The news that Pablo Neruda Foundation archivists had found 21 previously unpublished poems by the inimitable and amorous Chilean poet—who, according to newish reports from the Chilean government, may have been assassinated (he died less than three weeks after General Augusto Pinochet’s 1973 coup)—did to the hearts of many readers what spring does to the cherry trees.
The worry in such situations, though, is that the poems will be bad.
A cynic considers the market. Pablo Neruda is one of five poets most Americans can name (along with Edgar Allan Poe, Shel Silverstein, Sylvia Plath, and Dr. Seuss). The foundation probably found a bunch of scraps crumpled in the back of some rolltop desk in storage—they would hardly not publish them…
