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March 29, 2004
The Postman
IL POSTINO
邮差 [事先张扬的求爱事件]
And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in serach of me. I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I dont't know how or when.
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summonee,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
by Pablo Neruda
Posted by david at March 29, 2004 01:17 AM
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