...for this extended absence. I'm working on the next issue of PdS. Normal service will be resumed over the next few days.

Speaking of which, I've been reading Adam Feinstein's biography of Pablo Neruda, Pablo Neruda: a Passion for Life. It's good stuff. Feinstein tells again the tale of what happened when Pinochet's soldiers turned up at Neruda's house soon after Pinochet's coup in Chile in 1973:

“A bus loaded with helmeted soldiers had arrived at Isla Negra late at night and ordered everyone out of the house. Neruda was in bed upstairs. From his bedroom window, he could see the soldiers, holding lanterns, examining the trees and plants in the garden. It must have been the most miserable experience to see the military, whom he loathed, invading what he thought of as the closest place to pradaise on earth (…) The commander of the unit asked for Neruda. They told him where he was and he went up cautiously, his weapon in his hand. Then something extraordinary occurred. The young soldier suddenly found himself face to face with Neruda, and this disconcerted him. Neruda looked at him and said: ‘Look around – there’s only one thing of danger for you here – poetry.’ The soldier removed his helmet, respectfully, muttered ‘Forgive me, Señor Neruda,’ and withdrew, taking his soldiers with him. They had not broken anything in the house.”

The stuff of legend. But there's also this, about Neruda's first wife:

"Despite the fact that Maruca had become very weak towards the end of her pregnancy, Neruda continued to party as wildly as ever".

And this:

"While Maruca spent hours lovingly and dutifully singing lullabies in Dutch to her sick baby daughter, Neruda was secretly meeting his new love, Delia del Carril..."

Their child later died. What a great guy (though he did do some great things). Like millions of others, I've always enjoyed Neruda's love poetry, but I'm not sure I can respect it any more after reading this. I was talking last week to a wise friend who tells me that you have to be somewhat selfish if you are going to achieve your personal ambitions. Well, it sounds like Neruda had learned that lesson early on, as he set about turning his life into the epic story it eventually became.
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