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Pablo Neruda - Ode To A Large Tuna In The Market
Work rating: Low

Here, 
among the market vegetables, 
this torpedo 
from the ocean 
depths, 
a missile 
that swam, 
now 
lying in front of me 
dead. 

Surrounded 
by the earth`s green froth 
—these lettuces, 
bunches of carrots— 
only you 
lived through 
the sea`s truth, survived 
the unknown, the 
unfathomable 
darkness, the depths 
of the sea, 
the great 
abyss, 
le grand abîme, 
only you: 
varnished 
black-pitched 
witness 
to that deepest night. 

Only you: 
dark bullet 
barreled 
from the depths, 
carrying 
only 
your 
one wound, 
but resurgent, 
always renewed, 
locked into the current, 
fins fletched 
like wings 
in the torrent, 
in the coursing 
of 
the 
underwater 
dark, 
like a grieving arrow, 
sea-javelin, a nerveless 
oiled harpoon. 

Dead 
in front of me, 
catafalqued king 
of my own ocean; 
once 
sappy as a sprung fir 
in the green turmoil, 
once seed 
to sea-quake, 
tidal wave, now 
simply 
dead remains; 
in the whole market 
yours 
was the only shape left 
with purpose or direction 
in this 
jumbled ruin 
of nature; 
you are 
a solitary man of war 
among these frail vegetables, 
your flanks and prow 
black 
and slippery 
as if you were still 
a well-oiled ship of the wind, 
the only 
true 
machine 
of the sea: unflawed, 
undefiled, 
navigating now 
the waters of death.
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