Ode to Cold Tomato Sauce Out of the Jar

I was too sick today to make the tomato sauce I had planned on making, so instead I ate Paul Newmans Tomato sauce from the jar with a spoon (number 1 on my six weird food things about me) and tried my hand at translating one of my favorite Pablo Neruda Poems.

Ode to the Tomato
By: Pablo Neruda

The streets
overflow with Tomatoes
noon,
summer,
light breaks in two
tomato halves,
the streets
running
with juice.
In December
the tomato
unleashes itself,
invades kitchens,
occupies lunches,
at rest,
perches
on sideboards,
between glasses,
butter dishes,
and blue salt shakers.
It has
its own brilliance,
a cordial majesty.
A shame that we must assassinate:
sink
the knife
into its living pulp,
it is a red
viscera,
a sun,
fresh,
deep,
and inexhaustible,
fills the salads
of Chile,
happily married
with the pale onion,
and to celebrate
let the oil,
essential offspring
of the olive tree,
fall over its yawning hemispheres
the pimento
adding its fragrance,
and salt, its magnetism:
it is the wedding of the day
the parsley
hoists
its little flags
the potatoe
boil boisterously,
and the roast
beats down doors
with its aroma:
its time!
Lets go!
and on the table
in the belt of summer
the tomato,
star of earth,
stars
replete
and copious,
show us
their convolution,
their canals,
the distinguished plenitude
and abundance
boneless,
without husk,
without scales nor thorns
offer us
the gift
of fervent color
and the totality of freshness


Ode al Tomate
De: Pablo Neruda

La calle
se llenó de tomates,
mediodia,
verano,
la luz
se parte
en dos
mitades
de tomate,
corre
por las calles
el jugo.
En diciembre
se desata
el tomate,
invade
las cocinas,
entra por los almuerzos,
se sienta
reposado
en los aparadores,
entre los vasos,
las matequilleras,
los saleros azules.
Tiene
luz propia,
majestad benigna.
Debemos, por desgracia,
asesinarlo:
se hunde
el cuchillo
en su pulpa viviente,
es una roja
viscera,
un sol
fresco,
profundo,
inagotable,
llena las ensaladas
de Chile,
se casa alegremente
con la clara cebolla,
y para celebrarlo
se deja
caer
aceite,
hijo
esencial del olivo,
sobre sus hemisferios entreabiertos,
agrega
la pimienta
su fragancia,
la sal su magnetismo:
son las bodas
del día
el perejil
levanta
banderines,
las papas
hierven vigorosamente,
el asado
golpea
con su aroma
en la puerta,
es hora!
vamos!
y sobre
la mesa, en la cintura
del verano,
el tomate,
aastro de tierra,
estrella
repetida
y fecunda,
nos muestra
sus circunvoluciones,
sus canales,
la insigne plenitud
y la abundancia
sin hueso,
sin coraza,
sin escamas ni espinas,
nos entrega
el regalo
de su color fogoso
y la totalidad de su frescura.