10 Best Famous Octavio Paz Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Octavio Paz poems. This is a select list of the best famous Octavio Paz poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Octavio Paz poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of octavio paz poems.

• Octavio Paz Poems
• Octavio Paz Short Poems
• Octavio Paz Biography

Written by Octavio Paz | The Street It’s a long and silent street. I walk in the dark and trip and fall and get up and step blindly on the mute stones and dry leaves and someone behind me is also walking: if I stop, he stops; if I run,, he runs. I turn around: no one. Everything is black, there is no exit, and I turn and turn corners that always lead to the street where no one waits for me, no one follows, where I follow a man who trips and gets up and says when he sees me: no one.

Written by Octavio Paz | Between going and staying the day wavers Between going and staying the day wavers, in love with its own transparency. The circular afternoon is now a bay where the world in stillness rocks. All is visible and all elusive, all is near and can't be touched. Paper, book, pencil, glass, rest in the shade of their names. Time throbbing in my temples repeats the same unchanging syllable of blood. The light turns the indifferent wall into a ghostly theater of reflections. I find myself in the middle of an eye, watching myself in its blank stare. The moment scatters. Motionless, I stay and go: I am a pause.

Written by Octavio Paz | Humayun's Tomb To the debate of wasps the dialectic of monkeys the chirping of statistics it offers (tall pink flame made of stone and air and birds time at rest on the water) the architecture of silence

Written by Octavio Paz | Motion If you are the amber mare I am the road of blood If you are the first snow I am he who lights the hearth of dawn If you are the tower of night I am the spike burning in your mind If you are the morning tide I am the first bird's cry If you are the basket of oranges I am the knife of the sun If you are the stone altar I am the sacrilegious hand If you are the sleeping land I am the green cane If you are the wind's leap I am the buried fire If you are the water's mouth I am the mouth of moss If you are the forest of the clouds I am the axe that parts it If you are the profaned city I am the rain of consecration If you are the yellow mountain I am the red arms of lichen If you are the rising sun I am the road of blood

Written by Octavio Paz | from San Ildefonso Nocturne I am at the entrance to a tunnel These phrases drill through time. Perhaps I am that which waits at the end of the tunnel. I speak with eyes closed. Someone has planted a forest of magnetic needles in my eyelids, someone guides the thread of these words. The page has become an ants’ nest. The void has settled at the pit of my stomach. I fall endlessly through that void. I fall without falling. My hands are cold, my feet cold – but the alphabets are burning, burning. Space makes and unmakes itself. The night insists, the night touches my forehead, touches my thoughts. What does it want?