Pic of the Day

A Certain Weariness

A Certain Weariness 

By Pablo Neruda

 

I don't want to be tired alone, 

I want you to grow tired along with me. 

How can we not be weary 

of the kind of fine ash 

which falls on cities in autumn, 

something which doesn't quite burn, 

which collects in jackets 

and little by little settles, 

discoloring the heart. 

 

I'm tired of the harsh sea 

and the mysterious earth. 

I'm tired of chickens 

we never know what they think, 

and they look at us with dry eyes 

as though we were unimportant. 

 

Let us for once - I invite you - 

be tired of so many things, 

of awful aperitifs, 

of a good education. 

 

Tired of not going to France, 

tired of at least one or two days in the week 

which have always the same names 

like dishes on the table, 

and of getting up-what for? 

and going to bed without glory. 

 

Let us finally tell the truth: 

we never thought much 

of these days 

that are like houseflies or camels. 

 

I have seen some monuments 

raised to titans, 

to donkeys of industry. 

They're there, motionless, 

with their swords in their hands 

on their gloomy horses. 

I'm tired of statues. 

Enough of all that stone. 

 

If we go on filling up 

the world with still things, 

how can the living live? 

 

I am tired of remembering. 

 

I want men, when they're born, 

to breathe in naked flowers, 

fresh soil, pure fire, 

not just what everyone breathes. 

 

Leave the newborn in peace! 

Leave room for them to live! 

Don't think for them, 

don't read them the same book; 

let them discover the dawn 

and name their own kisses. 

 

I want you to be weary with me 

of all that is already well done, 

of all that ages us. 

 

Of all that lies in wait 

to wear out other people. 

Let us be weary of what kills 

and of what doesn't want to die. 

 

 

About the Poem

 

Pablo Neruda’s poem “A Certain Weariness” (original Spanish title: “Cansancio”) is a brief yet profound meditation on the nature of human fatigue—not just physical tiredness, but an existential weariness that creeps in when one confronts the ceaseless demands of life, selfhood, and time. The tone is introspective and slightly melancholic. It is not a dramatic despair but a soft, measured surrender to a moment of emotional depletion. The poem’s mood is quiet, tender, and philosophical—more reflective than sorrowful.

 

Neruda expresses a feeling that goes beyond ordinary tiredness. It is the soul’s fatigue—the weariness that stems from the need to perform, to act, to continually be someone in the world. There is an underlying longing for retreat, even erasure—just to stop doing and being for a while. This is a subtle nod toward the idea of non-being or nothingness, not as despair but as relief. In being always himself, the speaker feels alienated—trapped in his own name, his own presence, his own continuity. This can be interpreted as a critique of the burdens of self-consciousness and identity.

 

Pablo Neruda often wrote poems about love, politics, nature, and death, but he also explored solitude and alienation with great lyrical depth. In “A Certain Weariness,” he enters a deeply private space—a confession of burnout and disconnection. It reflects the same existential concerns found in poets like Rilke or even Camus, where consciousness itself becomes exhausting.

 

“A Certain Weariness” is not merely about being tired—it’s about being overwhelmed by the sheer weight of existing. In it, Neruda captures a universally human moment: when the performance of life feels too heavy, and all one wants is to dissolve for a while into silence, into stillness, into the unknown.

 

 

About the Poet

 

Pablo Neruda, born Ricardo Eliécer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto on July 12, 1904, in Parral, Chile, was one of the most influential and beloved poets of the 20th century. Writing with extraordinary lyricism and political passion, Neruda’s work spanned love, politics, nature, and the human condition—imbued always with a deep sense of sensuality and moral conviction.

 

Neruda began publishing poetry in his teens, adopting the pen name Pablo Neruda—partly to avoid conflict with his father, who disapproved of his literary ambitions. His breakout collection, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair(1924), written while he was still a young man, gained international acclaim for its raw intimacy and bold eroticism. From these early romantic verses, his poetry evolved into more politically charged and surrealist work, particularly after his experiences as a diplomat and his travels in Asia and Europe.

 

A committed Marxist, Neruda served as a Chilean consul in several countries and later became a Senator for the Chilean Communist Party. His political activism—particularly his support of the Spanish Republicans during the Spanish Civil War and his criticism of fascism and imperialism—heavily shaped his later poetry, including the monumental Canto General (1950), a sweeping epic chronicling Latin America’s history and identity.

 

Despite political persecution that forced him into hiding and exile, Neruda remained a cultural icon in Chile and abroad. In 1971, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, honored as a poet “who brings alive a continent’s destiny and dreams.”

 

Neruda died on September 23, 1973, just days after the military coup in Chile led by Augusto Pinochet. Though officially attributed to cancer, his death remains the subject of ongoing investigation and speculation due to possible foul play.

 

Today, Pablo Neruda is remembered not only as a literary giant but as a man who lived at the intersection of beauty and resistance—his words as likely to speak of a lover’s body as of a people’s struggle. His legacy endures in the verses that continue to move hearts across languages and generations.

Pic of the Day

Immersed, Absorbed, Preoccupied…Obsessed?

I did not sleep well last night. I began working yesterday, when I had other things to do, on a project I had started weeks ago. I became totally engrossed in what I was creating that I kept tweaking it. I kept thinking, “I’ll finish this part and stop for the day,” only for more ideas to formulate in my mind that had to be added immediately before I forgot. I thought I’d finished it last night, but as I couldn’t stop thinking about the project and wanting to add more. I jotted down more notes for what needed to be added. Finally, I forced my mind to quiet and allow me to get some sleep. 

It’s rare that I get so preoccupied with a project. Usually, it only happens when I’m working on a class preparing a lecture or a particular blog post. This was different. This was a project for me. I’ll share the final project with a few special people in my life, but I’m not ready to finish it yet. There’s still more to do, but I have to work today. I have papers to grade, classes s to prepare for, and what seems like a dozen other things I put off yesterday.

Do you ever get absorbed by something to the point it becomes an obsession?

Pic of the Day

Carrying the Cross as We Are

And he said to all, "If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it."

-Luke 9:23-24

These words of Jesus are both challenging and deeply comforting. He doesn’t invite us into an easy life or a shallow version of discipleship. He calls us into a life of daily surrender, of intentional self-denial, and of wholehearted following. Notice the word “daily.” This isn’t a one-time event or a mountaintop moment—it’s a consistent, everyday decision to lay down our own agendas, desires, and pride in order to walk in step with Christ. Matthew 16:25, a direct parallel to Luke 9:24, emphasizes the paradox of true life in surrender, saying, “For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

Jesus’ words here in Luke and Matthew are radical, and they are for everyone. When Jesus says in Luke, “If anyone would come after me…” there are no exceptions or footnotes. This invitation includes us, as we are—fully LGBTQ+, fully beloved, fully called. In Romans 8:38–39, Paul says, “For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” To know this should be a deeply comforting assurance that God’s love is unshakable—no matter what others say.

The “cross” we are called to bear is not merely a symbol of hardship—it represents a path of sacrificial love and obedience. Galatians 2:20 says, “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” In Jesus’ day, the cross was an instrument of death, and so this invitation is radical: to die and be reborn through baptism is to do so that we may truly live.

For many LGBTQ+ Christians, the idea of “denying self” has been used wrongly, sometimes as a weapon. But Jesus isn’t calling us to deny who we are, who He created us to be. God promises a personal, affirming promise that speaks to identity and belonging in Isaiah 43:1, “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” He’s not asking us to deny our identity, our love, our truth. He’s asking us, like all His followers, to deny the parts of all our selves that pull us away from love, grace, and trust in Him—things like pride, fear, bitterness, or the temptation to conform to the world’s rejection.

In a world that urges us to seek our own happiness and preserve our own lives, Jesus turns that message upside down. True life, He says, comes through surrender. In Romans 12:1, Paul tells us, “I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” Paradoxically, when we lose ourselves in Him—our rights, our plans, our self-will—we find a richer, eternal life in return.

Taking up our cross may already be familiar. Perhaps you’ve carried the weight of being misunderstood by your church, judged by others, or even wrestling with God over your place in the Body of Christ, but in John 10:10, Jesus says, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” Here’s the beauty: Jesus sees the burdens we carry, and still, He calls us to follow Him, not in shame, but in freedom. The cross we carry daily isn’t about being less than; it’s about laying down everything that keeps us from fully knowing we are loved, chosen, and sent.

When we live openly in our identity and our faith, we’re not just losing our own life—we’re giving it away for something greater. Psalm 139:13–14 says, “For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully set apart. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.” We’re participating in Christ’s upside-down kingdom, where the last are first, the rejected are embraced, and the wounded become healers.

Good Friday, a reminder that Jesus took up the cross and was crucified for our sins, is just two weeks away. John 19:17-18 tells us that Jesus ”went out, bearing his own cross…they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, and Jesus between them.” Between now and Good Friday, Let us think about one way we’ve had to carry a “cross” because of our identity. Offer that experience to Jesus today—not to erase it, but to let Him transform it into something sacred. Whether it’s our time, pride, comfort, or control—lay it down and follow Him there. Then, reach out to someone else who may need to hear: You are loved, and you belong.

Pic of the Day

Moment of Zen: Swimming

Pic of the Day

Finally, It’s Friday!

I’m so glad it’s Friday, and it’s a vacation day for me. I have some vacation time I have to take by the end of our fiscal year (May 31) or lose it, so with the exception of next Wednesday, I will be taking off every Wednesday and Friday through the end of May.

While I mostly plan to relax and read over the weekend, I have some work to do for my class. My students’ research paper was due yesterday, and I need to grade those. I also need to catch up on grading their journals and prepare the final exam. Next week is the last week of classes, and I also need to prepare my final lectures. None of these tasks are difficult, but time consuming.

I also need to do some housework and laundry this weekend. Thinking of all I need to do, it might not be that relaxing of a weekend, but I’ll try my best to set aside some time just for me.

I forgot to post an Isabella Pic of the Week, so here you go:

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Just Another Thursday

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Propaganda and the Male Aesthetic

Henry Cavill

The idealized male physique, often described as an "inverted triangle" or "V-taper," features broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a strong, muscular build with low body fat, a physique seen in many male athletes, models, and actors. The ideal male body has evolved throughout history, with earlier periods valuing strength and athleticism, and more recent times emphasizing a lean, muscular look. Media and social trends play a significant role in shaping perceptions of the "ideal" male physique. 

The idealized male aesthetic—emphasizing physical perfection, muscularity, and strength—has long served as a powerful tool for propaganda, shaped and reshaped to fit the political and cultural needs of various societies throughout history. This image of the “perfect man” functions not only as a model of physical excellence but also as a symbol of ideological values: power, discipline, dominance, and purity.

Augustus of Prima Porta

The roots of the male aesthetic ideal can be traced back to ancient civilizations like Greece and Rome. In Classical Greece, the male body was idolized in art and sculpture (e.g., Polykleitos’ Doryphoros), representing harmony, rationality, and civic virtue. Strength was linked to moral integrity and democratic citizenship. Rome adapted this, associating the powerful male body with imperial authority and conquest, as seen in statues of emperors like Augustus, who were idealized as youthful and godlike.

The Renaissance revived classical ideals, presenting the strong male body as a symbol of divine beauty and human potential. Artists like Michelangelo, with his David, reinforced the link between physical strength and spiritual or moral superiority. This era celebrated the “universal man”—physically capable, intellectually refined, and culturally elite.

Arno Breker, The Great Torchbearer (1939)

As nationalism surged in the 19th century, the strong male body became central to shaping national identities. In Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, propaganda weaponized the male aesthetic. Mussolini was often shown shirtless, working or posing, to convey virility, labor, and strength as core values of the state. Hitler’s regime promoted Aryan ideals through statues, films (like Leni Riefenstahl’s Olympia), and youth programs, equating physical perfection with racial superiority and moral righteousness.

“Worker and Kolkhoz Woman” was made by Vera Mukhina in 1937 for the World Fair in Paris. It was meant to overshadow the Nazi German pavilion that was located opposite to Russian pavilion in the fair. In the end, both pavilions won a prize, to keep the political balance.

In Soviet propaganda, the male worker or soldier, muscular and stoic, symbolized the power of the proletariat and the communist state. These images weren’t just about fitness—they were loaded with meaning: loyalty, discipline, and the ability to serve the state.

Even today, the muscular male figure continues to be used in propaganda, especially in authoritarian regimes. Leaders are often depicted engaging in rugged, physical activities—Vladimir Putin’s shirtless horse-riding is a modern example—projecting vitality, control, and masculinity as signs of leadership and national strength.

"For Your Boy" was one of many posters issued during World War I to encourage support of the war.

In the West, while the use of male aesthetics has shifted more toward consumer and celebrity culture, it still has political undercurrents. Military recruitment posters, sports ads, and action films all reinforce a vision of the male body as capable, heroic, and dominant.

Throughout history, the idealized male body has served not only as a cultural aspiration but also as a political weapon. Whether sculpted in marble or splashed across a billboard, it reflects the values and anxieties of the society that produces it—always more than flesh, always a symbol of something bigger.