This poem is about the figurehead of a ship. Like with salt and the bricklayer, in this ode Neruda takes something relatively commonplace and finds great artistic potential in it.

‘The little girl made of timber didn’t arrive by walking:’

LXVIII  From: ‘Cien sonetos de amor’

(Figurehead from a ship)

The little girl made of timber didn’t arrive by walking:

there she was, all of a sudden, sitting among the cobbles,

ancient flowers, of the sea, were a coronet on her forehead,

her gaze was filled by deep rooted sadness.

There she rested, gazing, at our empty existence,

the doing, and being, and going, and coming, all over Earth,

and day was discolouring its measure of petals.

She watched us, without seeing, the girl-child of timber.

The girl-child who was crowned by the ancient waters,

sat there gazing, with eyes overwhelmed:

she knew we are living in a distant trawl-net,

of time, and water, and waves, and sounds, and rain,

and don’t know if we’re beings, or if we are her dreaming.

This is the fable of the girl who’s made of timber.

-Pablo Neruda

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