If little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little

If you forget me By Pablo Neruda If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me

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with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, my love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine.

  • kleitia

    Jora, kjo poezia me kujtoi nje tjeter qe ka te beje me dashurine si te dyanshme-cfaredo dinamikash te jene, duhet te ekzistojne nga te dyja palet, qofshin “negative” apo “pozitive” – vetem indiferenca e eliminon nje lidhje (jo ne sensin konkret domosdoshmerisht) me pak fjale.

    The More Loving One

    W. H. Auden, 1907 – 1973

    Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
    That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
    But on earth indifference is the least
    We have to dread from man or beast.

    How should we like it were stars to burn
    With a passion for us we could not return?
    If equal affection cannot be,
    Let the more loving one be me.

    Admirer as I think I am
    Of stars that do not give a damn,
    I cannot, now I see them, say
    I missed one terribly all day.

    Were all stars to disappear or die,
    I should learn to look at an empty sky
    And feel its total dark sublime,
    Though this might take me a little time.

    • joravaso

      W.H. Auden me rrenqeth mishin, ne kuptimin e mire dhe te keq. Poezia e Auden eshte me “universale” se ajo e Pablos 😉 …megjithese, ne fund te fundit, po pershkruan nje mungese fuqie e nenshtrimi shume te ngjashem me “if you forget me”! I vetmi ndryshim eshte se e para, “if you forget me”, tregon me teper fundin e nje historie, kurse tjetra tregon nje histori nuk fillon, ose adhurim nga larg. Gjithsesi, mungesa e reciprocitetit, ose indiferenca, eshte celesi te te dyja.

      • WWH

        Si Auden (frikacake) ashtu Pablo(e deshperuar), per mendimin tim: they both suck, both!.Auden s’mund ti pergjigjet :How fully did you live?, Pablo s’mund t’i pergjigjet How deeply did you let go? Robert Frost, reluctance. has the right 3 answers.

  • WWH


    • joravaso

      Me shume se kercenim, me duket se Neruda shpreh realitetin.

      • WWH

        neruda shpreh thjesht deshperim te nje pasive agressive person

  • Sier Pino Vaso

    …dhe kjo poezi eshte e bukur…eshte fakt qe cdo gje mbaron…..por nuk mund t’a pranosh kete gje aq lehte ….!


    By Robert Frost

    Out through the fields and the woods

    And over the walls I have wended;

    I have climbed the hills of view

    And looked at the world, and descended;

    I have come by the highway home,

    And lo, it is ended.

    The leaves are all dead on the ground,

    Save those that the oak is keeping

    To ravel them one by one

    And let them go scraping and creeping

    Out over the crusted snow,

    When others are sleeping.

    And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,

    No longer blown hither and thither;

    The last lone aster is gone;

    The flowers of the witch hazel wither;

    The heart is still aching to seek,

    But the feet question ‘Whither?’

    Ah, when to the heart of man

    Was it ever less than a treason

    To go with the drift of things,

    To yield with a grace to reason,

    And bow and accept the end

    Of a love or a season?

    • WWH

      po, duke lexuar kete poezi dhe komentin tuaj me vjen ne mendje kjo thenie e vjeter kineze “In the end these things matter most: How well did you love? How fully did you live? How deeply did you let go?”

    • joravaso

      Robert Frost eshte me kokeforti deri ne fund, Pablo Neruda e ben nje paralajmerim para se t’i ndenshtrohet fatit, kurse W. H. Auden i ka kuptuar para se te ndodhin!