Status
Available
Call number
Genres
Collection
Publication
Penguin UK (1999), Edition: 2, Paperback, 160 pages
Description
Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935) was one of the major poets of the 20th century, one of the major names in Portuguese writing, and one of the most enigmatic figures in world literature of any period. In his introduction to this dual-language Selected Poems, first published in 2004, David Butler arranges the poems thematically, setting Pessoa's various voices or personae "in active and immediate dialogue with one another," thereby providing real insight into a poet of "astonishing post-modernity." "Butler's version of the Selected Poems is as good an introduction to the enigmatic character of Pessoa's poetry as exists in English. -Michael Smith, The Irish Times "These translations of Pessoa are outstanding." -Fernando d'Oliveira Neves, former Ambassador of Portugal in Ireland… (more)
User reviews
LibraryThing member Luli81
Some might consider it eccentric that I could feel closer to Pessoa, this restless and mysterious Portuguese poet with a rather tragic life, than to actual living people with whom I share "real" conversations in my everyday life. He was a Shepherd of ideas, poetry his only way of existence, he who
So, I allowed this shepherd of thoughts to drag me into his world of unsettling and intoxicating verses, where there is no line between real and imaginary lives; was he pretending or acting out of sheer spontaneity?
"The poet is a forger who
forges so completely that
he forges even the feeling
he feels truly as pain."
He was a thousand different persons in one, always using several literary heteronyms, and with his endless thirst to experience, he pushed his mind to the limit, questioned everything relentlessly to the point of exhaustion and then was pulled down inexorably towards the abyss of his disturbing thoughts; leaving this huge legacy, leaving his poems, on the way.
"I don't know how many souls I have...
I do not know how many souls I have.
Each moment I have changed.
Feeling myself always as a stranger.
Never have I seen nor found myself.
Being so much, yet only soul I have.
Those who have souls have no peace
He who sees is just what he sees
He who feels is not he who he is. "
Some of his poems are overwhelmingly nostalgic and bleak, even a bit dantesque, they talk about the ruthless passage of time, death, love and his own understanding of the world. Others, for example his Odes, appear as enthusiastic ramblings in free verse, with a certain touch of tenderness, refreshingly innocent and somehow whitmanian with his aim to to become part of everything, to embrace humanity in all its forms, without exceptions.
"When I didn’t have you
I loved Nature as a calm monk loves Christ.
Now I love Nature
Like a calm monk loves Virgin Mary,
Religiously, in my way, like before,
But in other ways more moving and intimate…
I see the rivers better when I go with you
To the river banks through the fields;
Sitting beside you watching the clouds
I watch the clouds better…
You haven’t taken away Nature from me…
You have changed the Nature…
You have brought Nature closer to me
Since you exist, I see it better, though like before,
Since you love me, I love it the same way, but more,
Since you choose me to have you and love you,
My eyes stare for much longer time
At all things.
I do not regret for what I was in the past
Because I am still the same."
And the more I advanced reading, the more I noticed his overflowing love for Lisbon, the city with dimmed splendour, decadent and narrow cobbled streets, the land with its melancholic fados or laments; brilliant without light. And impossibly alluring, like his poems.
I close my eyes and I can imagine Pessoa walking down the Rua dos Douradores, reaching the Praça do Comércio with its imposing arches, or sitting in one of the tables of the literary Café A Brasileira scribbling down in a napkin, with his black topper on and the people passing by without taking any notice, and all his thoughts screaming in deafening silence only to be heard for future readers like us, who have come to appreciate Pessoa for what he really was. A man advanced for his time, a humanist who lived in isolation, wrapped in grief but contented anyway, and there is no contradiction there.
I choose Pessoa. Gladly.
Show More
embraced solitude and anonymity with grace. He chose writing as his only release. Well then, I choose him. And I do it gladly. So, I allowed this shepherd of thoughts to drag me into his world of unsettling and intoxicating verses, where there is no line between real and imaginary lives; was he pretending or acting out of sheer spontaneity?
"The poet is a forger who
forges so completely that
he forges even the feeling
he feels truly as pain."
He was a thousand different persons in one, always using several literary heteronyms, and with his endless thirst to experience, he pushed his mind to the limit, questioned everything relentlessly to the point of exhaustion and then was pulled down inexorably towards the abyss of his disturbing thoughts; leaving this huge legacy, leaving his poems, on the way.
"I don't know how many souls I have...
I do not know how many souls I have.
Each moment I have changed.
Feeling myself always as a stranger.
Never have I seen nor found myself.
Being so much, yet only soul I have.
Those who have souls have no peace
He who sees is just what he sees
He who feels is not he who he is. "
Some of his poems are overwhelmingly nostalgic and bleak, even a bit dantesque, they talk about the ruthless passage of time, death, love and his own understanding of the world. Others, for example his Odes, appear as enthusiastic ramblings in free verse, with a certain touch of tenderness, refreshingly innocent and somehow whitmanian with his aim to to become part of everything, to embrace humanity in all its forms, without exceptions.
"When I didn’t have you
I loved Nature as a calm monk loves Christ.
Now I love Nature
Like a calm monk loves Virgin Mary,
Religiously, in my way, like before,
But in other ways more moving and intimate…
I see the rivers better when I go with you
To the river banks through the fields;
Sitting beside you watching the clouds
I watch the clouds better…
You haven’t taken away Nature from me…
You have changed the Nature…
You have brought Nature closer to me
Since you exist, I see it better, though like before,
Since you love me, I love it the same way, but more,
Since you choose me to have you and love you,
My eyes stare for much longer time
At all things.
I do not regret for what I was in the past
Because I am still the same."
And the more I advanced reading, the more I noticed his overflowing love for Lisbon, the city with dimmed splendour, decadent and narrow cobbled streets, the land with its melancholic fados or laments; brilliant without light. And impossibly alluring, like his poems.
I close my eyes and I can imagine Pessoa walking down the Rua dos Douradores, reaching the Praça do Comércio with its imposing arches, or sitting in one of the tables of the literary Café A Brasileira scribbling down in a napkin, with his black topper on and the people passing by without taking any notice, and all his thoughts screaming in deafening silence only to be heard for future readers like us, who have come to appreciate Pessoa for what he really was. A man advanced for his time, a humanist who lived in isolation, wrapped in grief but contented anyway, and there is no contradiction there.
I choose Pessoa. Gladly.
Show Less
Language
Original language
Portuguese
Physical description
160 p.; 7.5 inches
ISBN
0140188452 / 9780140188455