My Last Bucket List Author of the Year

Read two Pablo Neruda poem anthologies:  last night, finished The Book of Questions and earlier in the week, Intimacies Poems of Love.  Neither of them gave me a poem I wanted to read to book club members next week.  Nor did any of them provoke self-examination or personal identification with the themes.  Particularly, TBOQ seemed strained and contrived to me.  Written entirely as questions, these haiku like verses were constructed by putting one sensory perception against a dissonant other:  colors making sound, smells making noise.  They seemed autistic and not universally human.  They were more than the misunderstood curiosity of children, they were not allegorical, they were not the wandering nonsequitors of the elderly.  All together the anthology didn't present topics for meditations or musings.  Nor were his love poems romantic or erotic.  Sorry, bucket list, I have not found a key piece to my missing literary foundations.