A Political Poet

     Some people ask me that human affairs 
     with names, surnames, and laments 
     not be dealt with in the pages of my books

So go the opening lines of Pablo Neruda's No Me Lo Pidan, rendered in English by Miguel Algarín as Do Not Ask Me. In these lines, Neruda acknowledged criticisms he faced for being a "political poet," when many of his readers would have preferred to read solely about romance or natural beauty. For Neruda, though, the response is simple, and he lays it out a few lines further along in the poem:

     I am only a man of flesh and bones, 
     therefore if they beat my brother 
     I defend him with what I have in hand

Later, he expands on this, writing:

     [We] should do something on this earth 
     because we were born on this planet 
     and we must arrange man's society 
     because we are neither birds nor dogs  
     (Neruda 1968, 537)

Pablo Neruda clearly understood that art cannot float above the noise and chaos of the world, but that it must instead involve itself deeply in it – playing an active role in orienting it toward the human good. Injustices cannot remain uncommented-upon by the poet or artist; they must instead be a driving force for their work.

The Poet's Obligation

More than just calling out abuse and injustice, art should dedicate itself, at least in part, to alleviating human suffering and offering hope. Poetry possesses a unique ability to capture the beautiful, which can be an incredibly powerful tool for resistance. Neruda develops this idea in Deber del Poeta [The Poet’s Obligation], which sees the poet bringing the ocean, a symbol of freedom, to the incarcerated, who ask him:

     How can I reach the sea? 
     (Neruda 1961, 620)

Strengthening this further are the experiences of detainees held by the United States in the notorious Guantanamo Bay detention camp. In Don't Forget Us Here, written by former Guantanamo detainee Mansoor Adayfi, the sea plays a significant role in providing hope in the face of torture and dehumanization. Adyafi recounts passing recreation time lying on his belly, looking at the sea through holes in a tarp erected to obstruct the view. When the guards covered these holes, Adyafi describes how, "it was hard not seeing the sea despite being only a few hundred feet away. We had so little in our cages, a brief glimpse of beauty and the magnificence of Allah's creation could carry our spirits for days or weeks" (Adyafi 2021, 63).

When this meagre access to the sea was denied, a poet stepped in. One of his fellow detainees, a man who had named himself Bahr (which means "sea" in Arabic), sang poems that rang through the halls of the detention center. Listening to Bahr, Adyafi says, "was enough to free us all from our caged lives, even if only for a moment." (Adyafi 2021, 64). 

The emancipatory power held by poetry is also articulated by Neruda in Deber del Poeta:

     So, through me, freedom and the sea 
     will call in answer to the shrouded heart 
     (Neruda 1961, 620)

Don't Look Away

I will leave readers with a final notable example – which remains relevant, 88 years on – of Neruda's work as an activist-poet. 

In the late 1930s, Spain was engulfed in a civil war between Republicans, who sought to preserve the Second Spanish Republic, and Nationalists, who fought to install Francisco Franco as the dictator of a fascist Spain. Caught up in this struggle was Pablo Neruda, who had been appointed Chilean consul in Madrid. 

Firmly anti-fascist, Neruda was dismissed from the consulate for his rejection of neutrality in favor of a pro-Republican stance. The poetry he wrote during the war is striking for its grief, anger, and nostalgia for pre-war Spain. Poems like Song for the Mothers of Slain Militiamen and General Franco in Hell are good examples of work that deals with these themes, but there is no poem which better encapsulates his pro-Republican and anti-fascist sentiment than Yo Explico Algunas Cosas [I Explain A Few Things]. The poem, written in 1937, mourns the Spain of old, describes the chaos and atrocities of the present, and castigates the "jackals that the jackals would despise" – the anti-democratic fascists who had started the war. He ends with a haunting challenge to those who would ask that art and politics remain separate:

     Venid a ver la sangre por las calles, 
     venid a ver 
     la sangre por las calles 
     venid a ver la sangre 
     por las calles!

In English:

     Come and see the blood in the streets, 
     Come and see 
     the blood in the streets 
     come and see the blood 
     in the streets!

References:

Adyafi, Mansoor. 2021. Don't Forget Us Here: Lost and Found at Guantánamo. New York: Hachette Books.

Neruda, Pablo. 2007. I Explain A Few Things: Selected Poems. Edited by Ilan Stevens. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

The views, thoughts and opinions expressed in this blog are the author’s only and do not reflect an official position of the University of Minnesota, the Human Rights Program, or the College of Liberal Arts. As an institution of higher education that values and promotes free speech, civil discourse, and human rights, we welcome a variety of perspectives and opinions from our student contributors that are consistent with these values.