September 23 marks the fiftieth anniversary of Pablo Neruda’s death at age 69, occurring twelve days after a brutal coup in Chile. The poet’s life, long tied to the Ricardo Eliecer Neftali Reyes Basoalto birth name, sits at a crossroads after the 1971 Nobel Prize in Literature. The prize reframed Neruda beyond its earlier communist associations, underscoring a shift in how his work and persona were perceived. A famous line from his poetry still resonates: “I like it when you’re quiet ’cause it’s like you don’t exist.” The collection Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, published in 1924, has defined decades of Neruda’s literary voice. Yet, feminist voices later reframed his legacy, accusing Neruda of silencing women. The call for silence around Chilean culture feels like a cry that would have been unimaginable in a different era.
All of this unfolds while questions linger about Neruda’s death: was it cancer, or was it the work of agents from a dictatorship under General Augusto Pinochet? The claim of poisoning emerged from Neruda’s driver and secretary, Manuel Araya, and his heirs have described it as a political crime. In recent months, a group of forensic experts released a report suggesting traces of a bacteria found in skeletal remains but not in the body itself. The judicial weight of these findings remains uncertain, and the case, overseen by Judge Paola Plaza González, seems suspended in a limbo of unanswered questions.
As the mystery deepens, the debate turns to how many Nerudas may still inhabit the same body. Was he a militant figure or simply a poet? Was he a cruel father or a participant in high-stakes political events, such as aiding 2,000 Republican exiles to Chile aboard the Winnipeg? Some contradictions appear in Pablo Larraín’s 2016 film, where the actor Luis Gnecco plays Neruda as someone wanted by the authorities, while secrecy and infidelity hover in the background.
Not long ago, President Gabriel Boric visited Chulalongkorn University in Thailand and read from the 20th poem of Neruda’s famous work to students: “Your chest is enough for my heart / My wings are enough for your freedom.” Across the Bay of Bengal, in Sri Lanka, Neruda’s earlier life included a controversial episode in 1927, which he recounted frankly in his memoir I Confess That I Lived, published in 1974. Neruda served as a diplomatic envoy in Ceylon and became entangled in a charged relationship with a woman from a marginalized Tamil community. The scene has been described as intensely problematic, with passages detailing intimate acts described as lacking consent and framed through a colonial gaze. Such passages have sparked fierce discussion about power, domination, and literary legacy.
appearance change
For years, readers and critics treated these moments with caution or ignored them, but shifts in gender discourse in Chile brought new scrutiny. A decade ago, journalist Carla Moreno Saldías featured Neruda on the cover of a fictional magazine and framed him amid debates about patriarchy and consent. His words became a flashpoint: society, critics argued, often condemns acts of sexual violence in theory yet remains permissive in practice. Soon after, a biography titled Neruda, The Poet’s Call, by Mark Eisner—an established translator of Neruda’s work into English—joined the conversation and addressed rape allegations openly.
The film Alborada, released in 2019 and directed by Asoka Handagama, portrays Neruda’s diplomatic role in a way that intensified public reactions. The filmmaker was compelled to reconsider portrayals that might glamorize or normalize harmful behavior. The controversy around naming Santiago airport after the poet also fueled debates among feminist groups who argued that Neruda’s legacy should be examined through a critical lens. Neruda’s health struggles, including hydrocephalus, and frictions within his family were highlighted as aspects of a more complicated human portrait, challenging the idea of a flawless hero. Handagama himself sought to humanize the narrative and move away from the pedestal some had placed Neruda upon.
New matters
The public dialogue continued. In 2022, Montserrat Martorell noted the tension between memory and judgment, asking whether Neruda should be reassessed through modern eyes or simply left as history. Isabel Allende joined the discussion last spring, stating that Neruda’s admission of rape deserved urgent scrutiny within feminist discourse, while also emphasizing that people are not merely one thing—neither hero nor villain. The broader question remained: should a celebrated literary figure be expunged, canceled, or recontextualized to reflect current ethical understandings?
As the fiftieth anniversary of Neruda’s death approached, a portion of the canon—the 20th poem from his landmark collection—was under renewed scrutiny. Some readers now resist approaching the verse with the same celebratory mood, aware that its lines carry a history of power and complexity that cannot be ignored. The conversation itself has become part of Neruda’s ongoing legacy, inviting readers to grapple with a more nuanced, multifaceted figure than the one many learned about in school.