Te doy la bienvenida a mi web oficial. Siempre en crecimiento, cambiando, como la vida misma.
Welcome to my official site. Always in change, like life itself.
Aquí podrás saber bastante de mi. Mis reflexiones, escritos, libros… muestran y van configurando mi mundo. Y la música, siempre la música empujando y animando mi vida.
Here you can find a lot about me. My reflections, my writings, books… they show and build my world. And music. always the music inspiring and pushing out my life.
Me encantaría recibir tu opinión, cualquiera que ésta sea. Para ello: utiliza la sección CONTACTAR
I would really like to have your opinion, whatever it is. To do this go to CONTACTAR
Tus ideas siempre pueden ayudar… Your ideas can always help…
Doce historias y un secreto es la obra narrativa de ficción, en forma de colección de relatos, más ambiciosa hasta el momento de Manu Rodríguez. Ilustrada por el dibujante maño Josema Carrasco, contiene doce relatos, y no uno sino muchos secretos. Si bien algunas de sus páginas se gestaron por aquellos años de Leyendas adolescentes (Primeros cuentos de finales de siglo), sus historias… read more
Writing just for the sake of writing is worthless. You have to write when you are driven to bleed into the paper. ¿Cry? Yes, I would like to. But I don’t know how. I only know how to cry writing. Crying words in silence. Crying Words is an introspective monologue, a narrative that has something to say to everyone, and yet is intensely personal. A journey, an awakening, it is Manu… read more
‘Multiple abilities. A Creative Writing for Therapeutic Purposes approach’ -talk given for the Lapidus weekend, on 5-6th October 2013, Bristol (UK)-
Manu Rodríguez October 2013 ‘Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change.’ Stephen Hawking BRIEF AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL NOTES I was born in Sevilla in 1967, in a modest and traditional family. My mum was a primary school teacher and my dad a policeman. I was the first of four brothers and a sister. This might sound like a regular story but the peculiarity is that my father´s father, and my… read more
Taking the idea from ‘The writer’s journey’ by Christopher Vogler, I suppose that if I consider the act of writing as a journey I could say that to me writing seems like an endless journey of self discovery. Every time I put pen to a blank page of paper, or fingers over the computer keys, I start travelling. I travel through myself, travel through my understanding of that part of me that I… read more
I have been writing, drafting and redrafting hundreds of pieces of poetry and prose. To me, as I usually intend to do as a writer, the main intention for creating these pieces is not to create beauty for the sake of it but to explore, organise and put a certain order to my thoughts, feelings and emotions, as well as to understand myself as a whole and to value the fact that I am alive, to b… read more
In social conversations (at parties, at work, in group meetings; with friends, family and relatives…) we talk and listen, discuss and tell our opinion. Then we share points of views and concerns that are relevant for the participants. In a helping conversation the act of communication must change and ‘active listening’ is what matters. Then the other is the one to listen to with in-dept… read more
How can I find my YES How can I find my NO How can I find my THAT’S ALL RIGHT How can I find my THAT’S WRONG The GOOD ones, I mean The GOOD ones I should know Like a leaf knows its sprig Like a tree knows its roots Where can I find my TIME Where can I find my PLACE Where can I find my LAND Where can I find my HOME The REAL ones, I mean The REAL I should stay on Like a child knows his mum Lik… read more
If I don’t work My tools get rusty My body is anxious My mind depressed And I’m lost If I don’t write My hands get numb My heart stops My soul dries And I’m going… read more
Reflecting on my history, it’s not so long ago that I wrote in my notebook that ‘I’ve been growing like a transplanted plant’. I want to come back to this idea now. My seed was sown, and germinated in one land. Then, uprooted twice. And then, taken back to the original soil. But it was not the same as before, it couldn’t be… So one day, feeling trapped and isolated, a stranger in my… read more
That small grocery shop beside the School of Communication That ham, and fresh slices of tomato, in a bollo sandwich That bar ‘La Parrapa’ That woman behind it with that masculine energy That dream of mine Those Cherry Cok… read more
Sand castles by the seashore My sick and deformed body The salt and iodine on the skin The sticky suntan cream protection The rubber ring The waves of that enormous universe And the powerful sun, toasting the bodies toasting it all And mum and dad always looking after taking care The marine heat The sea The sand Sand everywhere The towel was never clean The sun umbrella The chairs And then back… read more
A voice I hear that voice That voice that tells me what to do That voice that pushes me out That is growing, gathering experience, getting old with me. It’s a shame one learns how to really live only when one is getting older. Life should give you the opportunity to live backwards. And yet fly more wisely. read more
We wanted to be together, and we needed advice. I knew that if we married everything would be solved. And by everything I mean papers, bureaucracy, and the right to stay together by law. She was Latin-American, and I was European. I was a legal immigrant, with all the rights on my side. She wasn’t. But I didn’t want to marry, and much less because someone obliged me. It’s not that I… read more
This is just to say I want you Maybe not in the best way, with enough understanding, wisdom and know how. This is just to say I need you, with your misery and magnanimity, bad and good times And the struggle to find the beauty of every day. This is just to say I’m proud of you Although sometimes I ask you for too much, other times for too little, and other times for nothing, almost forgetting… read more
‘Esto es una estación de trenes. Nadie para.’ Me dijo un trabajador que se dio cuenta de mi torpeza y me notó algo perdido. Y llega el tren. Subo, encuentro un sitio, me siento e intento relajarme. Miro a través de la ventana y veo lo que dejo atrás. Cosas, gente… Y entonces intento olvidar el pasado. Intento olvidar la pérdida. Uno olvida. Y es cierto que olvidará de nuevo. Porqu… read more
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