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The Death of Neruda
- Louisiana State University Press
- Chapter
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25 The Death of Neruda A subterranean enjambment, a pure minor triad blown on a crude Aeolian harp Strung by a peasant grandmother and hung from a plane-tree bough On the edge of a field of flax—the perfect blue of the flowers unfurled for the phalanx Of bees that must surely be coming, but not yet, for something at the margin of the field Grinds so perilously we can barely hear the music we know is there even as it is being Erased forever from our pre-memories, cut from our amygdala so sudden and so clean That we are no longer who we were, or anything else, and never again can be, and will not care, And will not think of the blitzed white towers of hives where honey and rainwater Mix slowly in a poisonous final solution. ...