Oda a la cebolla

As the great Chilean poet has dedicated a full poem to the bulb, I will give it a full blog dedication. Pablo Neruda is famous for his love poems and to a lesser extent his Marxist ideology. We see in his "Ode to the Onion" a gustatory love for a plant species so commonly used in most any kitchen.



The onion has almost become humanized, with its ability to make make us cry, an ability lost, along with its opaqueness, upon its sweating in the pan. So harmonious is its relation with the pan and oil that the very aroma causes a salivatory response. I won't even try to describe the onion with my own words, because Neruda has so eloquently done so already.

I will however, comment on the onion's diversity and adaptability. It can be made to stick out or blend in. Be repugnant in its smell or caramelize to generate mouth watering flavour. It can be masked as a base, or underscored as the kicker. It can be sharp or mild. The onion can compliment sweet or sour, or even both.





Without further ado, I present "Oda a la cebolla" taken from this website. This poem was certainly not written to be analyzed and desconstructed but rather, enjoyed in the hopes of furthering the appreciation for the onion.



"Oda a la cebolla / Ode to the Onion”

Cebolla,
luminosa redoma,
pétalo a pétalo
se formó tu hermosura,
escamas de crystal te acrecentaron
y en el secreto de la tierra oscura
se redondeó tu vientre de rocío.
Bajo la tierra
fue el milagro
y cuando apareció
tu torpe tallo verde,
y nacieron
tus hojas como espadas en el huerto,
la tierra acumuló su poderío
mostrando tu desnuda transparencia,
y como en Afrodita el mar remoto
duplicó la magnolia
levantando sus senos,
la tierra
así te hizo,
cebolla,
clara como un planeta,
y destinada ,
a relucir ,
constelación constante,
redonda rosa de agua,
sobre
la mesa
de las pobres gentes.

Nos hiciste llorar sin afligirnos.
Yo cuanto existe celebré, cebolla,
pero para mi eres
más hermosa que un ave
de plumas cegadoras
eres para mis ojos
globo celeste, copa de platino,
baile inmóvil
de anémona nevada

y vive la fragancia de la tierra
en tu naturaleza cristalina.


Onion,
luminous flask,
your beauty formed
petal by petal,
crystal scales expanded you
and in the secrecy of the dark earth
your belly grew round with dew.
Under the earth
the miracle
happened
and when your clumsy
green stem appeared,
and your leaves were born
like swords
in the garden,
the earth heaped up her power
showing your naked transparency,
and as the remote sea
in lifting the breasts of Aphrodite
duplicating the magnolia,
so did the earth
make you,
onion
clear as a planet
and destined
to shine,
constant constellation,
round rose of water,
upon
the table
of the poor.

You make us cry without hurting us.
I have praised everything that exists,
but to me, onion, you are
more beautiful than a bird
of dazzling feathers,
heavenly globe, platinum goblet,
unmoving dance
of the snowy anemone

and the fragrance of the earth lives
in your crystalline nature.



--Stephen Mitchell