Ode to the Sea by Pablo Neruda: Poetry at Just the Sea

In this third installment of “Anthology of the Sea,” Pablo Neruda explores his connection with the sea.

As Francisco Rivas wrote, regarding Pablo Neruda and his bond with the sea:

“… he had a great piece of sea in his heart. Even though he was born in Parral, a city far from the waves, his relationship with the sea is perhaps deeper than with any other natural manifestation on the planet. For him, the sea is that from which everything is born and where everything ends.”

This ode belongs to the book “Elemental Odes” published in 1954.

In Greece, there were two types of odes: choral and monodic, sung by a single voice.

“Ode to the Sea” corresponds to the second type, being a praise of the sea.

Ode to the Sea by Pablo Neruda

Here on the island
the sea
and how much sea
it spills over itself
all the time,
says yes, no,
no, no, no,
says yes, in blue,
in foam, in gallop,
says no, no.
It cannot stay still,
my name is sea, it repeats
hitting against a rock
without convincing it,
then
with seven green tongues
of seven green dogs,
of seven green tigers,
of seven green seas,
it crosses it, kisses it,
moistens it
and beats its chest
repeating its name.
Oh sea, that’s your name,
oh comrade ocean,
don’t waste time and water,
don’t shake so much,
help us,
we are the little ones
fishermen,
men of the shore,
we are cold and hungry,
you are our enemy,
don’t hit so hard,
don’t shout like that,
open your green chest
and let us all
have in our hands
your silver gift:
the fish of every day.

Here in every house
we want it,
and even if it’s silver,
crystal or moon,
it was born for the poor
kitchens of the earth.
Don’t keep it,
miserly,
running cold like
wet lightning
under your waves.
Come, now,
open up
and leave it
near our hands,
help us, ocean,
green and deep father,
to end one day
earthly poverty.
Let us
harvest the infinite
plantation of your lives,
your wheats and your grapes,
your oxen, your metals,
the wet splendor
and the submerged fruit.

Father sea, we already know
what you’re called, all
seagulls spread
your name on the sands:
now behave,
don’t shake your manes,
don’t threaten anyone,
don’t break against the sky
your beautiful denture,
leave off for a while
your glorious stories,
give to every man,
to every
woman and every child,
a big fish or a small one
every day.
Go through all the streets
of the world
distributing fish
and then
shout,
shout
so all the poor who work
can hear,
and they’ll say,
peering from the mouth
of the mine:
“Here comes the old sea
distributing fish.”
And they’ll go back down,
to the darkness,
smiling, and through the streets
and the forests
men will smile
and the earth
with a sea smile.
But
if you don’t want to,
if you don’t feel like it,
wait,
wait for us,
we’re going to think it over,
first we’ll fix
human affairs,
the biggest ones first,
all the others after,
and then
we’ll enter you,
we’ll cut the waves
with a knife of fire,
on an electric horse
we’ll jump the foam,
singing
we’ll sink
until touching the bottom
of your entrails,
an atomic thread
will guard your waist,
we’ll plant
in your deep garden
plants
of cement and steel,
we’ll tie you up
hands and feet,
men will walk on your skin
spitting,
pulling bunches from you,
building harnesses,
mounting and taming you,
dominating your soul.
But that will be when
men
have fixed
our problem,
the big one,
the great problem.
We’ll fix everything
little by little:
we’ll force you, sea,
we’ll force you, earth,
to perform miracles,
because in ourselves,
in the struggle,
there’s the fish, there’s the bread,
there’s the miracle.

Elemental Odes, 1954

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