This poem is by Pablo Neruda and I need help! It’s called The Ode To the Critic. How does he feel about critic?

Posted by admin on September 30th, 2009 filed in Gold against Oil

Ate
my words
the observed
next to the header,
lived with a verse,
with the light that came from my side.
Then
reached a critical move
and full of tongues,
and others, others came
blind or full of eyes,
some elegant
as carnations with red shoes,
other strictly
dressed carcasses,
some supporters
the king and his high monarchy
others had
entangled in the forehead
Marx and kicking in his beard,
, others were British,
and among all
launched
, with teeth and knives,
Dictionaries and other weapons black
appointments with respectable
launched
to my poor poetry contest
to the simple people
loved that:
and made it funnels,
the coils,
, the one hundred secured with pins,
, covered with the dust of the skeleton,
, filled with the ink,
The spat with soft
benignancy cat,
went to the gold watches,
protected and the sentencing,
him up against oil,
devoted wet treated
cocieron with the milk,
added small pebbles,
, vowels were deleted,
were killing him
, syllables and sighs,
and put the crumpled
a small package
carefully allocated to
to their attics, their cemeteries,
then
retreated to a one
enraged to madness
because it was not enough
popular for them
or infused with sweet disregard
by my lack of regular darkness
withdrew
everyone
and then
again,
with my poetry
come to life
women and men,
, fired again,
, built houses,
, ate bread
they divided the light
and united in love
lightning and ring.
And now,
perdonadme, gentlemen,
to interrupt this story
I am counting
and I will live
forever
with ordinary people.

He doesn’t care for them. they are nitpickers who do not grasp what he is writing. The common people understand him and his poetry and it is for them not the "Literary" critics who try to tear his poems apart that he writes.