Thank you to everyone who joined for this session!
Our text for this session wasย The Nobodies by Eduardo Galeano (translated by Cedric Belfrage),ย posted below.
Our prompt for this session was: โWrite about the dreams of the nobodies.โ
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Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โLeave a Replyโ), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.
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Please join us for our next sessionย Wednesday July 14th at 6pm EDT,ย with more times listed on ourย Live Virtual Group Sessionsย page.
Los Nadies (Eduardo Galeano)
Sueรฑan las pulgas con comprarse un perro
y sueรฑan los nadies con salir de pobre,
que algรบn mรกgico dรญa llueva de pronto la buena suerte,
que llueva a cรกntaros la buena suerte:
pero la buena suerte no llueve ayer,
ni hoy ni maรฑana ni nunca,
ni en llovizna cae del cielo la buena suerte,
por mucho que los nadies la llamen y aunque les pique
la mano izquierda,
o se levanten con el pie derecho,
o empiecen el aรฑo cambiando de escoba.
Los nadies:
los hijos de nadie, los dueรฑos de nada.
Los nadies,
los ningunos, los ninguneados.
Corriendo las liebres, muriendo la vida, jodidos,
rejodidos:
Que no son, aunque sean.
Que no hablan idiomas sino dialectos.
Que no profesan religiones, sino supersticiones.
Que no hacen arte, sino artesanรญa.
Que no practican cultura, sino folclore.
Que no son seres humanos, sino recursos humanos.
Que no tienen cara, sino brazos.
Que no tienen nombre, sino nรบmero.
Que no figuran en la historia universal.
Sino en las pรกginas rojas de la prensa local.
Los nadies.
Que cuestan menos que la bala que los mata.
The Nobodies by Eduardo Galeano (translated by Cedric Belfrage)
Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will suddenly rain down on themโwill rain down in buckets. But good luck doesnโt rain down yesterday, today, tomorrow, or ever. Good luck doesnโt even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is tickling, or if they begin the new day with their right foot, or start the new year with a change of brooms.
The nobodies: nobodyโs children, owners of nothing.
The nobodies: the no ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way.
Who are not, but could be.
Who donโt speak languages, but dialects.
Who donโt have religions, but superstitions.
Who donโt create art, but handicrafts.
Who donโt have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Who do not have faces, but arms.
Who do not have names, but numbers.
Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the police blotter of the local paper.
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them.
Connections in Narrative Medicine 