Saturday Shinzo Talks by Will Holcomb, St. Louis, MO January 21, 2017
NERUDA POEM: TOO MANY NAMES (DEMASIADOS NOMBRES)
Good morning. We were going to begin a discussion of the Metta Sutta today, but Keith requested we defer that
for one week, because he and others are at the Women’s March downtown, and they wanted to wait to start that
topic. So we have been talking about the Diamond Sutra, and every now and then we’ve talked about a poem. I
thought today would be a good day to talk about a poem that Carol brought to my attention. In my opinion it could
be just another chapter in the Diamond Sutra. It would fit right in.
I thought I could read a little section from the Diamond Sutra just to remind you the flavor of that before reading
the poem. This is from Chapter Six of the Diamond Sutra.
“When a person hears the words and phrases of this sutra and is ready for it to happen, a pure faith in
clarity can awaken within their minds. How do I know this? Because this person must have discarded all
arbitrary notions of the existence of a personal self, of other people, or of a universal self. Otherwise,
their minds would still grasp after such relative conceptions. Furthermore, these people must have
already discarded all arbitrary notions of the nonexistence of a personal self, other people, or a universal
self. Otherwise, their minds would still be grasping at those notions. Therefore, anyone who seeks total
awakening should discard not only all conceptions of their own selfhood, or other selves, or of a
universal self, but they should all discard all notions of the nonexistence of such concepts. When the
Buddha explains these things (this is the Buddha talking) using such concepts and ideas people should
remember the unreality of such concepts and ideas. They should recall that, in teaching spiritual truths,
the Buddha always uses these concepts and ideas in the way that a raft is used to cross the river. Once
the river has been crossed over the raft is of no more use and should be discarded. These arbitrary
concepts and ideas about spiritual things need to be explained to us as we seek to obtain awakening.
However, ultimately these arbitrary conceptions can be discarded. Think Subhuti, isn’t it even more
obvious that we should also give up our conceptions of nonexistent things?” I think that little section gives
a good flavor of the Diamond Sutra.
I’ll read this poem which was written by Pablo Neruda. While those words from the Diamond Sutra were still fresh
in your mind, I thought I would read the poem. I’ll read it slowly since you don’t have a copy to look at. It’s called
Demasiados Nombres or Too Many Names. This translation is by Steven Mitchell.
Monday is tangled up with Tuesday
and the week with the year:
time can’t be cut with your tired scissors,
and all the names of the day
are rubbed out by the waters of the night.
No one can be named Pedro
no one is Rosa or Maria,
all of us are dust or sand,
all of us are rain in the rain.
They have talked to me of Venezuelas,
of Paraguays and Chiles,
I don’t know what they’re talking about:
I’m aware of the earth’s skin
and I know it doesn’t have a name.
When I lived with the roots
I liked them more than the flowers,
and when I talked with a stone
it rang like a bell.
The spring is so long
that it lasts all winter:
time lost its shoes:
a year contains four centuries.
When I sleep all these nights,
what am I named or not named?
And when I wake up who am I
If I wasn’t I when I slept?
This means that we have barely
disembarked into life,
that we’ve only now just been born,
let’s not fill our mouths
with so many uncertain names,
with so many sad labels,
with so many pompous letters,
with so much yours and mine,
with so much signing of papers.
I intend to confuse things,
to unite them, make them new-born,
intermingle them, undress them,
until the light of the world
has the unity of the ocean,
a generous wholeness,
a fragrance alive and crackling.
We can talk a little more about the parts of that poem since I think it does come in and fairly recognizable
sections, but I’d like to say a few words about Pablo Neruda, who was born in Chile in 1904, and died in 1973. He
came to fame relatively early in his life. He was writing poems when he was 10 and by 18 years of age he had
published 20 highly erotic love poems that were wildly popular, making him almost a rock star as a teenager. He
went on to write thousands of poems throughout his life. He wasn’t only a poet; he was gifted with language and
used this gift in the diplomatic core for Chile. He served in various locations throughout the world, and this gave
him access to a wide range of cultures and people. He was involved in diplomacy throughout most of his life, and
was awarded a Nobel Prize in literature. This was controversial at the time because he was a self-proclaimed
Communist, and ran afoul of many people on the committee. He was aligned with Salvador Allende, who was the
Leftist leader of Chile until he was over thrown by Augusto Pinochet, an event that was said to be supported by
the CIA. This poem is found in a collection that was translated by Stephen Mitchell, and is from his more mature
years.
The poem seems to divide itself up into sections that examine or question various concepts that we might take for
granted. Just like the Diamond Sutra is a questioning of concepts. The last third of the poem is more like a vow.
It’s a response to the examination, to the questioning. I’ll read it a section at a time again since you don’t have it in
front of you.
As it starts off, he’s talking about the divisions of time.
Monday is tangled up with Tuesday
and the week with the year:
time can’t be cut with your tired scissors,
and all the names of the day
are rubbed out by the waters of the night.
Then the next section is talking about the concepts of self, or persons.
No one can be named Pedro
no one is Rosa or Maria,
all of us are dust or sand,
all of us are rain in the rain.
Then he talks about nation states, political entities – something he was very familiar with by this time in his life
since he had been a diplomat.
They have talked to me of Venezuelas,
of Paraguays and Chiles,
I don’t know what they’re talking about:
I’m aware of the earth’s skin
and I know it doesn’t have a name.
Then this curious little section where he seems to be discussing context and conditions of our perceptions.
When I lived with the roots
I liked them more than the flowers,
and when I talked with a stone
it rang like a bell.
This section talks about the durations of time, or our ideas about time.
The spring is so long
that it lasts all winter:
time lost its shoes:
a year contains four centuries.
Then a little section about the concept of self.
When I sleep all these nights,
what am I named or not named?
And when I wake up who am I
If I wasn’t I when I slept?
That’s a little awkward in English. It’s a little bit more sonorous in Spanish. Pardon my bad Spanish.
Cuando duermo todos las noches
Como me llamo o no me llamo
E cuando me espirito quen soy
Si no era yo cuando dormea.
For the remainder of the poem, he shifts into a response, a prescription for these observations.
This means that we have barely
disembarked into life,
that we’ve only now just been born,
let’s not fill our mouths
with so many uncertain names,
with so many sad labels,
with so many pompous letters,
with so much yours and mine,
with so much signing of papers.
Continuing on observations, it’s almost like a personal vow that he’s making, or we might call it, a precept.
I intend to confuse things,
to unite them, make them new-born,
intermingle them, undress them,
until the light of the world
has the unity of the ocean,
a generous wholeness,
a fragrance alive and crackling.
It seemed to me like the message from the Diamond Sutra – not getting caught up in concepts – is very similar to
what Neruda is saying in this poem. I found it striking.