If-

Compré un libro de poemas de Kipling, y me quedé sin dinero. Restan... (un momento) 222 pesotes (vaya, una tercia de 2), una dona de chocolate (a punto de perder su figura redonda), como para dos cafés estilo calcetín, cuatro cervezas quemadas (no tengo refrigerador), como un litro de agua mineral, medio kilo de azúcar, una bolsota de sal y medio garrafón de agua. Para muchos de este país, es más que suficiente para que una familia coma unos tres o cuatro días (no exagero). Para mí, un tipo acostumbrado a comer en la calle, me durará un par. Cuando te quedan unos cientos para unas cuantas semanas, da igual si los gastas en una noche o malcomes durante largo tiempo.

Nada de eso me importó. Podré leer incansablemente los poemas de Kipling. Ya no tengo que ir a la biblioteca de la UNAM o conectarme a Gutenberg Project. Cuando compras un libro, de alguna manera sientes que estará contigo hasta que, claro, se pierda el libro, lo regales (algo que no sucederá) o te lo roben (como el malnacido que robó mi libro de Stevenson... ¡Te voy a encontrar, ladrón!).

Por el momento, comencé con los poemas más famosos. Aquí "If..." de Kipling.


IF-

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream -and not make dreams your master,
If you can think -and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings -nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -which is more- you'll be a Man, my son!