Keeping Quiet

Last week was an especially busy and stressful one for me. I was hurried, scattered, and anxious—a real “hot mess,” as my big sis, Lee Ann, would say.

During such times, I’m prone to be hard on myself and others—especially the folks I love most. I get short with my spouse, nag my kids, and berate myself for every misstep and failure.

In “Keeping Quiet,” Chilean poet and diplomat Pablo Neruda urges me to pause—especially at those times when I feel I can least afford to. And be quiet.
To ponder, to connect, and especially, to be gentle—
with other people, with myself, and with every other living thing.

Wonder what would happen if we all gave it a try.

Keeping Quiet

by Pablo Neruda
(translated by Alastair Reid)

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

For once on the face of the earth
let’s not speak in any language,
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.