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Chile and Pablo Neruda



Palace where Salvador Alende held the presidency, elected by the people and where he was killed. (la Moneda palace)

Render of the guard in 2012.




The bells that Pablo Neruda rang, signaling his arrival home...


Place where he was buried years after his death...


Encounter with the poet

Upon entering the Pablo Neruda museum house, on Isla Negra, my memory is assaulted by nightmares and old pains.

"It rains in Santiago" and it rained for days, months and years. I'm not going to talk about these pains, I'm going to talk about today, what

I felt when I visited their "House Museum".

I confess that I am experiencing a very strong emotion when entering this space. Come with me...

Small house when he bought it in 1938, "...It grew, like people did trees...", it had at its feet the "peaceful ocean, not fitting on the map, because it was so disorderly and blue, and there was no space for him they put him in front of the window of his house".

The decoration evokes the sea, the land, where he was born, friendship, the space to be with friends, the kitchen (almost secret space from which the arguments that cultivated affection at the table came out), the embroidery made by the women of Las Gaviotas, renamed Isla Negra by the poet and also the shell collection. The bells in the garden that he rang warning the neighbors of his arrival.

In Temuco, where he spent his childhood, there was a harness shop that had a life-size horse. Neruda, aged 6, told the owner: "I want to buy the horse". Many years later, knowing the vicissitudes of the store and the owner, I acquired it, fulfilling my childhood dream. Every human being who doesn't kill the child in him, as he did, is special.

A poet who writes odes to congers, artichokes and wine, he is an exceptional human being, narrating the simple things

and beautiful in life, these yes, generators of happiness.

In this space of time that I spent with the poet, I got emotional and I felt like a child, because today no longer "rains in Santiago"




Así cada mañana

De mi vida

Traigo del sueño

Otro sueño


PABLO NERUDA









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