Ενα ποιήμα με χαρακτήρα για τον χαρακτήρα

Θέλω να βάλω εδώ ένα απο τα αγαπημένα μου ποιήματα, οχι πως διαβάζω συχνά ποίηση, απλά μερικά καταφέρνουν να σου μιλούν κατευθείαν στη ψυχή.
Το ποιήμα είναι του Pablo Neruda και βάζω την αγγλική μετάφραση αν και πιστεύω οτι στα ισπανικά που γράφτηκε αρχικά θα ακουγόταν πολύ πιο ωραία.
Σταματήστε για μια στιγμή, διαβάστε το ποιήμα αυτό και σκεφτείτε αν ταιριάζει καθόλου με τον εαυτό σας.












We Are Many
by Pablo Neruda

Of the many men whom I am, whom we are,
I cannot settle on a single one.
They are lost to me under the cover of clothing
They have departed for another city.

When everything seems to be set
to show me off as a man of intelligence,
the fool I keep concealed on my person
takes over my talk and occupies my mouth.

On other occasions, I am dozing in the midst
of people of some distinction,
and when I summon my courageous self,
a coward completely unknown to me
swaddles my poor skeleton
in a thousand tiny reservations.

When a stately home bursts into flames,
instead of the fireman I summon,
an arsonist bursts on the scene,
and he is I. There is nothing I can do.
What must I do to distinguish myself?
How can I put myself together?

All the books I read
lionize dazzling hero figures,
brimming with self-assurance.
I die with envy of them;
and, in films where bullets fly on the wind,
I am left in envy of the cowboys,
left admiring even the horses.

But when I call upon my DASHING BEING,
out comes the same OLD LAZY SELF,
and so I never know just WHO I AM,
nor how many I am, nor WHO WE WILL BE BEING.
I would like to be able to touch a bell
and call up my real self, the truly me,
because if I really need my proper self,
I must not allow myself to disappear.

While I am writing, I am far away;
and when I come back, I have already left.
I should like to see if the same thing happens
to other people as it does to me,
to see if as many people are as I am,
and if they seem the same way to themselves.
When this problem has been thoroughly explored,
I am going to school myself so well in things
that, when I try to explain my problems,
I shall speak, not of self, but of geography.