Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Apparently, this was published several days ago, but since I haven’t been catching up on my news, I just read that Ted Hughes’ Last Letter to Sylvia Plath was just published for the first time. (Thank you, Sam, for the heads up!) I felt that I had to put it here because I am a fan of Sylvia Plath—to the point where I considered her one of my heroes during my angsty teenage years. The angst is long gone, but I have so much respect of Sylvia Plath’s writings—as if every word that she puts down is filled with so much raw emotion.

After her death in 1963, Ted Hughes was largely vilified, no thanks to his womanizing ways. In “Last Letter”, the world is provided with much insight about Sylvia Plath’s last days and how Ted Hughes dealt with his estranged wife’s last days, given the sense of immediacy present in this just-published poem. Hughes himself is a master at poetry, and reading through the “Last Letter”, he conveys the mix of emotions that were running through him from the time he received a note from Plath—intended, of course, to be read after her death. One can sense much confusion, fear, and yes, even a sense of guilt and regret.

It has been years since both Plath and Hughes have passed away, but their story as one of modern literature’s most tempestuous relationships and shocking tragedies lives on. And “Last Letter” proves to make that story even richer.

Image credits: The Ted Hughes Estate/The British Library Board



I know many of you have stumbled upon this blog in search for information or what have you for “Los Secretos de La Roja” by Miguel Angel Diaz. Lo siento, the book is also on my wish list, and honestly, I have no idea if it will ever reach shelves of popular bookstores in my part of the world (oh, but please, Fully Booked, please include this in your foreign language shelves). Moreover, I have no idea when I’ll be able to read the book without having to flip through my English-Spanish dictionary.

Ah, once again, I’m kicking myself for not continuing my Spanish lessons and forgetting about 75% of my Spanish vocabulary (the other 25% are retained largely because they are part of my Filipino vocabulary). Here’s a bit of a back story (not that anyone cares): my mom has always pestered me to take up Spanish, largely because it’s part of our heritage. My great-great-great grandfather set off from Spain to the Philippines in the 1800s, and I still have relatives who speak the language fluently.

So finally, in college, I enrolled in several units of Spanish—but of course, I haven’t stumbled past the basics yet. My motivations for re-learning the language are piling up: to appreciate and do a lot more research about my heritage (I want to know where my abuelos came from); to appreciate Spanish movies (yes, I have gone several times to the Spanish film festival in Manila); and to recite Pablo Neruda with much elegance and fluidity (possibly to La Furia Roja? Haha! We can wish).

I’m making amends to all those who stumbled upon my blog, searching for La Roja items, only to find whatever I posted useless—so let’s talk about Pablo Neruda.

I discovered the beauty of Pablo Neruda’s poetry in English Literature class in high school. Of all the poets that we studied, none could ever convey the beauty, power, passion, rawness, gentleness, light, gravity, and depth of love than Pablo Neruda ever did. His wife and muse, Matilde Urrutia, is perhaps the luckiest woman to have ever lived—imagine being immortalized with the most beautiful of words and thoughts. I always thought it would have been much better if I could appreciate his poetry in his native language. I own several books of Pablo Neruda’s poetry, and none is more precious than “Cien Sonetos de Amor”. (It was quite a challenge for me to find a copy of this book in Manila. I was able to get my copy at a bookstore in Glendale.)

Enough rambling. For visitors of this blog looking for information on La Furia Roja, let me be of service to you by posting a few of my favorite Pablo Neruda poems from “Cien Sonetos de Amor”. If you ever bump into any of them in the streets of Madrid or Barcelona or the beaches of Ibiza, these might be a few useful things to say than, “Quiero diez mil de sus bebés!” (Or, just imagine any one of them reciting these lines to you. Really.)