La expresión Vagabundos del Dharma, como explica Ray Smith (Jack Kerouac) en la novela, fue creada por Japhy Ryder (Gary Snyder), a quien cabe también el honor de ser uno de los primeros exponentes de ese tipo de lunáticos. Gary Snyder acabaría convirtiéndose en “un erudito en cuestiones orientales”.
En el capítulo diecisiete del libro, Ray Smith inicia la narración del larguísimo viaje en autostop que va a realizar hasta Rocky Mont, en Carolina del Norte, a unos cinco mil kilómetros de distancia de Los Ángeles.
Apenas abandonada esta ciudad, envuelta en el “smog”, Ray deja la autopista y se adentra en un bosquecillo cercano, donde piensa pasar la noche, a pesar de que las acampadas están prohibidas.
“Había mucha maleza seca y caminé aplastándola sin molestarme en buscar el sendero. Me dirigí decidido hacia las doradas arenas del lecho seco del río que distinguía allí delante”.
Abriéndose paso entre los arbustos y metiéndose en zanjas llenas de agua, llega a “una especie de bosquecillo de bambú” donde no se atrevió a encender fuego hasta la noche, que es cuando las llamas, aunque tomase precauciones, son más visibles y, por tanto, el riesgo de ser descubierto mayor.
Allí vivió Ray un momento de felicidad.
“Extendí mi impermeable con el saco de dormir encima, y todo sobre un lecho de hojas secas y bambúes. Los álamos amarillos llenaban el aire de la tarde de humo dorado haciendo que me parpadearan los ojos”.
Ni siquiera el molesto ruido de los camiones que pasaban por la autopista malogró esa experiencia de beatitud. No obstante, tuvo que ponerse cabeza abajo para aliviar la congestión de los senos nasales y mitigar el dolor de cabeza.
Y se sintió triste, casi con ganas de llorar, como la noche anterior en Los Ángeles.
Luego fue a buscar agua en su tartera, pero había tanta maleza que, a la vuelta, la derramó casi toda. Con la que quedó se hizo una naranjada en su batidora de plástico. Y comió pan y queso. Y estaba encantado.
Una vez embutido en el saco de dormir, mientras echaba un cigarrillo, pensó:
“Todo es posible. Yo soy Dios, soy Buda, soy un Ray Smith imperfecto, todo al mismo tiempo, soy un espacio vacío, soy todas las cosas. Tengo todo el tiempo del mundo de vida a vida para hacer lo que hay que hacer, para hacer lo que está hecho, para hacer lo hecho sin tiempo, un tiempo que por dentro es infinitamente perfecto”.
Por desgracia, los camiones seguían incordiando, pero tal vez esa barahúnda contribuía a profundizar la vivencia de ese instante. Lo mismo se podía decir de los trozos de bambú que se le clavaban en el cuerpo, y que fueron la causa de que pasase toda la noche dando vueltas. Pero se consoló diciendo:
“Es mejor dormir en una cama incómoda libre que dormir sin libertad en una cama cómoda”.
En definitiva, todo está endiabladamente bien. O, en sus propias palabras:
“Había empezado una nueva vida con mi nuevo equipo: era un Don Quijote tierno y lo primero que hice fue meditar y rezar un poco: “Bendigo todas las cosas vivas. Os bendigo en el presente interminable, os bendigo en el futuro interminable. Amén”.
Luego empaquetó sus cosas y bebió agua del manantial, donde también se lavó la cara y los dientes. Ya estaba listo para proseguir su viaje hasta Rocky Mount, en Carolina del Norte, a unos cinco mil kilómetros de distancia.
Los Vagabundos del Dharma
abril 10, 2012 por Antonio Pavón Leal
El bosque silencioso 
Dear Antonio,
I am a great fan of Kerouac’s Lyric.
My favourite are the Subterraneans and the Mexico City Blues as the many Haiku’s, he wrote. Indeed he was a vagabond and a very special personality.
Thank you for your post about one of my favourite novels of him, the Dharma Bums, here I have another quote for you:
“Happy. Just in my swim shorts, barefooted, wild-haired, in the red fire dark, singing, swigging wine, spitting, jumping, running—that’s the way to live. All alone and free in the soft sands of the beach by the sigh of the sea out there, with the Ma-Wink fallopian virgin warm stars reflecting on the outer channel fluid belly waters. And if your cans are redhot and you can’t hold them in your hands, just use good old railroad gloves, that’s all.”
― Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums
Something of a man, who loved life so much and made his life to words.
Sincerely,
the northern fairy
(great fan of beat generation! YES!!!)
P.S. Did you see? In Lu’s mono aware Blog I posted for you the translation
of Mr. Cernudas great poem, Como leve sonido (I love it in spanish more than in german language, my old problem…something I can sensually understand in spanish words but do not speak this musical language)
Dear Nessuno,
I’m regretful that I haven’t seen your translation of Cernuda’s poem (can you send me the link?). I have read it in Spanish. As almost all his poems this is a model of sensibility and of musicality.
The category «Anthology» of my blog contains one of his poems, «The Lighthousekeeper’s Soliloquy
( https://elbosquesilencioso.com/2011/05/03/acodado-al-balcon/) in which the condition of the man and particularly that of the poet is terribly and beautifully revealed.
I imagine that it must have been difficultly to translate Cernuda. But, as you say, it is possible to capture the poetical tone, the shock wave of the poem. Probably, it is necessary to read the poetry in its original version, since it is inseparable of the sounds and the cadence of the language in which it was written.
I have read only » On the road” » and » The Dharma Bums» by Kerouac. Both books are good, but I liked the second best. I found it more fun. It is easy for oneself to identify with the protagonist ( Kerouac´s alter ego.) and to dream about taking a rucksack and travelling all around the world. All the authors who appear in my blog have spoken to me personally. Now, a little nostalgically, I’m going back to some of them in order to pay them a small tribute, as I have already done in the case of Kerouac.
By the way, what Kerouac did: love life and put it into words is either what we do or, at least, what we try to do, all of us who write, don´t we?
Sincerely yours
You have spoken with Jack personally?
Wow, Antonio!
I must say…this makes me very happy and a little bit sad, as he died, and I neverever will have the possibility to talk to him…maybe with his ghost?
Sometimes I am little bit funny and talk to my dead poets, make my jokes, my little discussions and talk to them…my blog-friends like my club of dead poets and artists very much and this is my way to show, how much I like them… 😉
You say to feel the nature, the sense of a poem is to feel the «shock wave»
What a great definition for this!
I will follow your Link to Mr. Cernuda, thank you very much, I like him so…
Here is the link to Cernuda in Lu’s Blog:
http://mono8no8aware.wordpress.com/2012/04/14/2-stachelkapseln-im-wind/#comments
Antonio, I have a little question for you…my brother asked me, if it would be possible to get an «audio-log» (you know it? me not…I am no smart woman in technical affairs…) from the spanish version of inspired by bach, your little spanish poem. It would be used for the middle-part of a song, my brother is a musician and plays in a band, named: Vortex, they plan to make a song about Salvador Dali. Yesterday he asked me, if I could ask you…and now, I thought it would be a good chance to have the heart to ask you for that, if you would know, what an audio-log is…hm…I hope, it will be okay, I am shy in these things.
Antonio, have many thanks for your nice comment, I did’nt have seen it, so it was good to inform me on facebook.
I wish you a wonderful spring week-end and I now I am a very little bit envious,
as you talked to Jack Kerouac…oh…and to so many others…
so wonderful! 🙂
Yours sincerely fairy of the north
🙂
If we do not listen to the good authors, it is because we are deaf. But they speak to us eloquently. There are writers that we have read and even admired, and now they fall into oblivion. It happens because they did not speak to us personally. The voices of those who did it continue resounding in our ears. And not only their voices do not fade away, on the contrary, as the years pass, they become more brightness. The authentic voices have the power to discover a part of ourselves which remained hidden or ignored up to that moment.
It is fair to recognize their merit and our debt to them. In Spanish there is a proverb that says: “Es de bien nacido, ser agradecido” (“It is a sign of being good-natured, being grateful” in approximate translation).
I remember having a great time while I was reading Kerouac’s book. And now that, thanks to my blog, I am doing the inventory of my literary patron saints, he appeared with his rucksack on his shoulder.
I think it is not absolutely necessary to talk with his ghost. You only need to read his books. This is what makes a writer happier, even if he is dead.
I do not know what an audio-log is («I am not a smart man in technical affairs» …) I’ll ask one of my children, but I sense what it is. Are you asking me to record the little poem inspired by Bach´s music and send you it?
Once, a friend who has published some of my poems in his blog, asked me to read one, and he also published the audio version. I recited but he did the technical work. I send you the link: http://gerenadiario.blogspot.com.es/search?q=antonio+pav%C3%B3n+al+lado+de+la+fuente
If, in this way, I can contribute to the success of your brother´s song about Dalí, I will be delighted.
Best regards.