‘Every day you play’ by Pablo Neruda

A first, raw, uninhibitedly imperfect reading of this extraordinary poem, walking the paths of its lines in increasing wonder and recognition. And this is only a translation. How perfect it must be in his real voice. … Listen to the last line. Hear it. A line to change your life, immediately and forever transforming any view of how love really should feel.

I came across my recording of this by chance. I listened to it, and its simplicity made me want to cry. In a good way. Mostly. It is so immediate. What better example of how poetry is the breath of life, and we have only to hear it, for the poet to breathe again.

The first reading on request. And all I felt as I read it was that mix of humility and passion. It is one of the ultimate statements of love: to say, by strict comparison with ideals of female beauty, you may seem in no way perfect … but you are perfect to me.

Ted. 💗 … I find some of the imagery in this poem a little brutal, not quite to my taste, but it is, nevertheless, a perfect expression of love. It has some of the most disarmingly apt evocations of love that I have ever heard, and for sure will ever hear. How not to love Ted for this alone. For this extraordinary transparency, and generosity, with his own experience. He gives us everything of himself. Everything.

Feel yourself there in the moment. It is afternoon. The hot Italian sun streams through the thin gauze of a curtain at the window, onto your skin, as you lie, draped in the arms of your lover. Any time you want, be there.