Walking Around

Portrait of Pablo Neruda
Pablo Neruda 1904–1973

It so happens I am sick of being a man. And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie houses dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.

The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse sobs. The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool. The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens, no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.

It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails and my hair and my shadow. It so happens I am sick of being a man.

Still it would be marvelous to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily, or kill a nun with a blow on the ear. It would be great to go through the streets with a green knife letting out yells until I died of the cold.

I don't want to go on being a root in the dark, insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep, going on down, into the moist guts of the earth, taking in and thinking, eating every day.

I don't want so much misery. I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb, alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses, half frozen, dying of grief.

That's why Monday, when it sees me coming with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline, and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel, and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the night.

And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist houses, into hospitals where the bones fly out the window, into shoeshops that smell like vinegar, and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.

There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines hanging over the doors of houses that I hate, and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot, there are mirrors that ought to have wept from shame and terror, there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical cords.

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything, I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops, and courtyards with washing hanging from the line: underwear, towels and shirts from which slow dirty tears are falling.

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“It so happens I am sick of being a man.”1 reader
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İbrahim318 words
  1. Teres United States

    How can a man, have everything, yet rejects everything? why have it in the first place

  2. K

    i think that it would have been helpful to see both the english and spanish version of this poem
    sometimes when we translate words get missed

  3. J.T.Parreira Portugal

    Sucede que cuecas, toalhas e camisas
    que choram lentas lágrimas sujas
    o cansaram de ser homem
    (...)
    Só os rios, o sal, a pedra e os peixes
    com saltos de prata imprevvisíveis
    a lã que dormita nas ovelhas
    o verde vigoroso das montanhas
    o mantiveram sentinela
    (...)
    e seu cabelo sem forças
    contra o vento
    continua belo pelas ruas, seu poema
    vai de pé nos corações, como raíz
    (...)
    o poema
    que vem andando à volta
    como a mão do vento.

  4. Rich United States

    1) The 3rd comment isn't the poem in Spanish, but Portuguese
    2) Cuchilla verde is directly translated as green knife, but it really means dirty knife: a penis. The speaker declares he would like to run around naked until he freezes to death.

  5. Prescott May United States

    This is an amazing poem thats for sure. Right know I'm trying to create my own poem in this form but talking about People. As I read this version it really lost a lot of meaning because its a bad translation, so try and get that straighted out some time.

  6. BVW United States

    bad or good translation, this whole web page acts like there is no such thing as translation, never a mention of who has translated it. do they believe that it is not important. i have been looking at many poems, and i have not found one name of a translator. too bad, ignoring one of the most important elements of the trafficking of literature. i wouldn't imagine they would be so simplistic...

  7. Karem United States

    I think somehow more people should post comments about what the poem means. For example the man in the poem is so tried of his routine life, like many people out there. Neruda understand the human need to see diffrente things instead of just living from day to day. Also when the lyrical voice states that he is tried of his "feet and nails" he shows the disconent with his apprearnce. How many of us have been unhappy…

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    I think somehow more people should post comments about what the poem means. For example the man in the poem is so tried of his routine life, like many people out there. Neruda understand the human need to see diffrente things instead of just living from day to day. Also when the lyrical voice states that he is tried of his "feet and nails" he shows the disconent with his apprearnce. How many of us have been unhappy at some point with ow we look. The man in the poem is having a journey with all the things that people in society complain about.
    The first comment placed says that the man in the poem has everything why is he complaining. True thats the feeling Neruda wants you to have. Even though we have so much to be thankful for, regraudless of whether you belive in a GOD, yet we often times complain or over think certain issuses. Thats is the point of this poem "Walking around."

  8. Viviana United States

    Pablo Neruda wrote this poem when he was consul of Chile in India and at that time, the British controlled India. The original poem is written in spanish with the english title "Walking Around." He titled it so to draw attention. The author also uses surrealism to exaggerate the poverty and death he's witnessing; for attention. For example, when he says it would be fun to kill a nun with a blow to the ear or when he…

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    Pablo Neruda wrote this poem when he was consul of Chile in India and at that time, the British controlled India. The original poem is written in spanish with the english title "Walking Around." He titled it so to draw attention. The author also uses surrealism to exaggerate the poverty and death he's witnessing; for attention. For example, when he says it would be fun to kill a nun with a blow to the ear or when he says "hospitales donde los huesos salen por la ventana" [hospitals where the bones come out through the window]. There is so much death going on over there and the rest of the world is oblivious to it or simply ignore it. The rest of the world is too busy satisfying their vanity and materialistic selfs. When Neruda says "Sucede que me canso de mis pies y mis uñas y mi pelo y mi sombra" [It so happens I'm tired of my feet and my nails and my hair and my shadow], he doesn't say it because he wanted to 'show the disconent with his appearance' as someone below has previously stated. He says this because he wanted to give an example of the vanity that people shared at that time instead of paying attention to life-threatening issues going on the 'other side.' He's tired of being a man because of the selfishness of others. He strives for a change when he says, "No quiero continuar de raíz y de tumba.." [I don't want to continue as a root and a tomb]. A root is underground, oblivious to the events taking place above the earth as is a tomb. He does not want to live in ignorance.

  9. DN United States

    This poem I have heard actually refers to Neruda's Exile from his home country during the communist takeover there. This poem echos the frustration and isolation he felt daily having been ejected from his home country for which he was intensely patriotic. He is a root and a tomb because he is exiled from the homeland that he loves and it denied access to his old friends and family.

  10. pınar Turkey

    ıt is an amazing poem of p. neruda. and lucky here in türkey we have also türkish translate and really no missed any mean. thank you for it. here is türkish one:) walking around yoruldum işte insan olmaktan terzilere,sinemalara gidiyorum işte şaşkınım,kapalıyım,çuhadan bir kuğu gibi sorular,küller denizinde salınıyorum. ağlıyorum berberlerin korkusunu duyunca. tek istediğim dinlenmek,kurtulmak taşlardan, bahçelerden…

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    ıt is an amazing poem of p. neruda. and lucky here in türkey we have also türkish translate and really no missed any mean. thank you for it.
    here is türkish one:)
    walking around

    yoruldum işte insan olmaktan
    terzilere,sinemalara gidiyorum işte
    şaşkınım,kapalıyım,çuhadan bir kuğu gibi
    sorular,küller denizinde salınıyorum.

    ağlıyorum berberlerin korkusunu duyunca.
    tek istediğim dinlenmek,kurtulmak taşlardan,
    bahçelerden kurtulmak,yünden,köşklerden,
    mallardan,gözlüklerden,asansörlerden.

    yoruldum ayaklarımdan işte,tırnaklarımdan,
    gölgemden saçlarımdan,
    yoruldum işte insan olmaktan.

    nefis birşey olurdu ama
    bir noteri kesik bir zambakla korkutmak
    ya da kulaktozuna vurup öldürmek bir rahibeyi.

    ne güzel olurdu
    yeşil bir bıçakla koşmak sokaklarda
    soğuktan ölünceye kadar bağırarak.

    yaşamak istemiyorum karanlıkta ot gibi,
    uykuda titreyerek,kararsız,şaşkın,
    her dakika düşünmek,her gün bir şeyler yemek
    ıslak dehlizlerine inip dünyanın.

    bana göre değil bu rezillikler.
    bana göre değil ot olmak,mear olmak,
    ıssız bir tünel olmak,bir cesetler mahzeni,
    acı içinde ölmek,kaskatı kesilmek soğuktan.

    bu yüzden ışıldıyor pazartesigünleri
    o zindamsı yüzümle beni görünce,
    kırık bir tekerlek gibi geçip giderken
    ılık kan yolları uzatıyor geceye.

    köşelere itiyor beni,köhne evlere bir şey,
    camlarından kemik savrulan hastanelere,
    kundura tamircilerine,sirke kokan,
    uçuruma benzeyen korkunç sokaklara.

    kükürt rengi kuşlar,iğrenç barsaklar asılmış
    tiksindiğim evlerin kapılarına,
    çaydanlıkta unutulmuş takma dişleri var,
    utançla,korkuyla ağlayan
    aynalar,
    şemsiyeler,zehirler,göbek bağları her yanda.

    sessizce yürüyorum gözlerle,kunduralarla,
    öfkeyle,unutuluşla,
    geçiyorum büroların,dükkanların önünden,
    iplerine çamaşırasılı avlulardan,
    donlardan,havlulardan,gömleklerden,
    kirli gözyaşları akıtıyorlar usulca.
    çeviren: Ülkü Tamer

  11. İbrahim Turkey

    "Walking Around" from "Residencia En La Tierra" is a very good poem about alienation, which is a leit-motiv in the poetry of Neruda. In many of late poems (such as "Muchos Somos" can we see the same theme). Those who can read Turkish are very lucky, because of a new and better translation of "Walking Around". Ara sıra beziyorum insan olmaktan. Ara sıra giriyorum terzilere ve sinemalara, durgun ve esrarlı,…

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    "Walking Around" from "Residencia En La Tierra" is a very good poem about alienation, which is a leit-motiv in the poetry of Neruda. In many of late poems (such as "Muchos Somos" can we see the same theme).

    Those who can read Turkish are very lucky, because of a new and better translation of "Walking Around".

    Ara sıra beziyorum insan olmaktan.
    Ara sıra giriyorum terzilere ve sinemalara,
    durgun ve esrarlı, başlangıçlardan ve küllerden
    bir suda yüzen keçe bir kuğu gibi.

    Berber salonlarının kokusu ağlatıyor beni hüngür hüngür.
    Sadece taşların ve yünün huzurunu istiyorum ben,
    sadece müesseseleri ya da bahçeleri görmek istemiyorum,
    ya da malları, ya da gözlükleri, ya da asansörleri.

    Ara sıra beziyorum ayaklarımdan ve tırnaklarımdan
    ve saçımdan ve gölgemden.
    Ara sıra beziyorum insan olmaktan.

    Fakat nefis olurdu
    kesik bir zambakla bir noteri korkutmak
    ya da canını almak bir rahibenin bir kulak fiskesiyle.
    Güzel olurdu
    caddeler boyunca yürümek yeşil bir bıçakla
    ve ben soğuktan ölene dek bağırmak.

    Karanlıkta bir kök olarak kalmak istiyorum,
    sendeleyerek, yayılarak, uykudan titreyerek,
    aşağıya doğru, toprağın ıslak bağırsaklarında,
    soğurarak beni içinde ve düşünerek, yiyerek her gün.

    Çok fazla da felaket istemem ben.
    Kök ve mezar olmakta ayak diremek istemem,
    yer altına ait yalnızca, ölülerle dolu bir bodrum
    kaskatı soğuktan, ölmekte üzüntüden.

    Bu yüzden yanıyor Pazartesi petrol gibi
    gördüğünde geldiğimi hapishane suratımla,
    ve yaralı bir teker gibi inilderken yolda
    ve alırken sıcak kanlı adımları geceye doğru.

    Ve itiyor beni bu köşelere, bu küf kokulu evlere,
    kemiklerin pencerelerden taştığı hastanelere,
    sirke kokan kunduracı atölyelerine,
    uçurum gibi korkutucu olan sokaklara.

    Kükürt renkli kuşlar ve ürkünç bağırsaklar var
    asılı duran nefret ettiğim evlerde,
    sahte dişler unutulmuş bir kahve sürahisinde,
    aynalar var
    utançtan ve korkudan ağlaması gereken,
    şemsiyeler var her tarafta, ve zehir, ve göbek bağları.

    Aklım başımda gidiyorum, gözlerimle, ayakkabılarımla,
    hiddetliyim, unutkanlıkla,
    gidiyorum ofislerin ve ortopedik kunduracıların arasından
    ve iplerdeki çamaşırlarla avlular:
    külotlar, havlular ve yavaş, kirli gözyaşlarla
    ağlayan gömlekler.

    Pablo Neruda
    ”Yeryüzünde İkinci Konaklama”dan
    Çeviren: İsmail Aksoy

  12. LA United States

    @DN

    Neruda was not exiled from Chile by a Communist regime (he was a Socialist), though he did spend a great deal of time out of the country as a diplomat. He died of cancer in the hospital shortly after the Fascist dictatorship took power in September if 1973.

  13. cleadice vanderville Denmark

    very great poem

    i think that this poem really affected my life and i am living to my full potential.. i waould just like to thak the author for changig my life and make t have made my ife that much better

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