Strange memories

Last night as I was crossing the street, I found myself reciting a fragment from Calderon de la Barca's Life is a Dream. It was a set of verses we had to memorize when I was first learning Spanish my freshman year of high school. Still remember it, I think. Pardon the lack of proper accents, etc.

Cuentan de un sabio que un dia
tan pobre y misero estaba
que solo se sustentaba
de unas hierbas que cogia.

Habra otro, entre si decia,
mas pobre y triste que yo?
Y cuando el rostro volvio
hallo la respuesta
viendo que otro sabio
iba cogiendo las hojas
que el arrojo.

They tell of a sage who one day
was so poor and miserable
that he just kept himself alive
by picking grass.
Is there anyone else, he asked himself,
poorer and sadder than I?
When he turned around,
he got his answer,
seeing another sage
who was gathering up the blades
that he threw away.

It's an example of how beautiful the Spanish language
can be, even when, or especially when, it is melancholy.
Reminds me of my dad's less elegant line: I was sad
because I had no shoes, until I met a man
who had no feet. I used to roll my eyes when he said that:
Aw Dad, c'mon, please.

Aside from the universal folk wisdom of "It can always be worse",
it reminded me of my teacher. He was a young Puerto Rican monk,
tall, handsome, charming, with an ebullient sense of humor. Always smiling,
and a pleasure to be around, loved by everyone. Because of him I have a slight Borinquen
accent in my Spanish. He died of AIDS in the 1990's.