Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market by Pablo Neruda

By Mark Ashworth 25 Jan 06:41
24 slides
2
Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market by Pablo Neruda
3
Here,
among the market vegetables,
this torpedo
from the ocean
depths,
4
a missile
that swam,
now
lying in front of me
dead.
5
Surrounded
by the earth's green froth
—these lettuces,
bunches of carrots—
6
only you
lived through
the sea's truth, survived
7
the unknown, the
unfathomable
darkness, the depths
of the sea,
8
the great
abyss,
le grand abîme,
9
only you:
varnished
black-pitched
witness
to that deepest night.
10
Only you:
dark bullet
barreled
from the depths,
11
carrying
only
your
one wound,
12
but resurgent,
always renewed,
locked into the current,
13
fins fletched
like wings
in the torrent,
14
in the coursing
of
the
underwater
15
dark,
like a grieving arrow,
sea-javelin, a nerveless
oiled harpoon.
16
Dead
in front of me,
catafalqued king
of my own ocean;
17
once
sappy as a sprung fir
in the green turmoil,
18
once seed
to sea-quake,
tidal wave, now
simply
dead remains;
19
in the whole market
yours
was the only shape left
20
with purpose or direction
in this
jumbled ruin
of nature;
21
you are
a solitary man of war
among these frail vegetables,
22
your flanks and prow
black
and slippery
23
as if you were still
a well-oiled ship of the wind,
24
the only
true
machine
of the sea: unflawed,
25
undefiled,
navigating now
the waters of death.

Slides in Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market by Pablo Neruda

Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market by Pablo Neruda
Here, among the market vegetables, this torpedo from the ocean depths,
a missile that swam, now lying in front of me dead.
Surrounded by the earth's green froth —these lettuces, bunches of carrots—
only you lived through the sea's truth, survived
the unknown, the unfathomable darkness, the depths of the sea,
the great abyss, le grand abîme,
only you: varnished black-pitched witness to that deepest night.
Only you: dark bullet barreled from the depths,
carrying only your one wound,
but resurgent, always renewed, locked into the current,
fins fletched like wings in the torrent,
in the coursing of the underwater
dark, like a grieving arrow, sea-javelin, a nerveless oiled harpoon.
Dead in front of me, catafalqued king of my own ocean;
once sappy as a sprung fir in the green turmoil,
once seed to sea-quake, tidal wave, now simply dead remains;
in the whole market yours was the only shape left
with purpose or direction in this jumbled ruin of nature;
you are a solitary man of war among these frail vegetables,
your flanks and prow black and slippery
as if you were still a well-oiled ship of the wind,
the only true machine of the sea: unflawed,
undefiled, navigating now the waters of death.
The fastest way to carry out formative assessments in class JOIN FREE