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"Ode To The Artichoke", by Pablo Neruda

Writer: susanalabordeblajsusanalabordeblaj

I have been enjoying my classes with Elizabeth Bossart, learning about Ayurveda, including what kind of food is better for my constitution, and finding a new appreciation for food. A couple classes ago we had a conversation about artichokes, which made me remember this beautiful poem.


First find the version in English, and then the one in Spanish.



Ode To The Artichoke

by Pablo Neruda



The artichoke

With a tender heart

Dressed up like a warrior,

Standing at attention, it built

A small helmet

Under its scales

It remained

Unshakeable,

By its side

The crazy vegetables

Uncurled

Their tendrils and leaf-crowns,

Throbbing bulbs,

In the sub-soil

The carrot

With its red mustaches

Was sleeping,

The grapevine

Hung out to dry its branches

Through which the wine will rise,

The cabbage

Dedicated itself

To trying on skirts,

The oregano

To perfuming the world,

And the sweet

Artichoke

There in the garden,

Dressed like a warrior,

Burnished

Like a proud

Pomegranate.

And one day

Side by side

In big wicker baskets

Walking through the market

To realize their dream

The artichoke army

In formation.

Never was it so military

Like on parade.

The men

In their white shirts

Among the vegetables

Were

The Marshals

Of the artichokes

Lines in close order

Command voices,

And the bang

Of a falling box.


But

Then

Maria

Comes

With her basket

She chooses

An artichoke,

She's not afraid of it.

She examines it, she observes it

Up against the light like it was an egg,

She buys it,

She mixes it up

In her handbag

With a pair of shoes

With a cabbage head and a

Bottle

Of vinegar

Until

She enters the kitchen

And submerges it in a pot.


Thus ends

In peace

This career

Of the armed vegetable

Which is called an artichoke,

Then

Scale by scale,

We strip off

The delicacy

And eat

The peaceful mush

Of its green heart.



 


Oda a La Alcachofa

Pablo Neruda


La alcachofa

de tierno corazón

se vistió de guerrero,

erecta, construyó

una pequeña cúpula,

se mantuvo

impermeable

bajo

sus escamas,

a su lado

los vegetales locos

se encresparon,

se hicieron

zarcillos, espadañas,

bulbos conmovedores,

en el subsuelo

durmió la zanahoria

de bigotes rojos,

la viña

resecó los sarmientos

por donde sube el vino,

la col

se dedicó

a probarse faldas,

el orégano

a perfumar el mundo,

y la dulce

alcachofa

allí en el huerto,

vestida de guerrero,

bruñida

como una granada,

orgullosa,

y un día

una con otra

en grandes cestos

de mimbre, caminó

por el mercado

a realizar su sueño:

la milicia.


En hileras

nunca fue tan marcial

como en la feria,

los hombres

entre las legumbres

con sus camisas blancas

eran

mariscales

de las alcachofas,

las filas apretadas,

las voces de comando,

y la detonación

de una caja que cae,

pero

entonces

viene

María

con su cesto,

escoge

una alcachofa,

no le teme,

la examina, la observa

contra la luz como si fuera un huevo,

la compra,

la confunde

en su bolsa

con un par de zapatos,

con un repollo y una

botella

de vinagre

hasta

que entrando a la cocina

la sumerge en la olla.


Así termina

en paz

esta carrera

del vegetal armado

que se llama alcachofa,

luego

escama por escama

desvestimos

la delicia

y comemos

la pacífica pasta

de su corazón verde.




artichoke
Cowell Ranch-Purisima Trail. California, 2021

 
 
 

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Design & Photography Susana Laborde-Blaj

Additional Photography Santiago Beltran Laborde, Leon Beltran Laborde & Ron Blaj 

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