Meeting Benches World art in all forms
THE TOWN
And when in the Palazzo Vecchio, looking like an agave stone, climbed the worn steps, crossed the ancient rooms, and a worker came to see me, boss of the city, the old river, the houses cut as in moonstone, I’m not me They surprised: the majesty of the people governed. And I looked behind his mouth wires dazzling tapestry, painting that these twisted streets was to show the beauty of flowers in all the roads of the world. The infinite cascade that skinny poet of Florence left in perpetual fall without letting him die because of fire red and green water are wrought its syllables. Everything behind his head working I guessed. But it was behind him, the halo of its past splendor: it was the simplicity of this.
As a man, from the chassis to the plow, the factory obscure, climbed the steps with his people and in the Old Palace, no silk and no sword, the people, the same as with me through the cold mountain ranges of the Andes was there. Suddenly, behind her head, saw the snow, the large trees on the height and joined here, back on earth, received me with a smile and gave me his hand, the same one that showed me the way there distant mountain ranges in ferruginous hostile that I won. And here was not the converted stone miracle, converted to light-generating, nor the beneficial blue paint, or all entries of the river those who gave me the citizenship of the old city of stone and silver, but a worker, a man, as all the men. So I think every night of the day, and when I’m thirsty I believe in the water, because I believe in man. I think we’re going up the last step. From there we will see the truth divided, simplicity established on the earth, bread and wine for all.
(Pablo Neruda)
http://www.amazon.com/Love-Poems-New-Directions-Paperbook/dp/0811217299/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
