News at Eleven: "World's End," like much Neruda, contains

bewildering multitudes. Some poems incite, others console, as the poet--maestro of his own response and impresario of ours--looks inward and out. "The century of the exiled,/the book of the exiled./The brown century, the black book,/this is what I must leave/written and open in the book,/exhuming it from the century/and bleeding it in the book," he writes in "Saddest Century," one of the final poems here, "those who keep leaving behind/their loves and their mistakes/thinking that maybe maybe/and knowing never never/and it was my turn to sob/this dusty wail/for those who lost the earth/and to celebrate with my brothers . . . the victorious buildings,/the harvests of new bread."

from Los Angeles Times: 'World's End' by Pablo Neruda

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