Did you ever ask yourself where poets write? Is there a place that inspires them the most? Do they have a formal place, an office let’s say, where they go every day to write? Or do they just write their poems on a notepad wherever they may be and whenever the muse inspires them?
Pablo Neruda is one of my favorite poets, and a great inspiration to me. Therefore, when I visited Chile recently, I made sure to visit his house at the edge of the ocean. “Isla Negra” (Black Island), as he called it, is in a place of stunning beauty. His many collections are displayed there for visitors to enjoy: seashells of all sizes and colors, vintage bottles with ships, masks of various cultures, and so much more. They reflect his attention to detail, the interest he had in everything, especially in sailing and the sea.
As I was pacing through the different rooms, a small rustic desk called my attention. The caption read something like this: “One morning, Pablo Neruda was looking out to the sea when he saw a piece of driftwood from a shipwreck. He said: ‘The sea has brought the desk to the poet’ and went to the beach to sit down and wait for it. It is at this desk where he wrote great part of his work.”
The eyes of the poet see the potential in what many of us can easily overlook, take for granted and readily dismiss. I wonder how many times a possibility, an opportunity has gone by without me noticing. How many times did I fail to find beauty, meaning, depth, taking life for granted? All I need to do is to be able to see with the eyes of a poet, find a desk in the piece of wood adrift, the desk where life becomes a poem.