Download E-books A Little Larger Than the Entire Universe: Selected Poems (Penguin Classics) PDF

By Fernando Pessoa

Writing obsessively in French, English, and Portuguese, Fernando Pessoa left a prodigious physique of labor, a lot of it less than "heteronyms"—fully fleshed modify egos with startlingly assorted types and issues of view. delivering a different sampling of all his most famed voices, this assortment positive aspects poems that experience by no means sooner than been translated along many initially composed in English. as well as such significant works as "Maritime Ode of Campos" and his Goethe-inspired Faust, written in clean verse, there are a number of attractive poems that experience purely come to mild within the final 5 years. chosen and translated by way of top Pessoa pupil Richard Zenith, this can be the best creation on hand to the breadth of Pessoa’s genius.
* The translations are in keeping with the main authoritative versions, proven opposed to the unique manuscripts
* contains an advent discussing Pessoa, his paintings, and the phenomenon of "heteronymy" in addition to a chronology

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7 might 1914 a l b e r to c a e i ro forty-one X LV A row of timber within the distance, towards the slope . . . yet what's a row of timber? There are only bushes. “Row” and the plural “trees” are names, now not issues. unsatisfied people, who placed every little thing so as, Draw traces from factor to factor, position labels with names on completely actual timber, And plot parallels of range and longitude at the blameless earth itself, that's loads greener and entire of flowers! 7 could 1914 42 a l i t t l e l a r g e r t h a n t h e e n t i r e u n i v e rs e X LV I during this means or that method, because it may well ensue or now not ensue, occasionally succeeding in asserting what i believe And at different instances announcing it badly and with issues jumbled together, I maintain writing my poems, inadvertently, as though writing weren't anything requiring motion, as though writing have been whatever that occurs to me within the comparable approach that the sunlight reaches me from outdoor. i attempt to say what i think with out considering what i think. i attempt to position phrases correct subsequent to my notion in order that I won’t want a hall Of concept resulting in phrases. I don’t consistently have the ability to think what i do know I may still consider. in simple terms very slowly does my proposal swim around the river, Weighed down because it is via the go well with males pressured it to put on. i attempt to shed what I’ve realized, i attempt to fail to remember the best way i used to be taught to recollect, To scrape off the paint that used to be painted on my senses, To uncrate my actual feelings, To step out of all my wrapping and be myself—not Alberto Caeiro yet a human animal created through Nature. a l b e r t o c a e i ro forty three That’s how I write, desirous to believe Nature now not at the same time a guy yet only as somebody who feels Nature. That’s how I write, occasionally good, occasionally badly, occasionally asserting simply what i would like to claim, occasionally getting it incorrect, Falling down one second and getting up the following, yet continually carrying on with on my means like a obdurate blind guy. nonetheless, I’m someone. I’m the Discoverer of Nature. I’m the Argonaut of real sensations. I deliver to the Universe a brand new Universe, simply because I carry to the Universe its personal self. this can be what i think and write, completely conscious and obviously considering it’s five o’clock within the morning And that the solar, even though it nonetheless hasn’t raised its face Over the wall of the horizon, Is already displaying the guidelines of its fingers Gripping the pinnacle of the wall Of the horizon sprinkled with low hills. 10 may well 1914 44 a l i t t l e l a r g e r t h a n t h e e n t i r e u n i v e rs e X LVIII From the top window of my condo I wave farewell with a white handkerchief To my poems going out to humanity. And I’m neither satisfied nor unhappy. that's the destiny of poems. I wrote them and needs to exhibit them to every body simply because i can't do in a different way, while the flower can’t cover its colour, Nor the river conceal its flowing, Nor the tree conceal the fruit it bears. There they cross, already distant, as though within the stagecoach, and that i can’t support yet suppose remorse Like a soreness in my physique. Who is aware who may perhaps learn them? Who understands into what palms they’ll fall? A flower, i used to be plucked via my destiny to be visible.

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