Neruda finds beauty in the act of critique:
it was
compact,
solid,
arched
like a white ship,
half open
like a new rose,
it was
to my eyes
a mill,
from each page
of my book
sprouted the flower of bread;
I was blinded by my own rays
I was insufferably
self-satisfied,
my feet left the ground
and I was walking
on clouds,
and then,
comrade criticism,
you brought me down
to earth,
a single word
showed me suddenly
how much I had left undone,
how far I could go
with my strength and tenderness,
sail with the ship of my song. (p. 185)
Neruda shows us how powerful ego can overcome our better judgment with physical images of both strength ("Like a white ship") and beauty ("like a new rose"). By comparing a simple open book with these images, he shows us how blind we can be to our own work.
Neruda brings in the image also of the book "sprouted the flower of bread," as if to say that not only are the words something created, but are meant to provide sustenance to their readers. He goes on to extol the virtues of additional experience added into one's own, to expand (perhaps grow, like yeast bread) the meaning of the words to make it more relative and develop a stronger impact. And I love the ending:
I will not learn enough.
With the light of other lives,
many lives will live in my song. (p. 189)
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology