Ode to the Present (from Odes to Opposites)

by Pablo Neruda

In this
present
that’s smooth
as a board,
that’s fresh,
in this hour
this day
that’s clean
as a new cup
--with not one
spiderweb
of the past--
we touch
the present
with fingers,
we cut it
to measure,
we direct
its bud,
it’s alive,
it lives,
it holds on nothing
irredeemable from yesterday,
from the lost past,

it’s our
creature,
it’s growing
in this
moment, it’s kicking
sand, it’s eating
from our hands,
catch it,
don’t let it trickle away,
don’t let it get lost in dreams
or words,
grasp it,
hold onto it,
put in in order
until it obeys you,
make it road,
carillion,
machinery,
make it book,
kiss, caress,

cut its delicious
fragrance of wood
and from it
make yourself a chair,
weave its back,
try it out,
or even better
a ladder!

Yes, a ladder;
rise
on the present,
rung
by rung,
feet firmly
on the wood
of the present,
climb up,
upwards!

but not too high,
only
till you can repair
the leaks
in the ceiling,
not very high,
don’t go to heaven,
just reach
the apples,
not the clouds--
let those go
through the sky,
toward the past.

You
are
your present,
your apple:
take it
from your tree,
hold it up
in your
hand,

it shines
like a star,
touch it,
sink your teeth into it and go
whistling on your way.

Translated by Ariel from Spanish