I would not fill the glasses that Neruda's bowls reminded me of with intoxicating wines, but with intoxicating ones. Wines that beat and create torment, that also drive away sleep, but do not call forth the day. Wines that make the nights last long and too long. I would, like Neruda, distribute those glasses to the bishop, the banker, the colonel, and the rich from here and there. Not to specific people, but to symbols that the bad among them embodied, and the good ones failed to change the terrible impression. Neruda put scraps of iron, ashes, and tears in the bishop's bowl, and I would fill his glass with sparkling wine.
Sparkling wine with no pearls
Bishops are the successors of the apostles. Christ sent them to share his teachings, but without the ceremonial robes and insignia by which bishops are recognized today.The bubbles, or pearls, in the sparkling wine reminded me of the tears Neruda used to fill the bishops' bowl, but I would remove those tears, pierce the cork like they pierce condoms in the movie The Priest's Children, and let the pearls come out of the sparkling wine. I would fill the banker's glass with a red wine that resembles Neruda's blood from Almeria in color, wine from a messy cellar, infected with the wild yeast brettanomyces.
By the smell of the farm and horse sweat, you can recognize wines with a bret that appears when the barrels are not clean, and next to them are potatoes, cabbage and motor oil. The order that bankers are looking for is in the repayment of loans, so let the wine for them be the result of only regular payments. Bankers do not care about human destinies. They have shown this by offering to postpone the repayment of loans, but keep the interest. Whoever accepts their offer will breathe easier for a few months, but then will have to struggle much longer to pay off the accumulated debt.
A spritzer made out of bad wine
To the colonel, the symbol of corporals and sergeants who, without knowledge or school, reached high ranks and cashed in on them well, I offer a spritzer of wine that is simply not drinkable. I like a spritzer made of wines that are good for that cocktail, those with delicate aromas, more pronounced fine acids and lower alcohol. Let the colonels pour water into undrinkable wines. They don't know much about them either. The glass for ambassadors, ministers, terrible guests, ladies from pleasant meetings and tea parties, as Neruda explained who are “the rich from here and there,” can be empty. They don't understand wine either.
Reading what I wrote, I wonder if Ricardo Eliézer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto, that is the real name of the brilliant Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, really died in 1973 and wrote Almeria in 1938, or if he is now among us and simply paints what he sees.