Knitting in Poetry

Ah, it is confession time~

In truth, I'm really a poet who has also been a long-time knitter.  I confess that my stash of yarn competes with my growing piles of literary journals and books of poetry.  I confess that I haven't knit in a long time and that, as I revise poetry on my Mac, I'm gazing up at the rows of multi-colored spines adorned with bright artwork and sometimes glittering titles.  And in between all these books is an assortment of some of the most gorgeous fall colored wool, mohair, llama, and cotton yarns, just waiting to be "published."  Er, "knitted to completion," rather.  

I confess that I will revise this post several times before I'm happy with it.

During my internet travels today I came across the following poem, which was translated by one of my favorite poets, Robert Bly. 

ODE TO MY SOCKS 

by Pablo Neruda

(Translated by Robert Bly)

Mara Mori brought me 

a pair of socks 

which she knitted herself 

with her sheepherder's hands, 

two socks as soft as rabbits. 

I slipped my feet into them 

as though into two cases 

knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin. 

Violent socks, 

my feet were two fish made of wool,

two long sharks 

sea blue, shot through 

by one golden thread, 

two immense blackbirds,

two cannons, 

my feet were honored in this way 

by these heavenly socks.

They were so handsome for the first time 

my feet seemed to me unacceptable 

like two decrepit firemen, 

firemen unworthy of that woven fire, 

of those glowing socks. 

  

Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp tempation 

to save them somewhere as schoolboys

keep fireflies, 

as learned men collect 

sacred texts, 

I resisted the mad impulse to put them 

in a golden cage and each day give them 

birdseed and pieces of pink melon. 

Like explorers in the jungle 

who hand over the very rare green deer 

to the spit and eat it with remorse, 

I stretched out my feet and pulled on 

the magnificent socks and then my shoes. 

  

The moral of my ode is this: 

beauty is twice beauty, 

and what is good is doubly good 

when it is a matter of two socks 

made of wool in winter.

Nuevas odas elementales, 1956 

Literally yours,

The Knit Chick