To all the talented young men who wander about feeling that there is nothing in the world for them to do, I should say: ‘Give up trying to write, and, instead, try not to write. Go out into the world; become a pirate, a king in Borneo, a labourer in Soviet Russia; give yourself an existence in which the satisfaction of elementary physical needs will occupy all your energies.’ I do not recommend this course of action to everyone, but only to those who suffer from the disease which Mr Krutch diagnoses. I believe that, after some years of such an existence, the ex-intellectual will find that in spite of his efforts he can no longer refrain from writhg, and when this time comes his writing will not seem to him futile.

Bertrand Russell. The Conquest of Happiness.

De su entrada en Wikipedia:

“Utilizado como expresión para indicar que se hace algo espontáneamente, sin responder a petición previa. Es frecuente que se utilice de forma incorrecta como motu propio (con una erre) o precedido de una preposición: de motu proprio o por motu proprio.”

Pues eso. A ver si me aplico el cuento.

Una de las típicas preguntas que uno se hace si le importa mínimamente la ortografía es la que da título a este post. La respuesta depende de a lo que te refieras, estaréis pensando. Pues no. Veréis.

En lo que estoy pensando es en el acto de leer apresuradamente, por encima, en diagonal… un libro, periódico, revista. Antes de cotejarlo en el diccionario, siempre había pensado que este acto se denomina ojear, siendo ojo la clave aquí.

Esto parece confirmarse si nos atenemos a la definición que de ojear hace el DRAE (acepción número 4):

1. tr. Mirar a alguna parte.

2. tr. aojar (‖ hacer mal de ojo).

3. tr. Lanzar ojeadas a algo.

4. tr. Mirar superficialmente un texto.

Pero alguna vez en algún lugar lo vi escrito con hache. Hojear. Tanta fue mi sorpresa (pues el sitio web era de mi agrado y su autor una persona leída, viajada y adornada por múltiples cualidades) que tuve que irme de nuevo a consultar con el oráculo:

1. tr. Mover o pasar ligeramente las hojas de un libro o de un cuaderno.

2. tr. Pasar las hojas de un libro, leyendo deprisa algunos pasajes.

3. intr. Dicho de un metal: Tener hoja.

4. intr. Dicho de las hojas de un árbol: moverse (‖ menearse).

He aquí la cuestión. La cuarta acepción de ojear y las dos primeras de hojear pueden ser confundidas fácilmente. ¿Cuál usáis vosotros?.

Qué ambigüedad la del español, no sé si podré soportarlo.

Os dejo un pequeño fragmento de este libro, que me está encantando. En inglés, porque lo estoy leyendo en inglés y porque no encuentro una traducción al español. No es lo primero que leo de Herman Hesse.

Motionless, Siddhartha remained standing there, and for the time of one moment and breath, his heart felt cold, he felt a cold in his chest, as a small animal, a bird or a rabbit, would when seeing how alone he was. For many years, he had been without home and had felt nothing. Now, he felt it. Still, even in the deepest meditation, he had been his father’s son, had been a Brahman, of a high caste, a cleric. Now, he was nothing but Siddhartha, the awoken one, nothing else was left. Deeply, he inhaled, and for a moment, he felt cold and shivered. Nobody was thus alone as he was. There was no nobleman who did not belong to the noblemen, no worker that did not belong to the workers, and found refuge with them, shared their life, spoke their language. No Brahman, who would not be regarded as Brahmans and lived with them, no ascetic who would not find his refuge in the caste of the Samanas, and even the most forlorn hermit in the forest was not just one and alone, he was also surrounded by a place he belonged to, he also belonged to a caste, in which he was at home. Govinda had become a monk, and a thousand monks were his brothers, wore the same robe as he, believed in his faith, spoke his language. But he, Siddhartha, where did he belong to? With whom would he share his life? Whose language would he speak?

Out of this moment, when the world melted away all around him, when he stood alone like a star in the sky, out of this moment of a cold and despair, Siddhartha emerged, more a self than before, more firmly concentrated. He felt: This had been the last tremor of the awakening, the last struggle of this birth. And it was not long until he walked again in long strides, started to proceed swiftly and impatiently, heading no longer for home, no longer to his father, no longer back.

Buscando información sobre Don Norman a raíz de este twitt.

Visto aquí.