Before flying to ... my night dreams I 'd like to share some beautiful lines with you. Among my favourite poems, one by PABLO NERUDA. It's titled "Muere lentamente" (Dies slowly)

Dies Slowly
he who becomes a slave of habit,
repeating same path every day,
he who never changes brands.
Who doesn't risk wearing a new colour
And doesn't speak to whom he doesn't know.

Dies Slowly
he who makes the television his guru.
he who avoids a passion,
he who prefers black on white
and dotted "i"s to a whirlwind of emotions,
precisely those that rescue the brilliance of one's eyes,
smiles from yawns,
hearts from disappointments and sorrows.
Dies Slowly
he who doesn't turn the table when he's unhappy at his job,
he who doesn't risk the certain for the uncertain to follow a dream,
he who doesn't permit himself at least once in his life,
to flee from sensible advice.

Dies Slowly
he who doesn't travel, he who doesn't read,
he who doesn't listen to music,
he who doesn't find humor in himself.

Dies Slowly
he who destroys his own love,
he who doesn't allow himself to help.
Dies Slowly
he who passes the days complaining of his bad luck
or of the incessant rain.

Dies Slowly
he who abandons a project before starting it,
not asking about an unfamiliar subjector
not answering when they inquire about something he knows.
We avoid death in soft quotes,
remembering that to be alive requiresan effort
much greater than the simple fact of breathing.
Only with ardent patience will we conquer a splendid happiness.

But I must admit I like it better in its original version, that is to say in Spanish.

So, for those of you who can read Spanish, enjoy this:

Muere lentamente
quien se transforma en esclavo del hábito,
repitiendo todos los días los mismos trayectos,
quien no cambia de marca, no arriesga vestir un color nuevo
y no le habla a quien no conoce.

Muere lentamente
quien evita una pasión, quien prefiere el negro sobre blanco y los
puntos sobre las "íes" a un remolino de emociones, justamente las que
rescatan el brillo de los ojos, sonrisas de los bostezos
corazones a los tropiezos y sentimientos.

Muere lentamente
quien no voltea la mesa, cuando está infeliz en el trabajo,
quien no arriesga lo cierto por lo incierto para ir detrás de un sueño,
quien no se permite por lo menos una vez en la vida,
huir de los consejos sensatos.
Muere lentamente quien no viaja,
quien no lee, quien no oye música,
quien no encuentra gracia en sí mismo.
Muere lentamente
quien destruye su amor propio, quien no se deja ayudar.
Muere lentamente,
quien pasa los días quejándose de su mala suerte o de la lluvia incesante.
Muere lentamente,
quien abandona un proyecto antes de iniciarlo, no preguntando de un
asunto que desconoce o no respondiendo cuando le indagan sobre algo que sabe.
Evitemos la muerte en suaves cuotas, recordando siempre que estar vivo
exige un esfuerzo mucho mayor que el simple hecho de respirar.
Solamente la ardiente paciencia hará que conquistemos una espléndida felicidad.
P.S. Sweet dreams. Till very soon for what I promised, "Being a woman at Jane Austen's time".


Mo said...


Elvira said...

Fantastic poem! I have a slighly different version:

"Muere lentamente
quien no gira el volante cuando está
infeliz con su trabajo, o su amor,
quien no arriesga lo cierto ni lo incierto
para ir atrás de un sueño
quien no se permite, ni siquiera
una vez en su vida,
huir de los consejos sensatos..."

I love this fragment and I have it in my collection of quotes. :-)

London Belle said...

Thanks for shareing the poem - its beautiful! It really made me think.
I really wish I could read the Spanish - I get the odd word!
I bought that book, Jane Austen the world of her novels on your recomendation.

Maria Grazia said...

@Mo, Elvira, London Belle,
It's always a pleasure to receive your comments, especially after such a hard working day like today. I'm just back from work...I had a look and found your gratifying words. It's a pleasure to share my "precious" lines with wonderful people like you!
Supper is waiting for me, not very poetical but necessary. It must be prepared!
Have a nice evening!

lunarossa said...

Ciao MG, Ti avevo lasciato un commento anch'io ma non so dove sia finito. In ogni caso, mi piace moltissimo Neruda e questa poesia e' bellissima, cosi' come lo sono i dipinti. Ti ricordi Philip Noiret ne Il Postino? Cari saluti. Antonella.
PS Scusa se non ti scrivo in inglese ma oggi ne sono assolutamemte assuefatta!

Maria Grazia said...

No problem! Cioè non c'è problema, Antonella. Certo che mi ricordo Il Postino, un film indimenticabile, bellissimo. BUONA SERATA!