darkened

sweat

slips

down a forehead

into the eyes;

at Lota,

the miner

scrubs

his blackened forehead.

Seed beds

burn,

wheat

rustles

blue insects

seek

shade,

touch

refreshment,

dive

headlong

into diamonds.

Oh lush

summer,

ripe

apple

cart,

verdant

strawberry

mouth,

lips of wild plum,

roads

of tender

dust on dust,

midday

coppery red

drum.

In the afternoon,

fire

rests,

air

makes clover

dance; it enters

the deserted factory:

a fresh star

rises

in

the cloudy

sky.

A summer night

sizzles

without

burning.

-Pablo Neruda