The Fernando Pessoa Way of Looking at Things

Four Short Poems by Fernando Pessoa

Here are four short poems by Fernando Pessoa, one of  my favorite intelligent fellows.  Fernando Pessoa (1888 – 1935) was a poet from Lisbon, Portugal who besides writing many brilliant poems, wrote “The Book of Disquietude” which has been described as “a factless autobiography” and is one of the landmarks of the twentieth century.  It might be a good idea to approach Fernando Pessoa with some care rather than jumping into “The Book of Disquietude”.  Besides reading his short poems, another approach to Pessoa is to read Jose Saramago’s novel ‘The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis’ which led me to become a full-scale Fernando Pessoa addict.

 

. This Morning I Went Out Very Early This morning I went out very early, Because I woke up even earlier And had nothing I wanted to do. I didn’t know which way to go, But the wind blew hard to one side, And I followed in the way it pushed me. So has my life always been, and so would I like it always to be – I go where the wind takes me and don’t need to think. . . . I Lie Down in the Grass I lie down in the grass And forget all I was taught. What I was taught never made me any warmer or cooler. What I was told exists never changed the shape of a thing. What I was made to see never touched my eyes. What was pointed out to me was never there: only what was there  was there. . . To See the Fields and the River To see the fields and the river It isn’t enough to open the window. To see the trees and the flowers It isn’t enough not to be blind. It is also necessary to have no philosophy. With philosophy, there are no trees, just ideas. There is only each one of us, like a cave. There is only a shut window, and the whole world outside, And a dream of what could be seen if the window were opened, Which is never what is seen when the window is opened. . . Your Eyes Go Sad Your eyes go sad. You’re not Listening to what I say. They doze, dream, fade out. Not listening. I talk away. I tell what I’ve told, out of listless Sadness, so often before… I think you never listened, So you’re away you are. All of a sudden, an absent Stare, you look at me, still Immeasurably distant, You begin a smile. I go on talking You go on listening – your own Thoughts you listen to, The smile as good as gone, Until, through the loafing Afternoon’s waste of while, The silence self-unleafing Of your useless smile.