Flashback Friday: A Page of Quotes from the Portuguese Poet Philosopher Fernando Pessoa

Fernando Pessoa, 1914

It's been over ten years since I was introduced to the acclaimed Portuguese poet and prolific writer Fernando Pessoa. The more you read of his work, the more striking his original way of seeing things and expressing them. 

A few additional things are worthy of note. First, that his writings channeled different personalities and characters. He signed them in these various names as if written by other people, writing in different styles. The literary term is heteronym. The second feature of his work is that most of it was published posthumously. His papers had been left in a trunk and only then the magnitude of what he'd be doing privately was revealed.

I personally like the way he approaches things from a fresh and unexpected angle. His observations move me, as does his frequently simple eloquence. Here is an example:

I'm nothing,

I'll always be nothing.
I can't even wish to be something.
Aside from that, I've got all the world's dreams inside me.

* * *

"No intelligent idea can gain general acceptance unless some stupidity is mixed in with it."

*

"I've always rejected being understood. To be understood is to prostitute oneself. I prefer to be taken seriously for what I'm not, remaining humanly unknown, with naturalness and all due respect"

*

"My past is everything I failed to be."

*

"Stones in the road? I save every single one, one day I'll build a castle"

*

"My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while... I'm two, and both keep their distance — Siamese twins that aren't attached."

*

"The value of things is not the time they last, but the intensity with which they occur. That is why there are unforgettable moments and unique people!"

*

I am the size of what I see
not my height's size.

*

Related Links
Two Poems by Fernando Pessoa

Fernando Pessoa on Wikipedia. 
Of special interest are details of Pessoa's heteronyms, pseudonyms and characters.

Throwback Thursday: A Poem by Pessoa On Social Media

From the highest window of my house 

I wave farewell with a white handkerchief 

To my poems going out to humanity. 

 

And I'm neither happy nor sad. 

That is the fate of poems. 

I wrote them and must show them to everyone 

Because I cannot do otherwise, 

Even as the flower cannot hide its color, 

Nor the river hide its flowing, 

Nor the tree hide the fruit it bears. 

~ Fernando Pessoa, 1914 

As I read these words last night in my easy I chair, it struck me that they could just as easily apply to bloggers today. 

From the highest window of my house 

I wave farewell with a white handkerchief 

To my blog entries going out to humanity.

...that is the fate of a blog post.

We write them and must show them to everyone....

Pessoa's little stanza shows insight about human nature. First, there is the desire to create. So we produce art, or books or pottery, or maybe a miniature railroad or carved hope chest or a city. We create things. Then, there is the need to share. Just as the tree must give up its fruit, and was not even deigned to cling to it, so we recognize our role and yield to it.

We share for many reasons, but one of them is an innate desire to connect with others.

And so it is that we see the remarkable growth of today's social media. Blogger, Twitter, Facebook. Pessoa continues:

Who knows who might read them?

Who knows into what hands they'll fall?

A flower, I was plucked by fate to be seen.

A tree, my fruit was picked to be eaten.

A river, my water's fate was to flow out of me.

I submit and feel almost happy,

Almost happy like a man tired of being sad.

Go, go away from me!

The tree passes and is scattered throughout Nature.

The flower wilts and its dust lasts forever.

The river flows into the sea and its water is forever the water that was its own.

I pass and I remain, like the Universe.

And if you have read this blog entry today, it is my gift to you for the weekend.

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED MARCH 25, 2011

A Pair of Poems by Two Great Literary Figures: Borges and Pessoa

THROWBACK THURSDAY

I owe my discovery of the influential Argentine writer Borges to a late 1960's edition of Antioch Review. Or was it an audio book with its mind-blowing story, The Garden of Forking Paths?

I owe my discovery of Pessoa, the enigmatic Portuguese literary figure, to an economics professor from Brazil. Or was it an artist from Lisbon who introduced his writings to me?

Each has produced a body of work that is wholly original, that continuously surprises. Here are a pair of examples, the first by Fernando Pessoa.

* * * *

There's no one who loves me.

Hold on, yes there is;

But it's hard to feel certain

About what you don't believe in.

It isn't out of disbelief

That I don't believe, for I know

I'm well liked. It's my nature

Not to believe, and not to change.

There's no one who loves me.

For this poem to exist

I have no choice

But to suffer this grief.

How sad not to be loved!

My poor, forlorn heart!

Et cetera, and that's the end

Of this poem I thought up.

What I feel is another matter...

                      December 25, 1930

From A Little Larger Than the Entire Universe, Selected Poems of Fernando Pessoa

* * * *

I owe a great debt to Jorge Luis Borges, the Argentine author who unveiled for me the possibilities of fiction. I read, and savored, every story.

In addition to being a writer of stories, he was also an essayist and a poet. Here is a poem that takes you to a different sort of place and reveals the nature of his thought.

The Watcher

The light enters and I remember who I am; he is there.
He begins by telling me his name which (it should now be clear) is mine.
I revert to the servitude which has lasted more than seven times ten years.
He saddles me with his rememberings.
He saddles me with the miseries of every day, the human condition.
I am his old nurse; he requires me to wash his feet.
He spies on me in mirrors, in mahogany, in shop windows.
One or another woman has rejected him, and I must share his anguish.
He dictates to me now this poem, which I do not like.
He insists I apprentice myself tentatively to the stubborn Anglo-Saxon.
He has won me over to the hero worship of dead soldiers, people with whom I could
scarcely exchange a single word.
On the last flight of stairs, I feel him at my side.
He is in my footsteps, in my voice.
Down to the last detail, I abhor him.
I am gratified to remark that he can hardly see.
I am in a circular cell and the infinite wall is closing in.
Neither of the two deceives the other, but we both lie.
We know each other too well, inseparable brother.
You drink the water from my cup and you wolf down my bread.
The door to suicide is open, but theologians assert that, in the subsequent shadows of the other kingdom, there will I be, waiting for myself.

Spanish; trans. Alastair Reid

* * * *

Borges was famous for his labyrinthian stories which circle about recurring themes, so it is not surprising to find a short reflection called Borges and I, which elucidates the same notion. And then there is his story The Other, in which he as an older man meets his younger self in a quirked jag of time.

Learn more about this remarkably innovative and influential man whose profound perspectives continue to awaken minds to the possibilities of fiction.

* * * *

"Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash."
--Leonard Cohen

A Poem By Pessoa While Waiting for a Callback

While waiting for a callback, thought I would post a poem by Fernando Pessoa.

There's no one who loves me.
Hold on, yes there is;
But it's hard to feel certain
About what you don't believe in.

It isn't out of disbelief
That I don't believe, for I know
I'm well liked. It's my nature
Not to believe, and not to change.

There's no one who loves me.
For this poem to exist
I have no choice
But to suffer this grief.

How sad not to be loved!
My poor, forlorn heart!
Et cetera, and that's the end
Of this poem I thought up.

What I feel is another matter...
                      December 25, 1930

From A Little Larger Than the Entire Universe, Selected Poems of Fernando Pessoa

Fernando Pessoa: A Poet for Poets

The true poet is all the time a visionary and whether with friends or not, as much alone as a man on his death bed. ~W.B. Yeats

Last night there was a poetry reading at the Pineapple Arts store in downtown Duluth that I'd hoped to attend. Inasmuch as time is a bit inelastic, I deferred this gratification. Inasmuch as the poetry scene seems flourishing at this moment, I suspect there will be more opportunities to hear local poets express themselves in this manner. For example, I believe October 11 there will poetry read somewhere during the Twin Ports Gallery Hop. And on October 17 there will be readings by a group of local poets in conjunction with their book release. (Bound Together: Like the Grasses by Deborah Cooper, Candace Ginsberg, Ann Floreen Niedringhaus, Ellie Schoenfeld, and Anne Simpson -- Clover Valley Press. Trepanier Hall-AICHO, 212 West Second St., Duluth.)

A little over two years ago I was introduced to the poetry and writings of a Portuguese writer Fernando Pessoa, 1888-1935. More than one friend has noted for me that Pessoa is something of a national treasure in Portugal. In addition to being a poet he was a prolific writer, literary critic, translator, and significant literary figure. Harold Bloom, author of Closing of the American Mind, referred to him as "the most representative poet of the 20th century," along with Pablo Neruda. He was trilingual... Portuguese, English, and French. And remarkable.

I often like to relax at the end of the day by reading. Last night I was sifting through a book of Pessoa's selected poems titled, A Little Larger Than the Entire Universe. This untitled piece can be found on page 307 of the Penguin Classics edition, translated by Richard Zenith.

Whether I'm happy or sad?...
Frankly I don't know.
What does it mean to be sad?
What is happiness good for?

I'm neither happy nor sad.
I don't really know what I am.
I'm just one more soul that exists
And feels what God has ordained.

So then, am I happy or sad?
Thinking never ends well...
For me sadness means
Hardly knowing myself...

But that's what happiness is...
20 August 1930

If this poem intrigues you, you may enjoy my meditation on another poem that Pessoa wrote... with my own unique application.

If you're a poet yourself, or simply enjoy the poetic form, you will probably enjoy this page of quotes about poetry. The first on that page is from the pen of Leonard Cohen: "Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash."

Meantime, life goes on all around you. Embrace it!

Beyond the Bend in the Road

Here’s another short poem by Fernando Pessoa. I love the eloquent way he sinks home the idea of living in the now, appreciating the gift that is right before our eyes. I enjoy the simplicity of these lines, along with the depths conveyed. I am reminded again of the notion that until we become as little children we shall not see the kingdom of God.

Beyond the Bend in the Road

Beyond the bend in the road
There may be a well, and there may be a castle,
And there may be just more road.
I don’t know and don’t ask.
As long as I’m on the road that’s before the bend
I look only at the road before the bend,
Because the road before the bend is all I can see.
It would do me no good to look anywhere else
Or at what I can’t see.
Let’s pay attention only to where we are.
There’s only enough beauty in being here and not somewhere else.
If there are people beyond the bend in the road,
Let them worry about what’s beyond the bend in the road.
That, for them, is the road.
If we’re to arrive there, when we arrive there we’ll know.
For now we know only that we’re not there.
Here there’s just the road before the bend, and before the bend
There’s the road without any bend.

1914
Fernando Pessoa
A Little Larger Than the Entire Universe

A Poem By Pessoa On Social Media

From the highest window of my house
I wave farewell with a white handkerchief
To my poems going out to humanity.

And I'm neither happy nor sad.
That is the fate of poems.
I wrote them and must show them to everyone
Because I cannot do otherwise,
Even as the flower cannot hide its color,
Nor the river hide its flowing,
Nor the tree hide the fruit it bears.
~ Fernando Pessoa, 1914

As I read these words last night in my easy I chair, it struck me that they could just as easily apply to bloggers today.

From the highest window of my house
I wave farewell with a white handkerchief
To my blog entries going out to humanity.

...that is the fate of a blog post.

We write them and must show them to everyone....

Pessoa's little stanza shows insight about human nature. First, there is the desire to create. So we produce art, or books or pottery, or maybe a miniature railroad or carved hope chest or a city. We create things. Then, there is the need to share. Just as the tree must give up its fruit, and was not even deigned to cling to it, so we recognize our role and yield to it.

We share for many reasons, but one of them is an innate desire to connect with others.

And so it is that we see the remarkable growth of today's social media. Blogger, Twitter, Facebook. Pessoa continues:

Who knows who might read them?

Who knows into what hands they'll fall?

A flower, I was plucked by fate to be seen.

A tree, my fruit was picked to be eaten.

A river, my water's fate was to flow out of me.

I submit and feel almost happy,

Almost happy like a man tired of being sad.

Go, go away from me!

The tree passes and is scattered throughout Nature.

The flower wilts and its dust lasts forever.

The river flows into the sea and its water is forever the water that was its own.

I pass and I remain, like the Universe.

And if you have read this blog entry today, it is my gift to you for the weekend.

More Pessoa

Yesterday I shared two poems by the Portugese poet Fernando Pessoa. The poems had no titles but rather only dates... but these were blog post dates, not the dates of the poems themselves as Pessoa lived a century ago. According to Wikiquote, "Fernando Pessoa (1888–1935) was a Portuguese poet and writer, most of whose work was published posthumously. He wrote frequently under heteronyms, alter egos with developed personalities, biographies, jobs, habits, attitudes, addresses, etc., who sometimes quoted and interacted with each other and other people."

Here is another pocketful of Pessoa to reflect upon.

"No intelligent idea can gain general acceptance unless some stupidity is mixed in with it."

"I've always rejected being understood. To be understood is to prostitute oneself. I prefer to be taken seriously for what I'm not, remaining humanly unknown, with naturalness and all due respect"

"My past is everything I failed to be."

"Stones in the road? I save every single one, one day I´ll build a castle"

"My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while... I'm two, and both keep their distance — Siamese twins that aren't attached.

"The value of things is not the time they last, but the intensity with which they occur. That is why there are unforgettable moments and unique people!"

ednote: The picture here in not a likeness of F. Pessoa. Perhaps if in this lifetime time permits I will replace it with a more accurate misrepresentation.

Two Poems by Fernando Pessoa

I have recently been introduced to the poetry and writing of a Portugese writer Fernando Pessoa, 1888-1935. In addition to being a poet he was a prolific writer, literary critic, translator, and significant literary figure. Harold Bloom, author of Closing of the American Mind, referred to him as "the most representative poet of the 20th century," along with Pablo Neruda. He was trilingual in Portuguese, English, and French.

On another occasion I may have more time to discuss his life in more detail, digressing on his heteronymous character. But for now, here are two of Pessoa's poems extracted from a blog entitled Poems of Fernando Pessoa.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

This great wavering between
Believing and not quite dis-
Believing troubles the heart
Weary of knowing nothing.

Estranged from what it knows
For not knowing what it is,
The heart only has one vital
Moment, the finding of faith --

The faith that all the stars
Know, for it is the spider
Whose web they weave, and it is
The life before everything.


Sunday, December 26, 2010

I devote my higher mind to the ardent
Pursuit of the summit, leaving
Verse to chance and its laws,
For when the thought is lofty and noble,
The sentence will naturally seek it,
And rhythm slavishly serve it.