First Post

I am stealing the title of my blog from one of my favorite poets, Pablo Neruda. He wrote a poem known as "I Do Not Love You" but formally called Poem XVII. It is a beautiful and honest love poem. I will include it at the end of this post in its entirety with all necessary credit to both Mr. Neruda and the translator.
The line my title comes from is this, "I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul."
Whatever Mr. Neruda intended, I read the line "between the shadow and the soul" as something intimate and private and quiet. "in secret" It is the soft, dark velvet space, where you keep the sweet secrets of love and longing, of hurt and heartbreak, of pain which leaves wounds and scars. As a writer, that is the space that we write from. If we are to write anything that moves our readers, we must dive into that space between the shadow and the soul daily, exposing our wounds and scars and heartbreaks. We do this, in part, I do this, in part for my own catharsis. I also do this in order that I might reach other souls with my words, in hopes of connecting and allowing someone else out there to feel not so all alone.
It is not easy, always living between the shadow and the soul, but it is immensely rewarding and ultimately healing.
I suppose this blog will include themes of the writing life, but will also be a place where I dive into the space between shadow and soul and share thoughts. I hope they will be interesting, perhaps a little funny or entertaining, and hopefully thought provoking.
with my love,
Jessica Denhart

XVII (I do not love you...)

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Pablo Neruda

Translated by Stephen Tapscott