We Are Many ~Pablo Neruda

Of the men who I am, who we are,
I can’t find a single one;
they’ve disappeared among my clothes,
they have left for another city.

When everything seems to be set
to show me off as intelligent,
the fool I always keep hidden
takes over all that I say.

At other times, I’ sleep
among distinguished people,
and when I look for my brave self,
a coward unknown to me
rushes to cover my skeleton
with a thousand fine excuses.

When a decent house catches fire,
instead of the fireman I summon,
an arsonist bursts on the scene,
and that’s me. What can I do?
What can I do to distinguish myself?
How can I pull myself together?

All the books that I read
are full of dazzling heroes,
always sure of themselves.
I die with envy of them:
and in films full of wind and bullets,
I goggle at the cowboys,
I even admire the horses.

But when I call for a hero,
out comes my lazy old self;
so I never know who I am,
nor how many I am or will be.
I’d love to be able to touch a bell
and summon the real me,
because if I really need myself,
I mustn’t disappear.

While I’m writing, I am far away;
and when I come back, I’ve gone.

I would like to know if others
go through the same things I do,
have as many selves as I have,
and see themselves similarly;

and when I have exhausted this problem
I am going to study so hard
that when I explain myself,
I will be talking geography

AFTER A WHILE (Veronica Shoftshall, 1971)

Να μάθεις πως όλα περνάνε και όλα αντέχονται. ΟΛΑ
Nα μάθεις πως όλα στην ζωή είναι στιγμές. Κράτα τις καλύτερες, μάθε από τις χειρότερες και προχώρα για να φτιάξεις καινούργιες


After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn…
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong

And you really do have worth…
And you learn and learn…

With every good-bye you learn.