Ode To Ironing

Poetry is white
it comes dripping out of the water
it gets wrinkled and piles up
We have to stretch out the skin of this planet
We have to iron the sea in its whiteness
The hands go on and on
and so things are made
the hands make the world every day
fire unites with steel
linen, canvas and calico come back
from combat in the laundry
and from the light a dove is born
purity comes back from the soap suds.

- Pablo Neruda

- Translated by Jodey Bateman

Used with Permission

Pablo Neruda Links

- Pablo Neruda

- Pablo Neruda Poems

image Poetry of Pablo Neruda

Books on Pablo Nerudaat Amazon.com

Pablo Neruda Poetryat Amazon.com

- Latin American Poets

- Nobel Prize for Literature

- Alphabetical List of Poets