Os textos de prosa aqui reunidos, ainda que não sejam representativos da totalidade existente, pretendem ser, mesmo assim, «essenciais» num certo sentido, na medida em que tocam muito de perto o seu autor — ou porque gostou suficientemente deles para os acabar e publicar (Prosa Publicada em Vida — um volume que abrange, aliás, numerosas facetas da sua obra em prosa), ou porque o revelam na sua intimidade (Prosas Íntimas e de Autoconhecimento) e na sua relação com os outros (Cartas). O primeiro volume, o Livro do Desassossego, que em boa verdade poderia ser considerado poesia, mostra Fernando Pessoa na sua faceta mais íntima e também mais universal na sua verdadeira essência e na sua dispersão não menos verdadeira. É o não-livro do não-ser, que existiu como ninguém. A presente Obra, com todos os seus limites, procura demonstrar a essencialidade de Fernando Pessoa não só para a literatura do século XX, mas também para a nossa cultura, actual e futura.
Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa was a poet and writer.
It is sometimes said that the four greatest Portuguese poets of modern times are Fernando Pessoa. The statement is possible since Pessoa, whose name means ‘person’ in Portuguese, had three alter egos who wrote in styles completely different from his own. In fact Pessoa wrote under dozens of names, but Alberto Caeiro, Ricardo Reis and Álvaro de Campos were – their creator claimed – full-fledged individuals who wrote things that he himself would never or could never write. He dubbed them ‘heteronyms’ rather than pseudonyms, since they were not false names but “other names”, belonging to distinct literary personalities. Not only were their styles different; they thought differently, they had different religious and political views, different aesthetic sensibilities, different social temperaments. And each produced a large body of poetry. Álvaro de Campos and Ricardo Reis also signed dozens of pages of prose.
The critic Harold Bloom referred to him in the book The Western Canon as the most representative poet of the twentieth century, along with Pablo Neruda.
It is with poetry that one loses the most in translation... Poetry translated leaves a somewhat “secondhand” sensation... it seems like something told and retold rather than genuinely felt... it leaves a sensation of a “love already loved”, of a “sorrow already wept”... therefore when I found this small collection of poems by my beloved Pessoa originally written in English I felt extremely happy... to finally be able to have a “first-hand”... unhindered... untranslated... experience with his beautiful poetry...
Moreover, the fact of having found it in the oldest operating bookstore in the world - that of Livraria Bertrand do Chiado - located on Rua Garrett 73, a few meters away from where Pessoa’s statue is situated in front of the Cafe a Brasileira in Lisboa, gave me more of an authentic sensation... I imagined Pessoa himself opening the door of the same bookstore... leisurely going through the books... and meticulously choosing what to buy... This picture together with his poetry warmed me up... and enveloped me with that untranslatable feeling in Portuguese - “saudade”... that is a bit of longing... a bit of nostalgia... a bit of melancholy... and a bit of happiness... all at the same time...
*** We pass and dream. Earth smiles. Virtue is rare. Age, duty, gods weigh on our conscious bliss. Hope for the best and for the worst prepare. The sum of purposed wisdom speaks in this.
"Here lies a poet who was mad and young The two things may go together As to the songs he sung They were found in winter weather"
Tenho de admitir que gostei mais ler Pessoa em inglês do que em Português (afinal talvez faça sentido - Fernando Pessoa desejava ser um "poeta inglês"). Este livro despertou o meu interesse pela poesia do autor, algo que no meu secundário não aconteceu, de todo. Os poemas são extremamente variados em tamanho, métrica e formato. Alguns são cómicos, outros profundamente intrspoetivos e outros um pouco de ambos. Um dos conjuntos "Documents Of Mental Decadence" é particularmente interessante.
Para quem não quiser ler o livro por inteiro aconselho a espreitar o arquivo da obra do poeta, que se encontra na web, e a dar uma oportunidade a este lado menos conhecido da sua obra.
un peu déçue par l'ensemble... je n'ai pas trouvé cette sensibilité, l'intime, la modernité du Livre de l'Intranquillité. Ici, des formes vieillies, classiques, antiques, la mort du charme de la prose de Pessoa. Un balbutiement en anglais que j'ai trouvé bien trop opaque.
A master of the English Language. Though some of the poems are from his earlier years and feel a bit curated or forced, there are some really good ones in this collection.
Fernando Pessoa's writing has been one of those that caught me off guard in the last year, so when I found out that he had writing in English, I jumped at the opportunity to try it out. (This book was even a book given by a friend ♥️).
However, I can't say that I properly enjoyed this that much. Most of the poems in this book sounded like snobish intellectual poetry, the exact kind that made me hate poetry all these years (Lusiadas by Luis Vaz de Camões or Shakespeare are examples of this), the kind that refers to the old gods or roman figures, etc.
Few of these actually stood out to me, and fewer even made a mark.
I could perhaps advise this, but to be honest, if you speak and/or read Portuguese, just read him in Portuguese, it's so much better.
I enjoyed this book from the streets of Lisbon where Pessoa got his inspiration. On a couple of occasions, I read at the same restaurant cafe and even the same table where he did his thinking, drinking, and working. I feel lucky to have read this and will dive deeper into his works.
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"Sad human souls, putting everything in order, Tracing lines from thing to thing, Hanging signs with names on absolutely real trees, And drawing parallels of latitude and longitude All over the earth itself, innocent and more green and more flowering than that!"
"A sweaty oiliness of hot life rests On the day's face this hour A mad joy's pent in each warm thing's hushed power."
"Stretch out your limbs to the warm day outside, To feel it while it bide! For the strong sun, the hot ground, the green grass, Each far lake's dazzling glass,"
"The coin which I would heap to wed my Muse And build our home i'th' greater Time-to-be Becomes dissolved by needs of each day's use And I feel beggared of infinity;"
"The missing reason for having love Is quiet with these, The secret vision, the shining grove And the final trees"
"There are fallen angels in the way you look And great bridges over silent streams at your smile... ...The words hidden in my gesture would be moonlight on the sea Of your being something in my soul like gaiety in a feast... ...What are we, in our dream of each other, but a picture which is The masterpiece of a painter that never painted at all?"
I was very fortunate at the start of the year to come across this wonderful book whilst on holiday in Lisboa, Portugal. He is described as "one of the most significant literary figures of the 20th Century" and was born in Lisboa, which just made me want to read it even more and I was not disappointed. His poetry is masterfully written and simply fantastico!
The translations from old formal English to Portuguese are not simple. In any case, it is curious to uncover the erotic side of Fernando, especially in Epithalamium.