Some might say there is no Walt Whitman, no Eliot; however, what is most evident in Brazilian poetry is that the good poets number in the dozens, and that is no small thing. Poets such as Maranhão Sobrinho, Junqueira Freire, Raul de Leoni, José Albano, and Venceslau de Queirós are rarely even mentioned in anthologies and compendiums. The tradition, for its part, has already boasted several centuries of consistency and solidity. And even though, after a superficial analysis of new and old poets, of hackneyed or imported themes, one might give in to the impulse to disparage the whole, a deeper study leaves no doubt as to the tremendous folly of doing so. Brazilian poetry is excellent; and nothing more needs to be said.
Tag: literature
Rubem Fonseca’s Quality
It does not take many short stories to appreciate Rubem Fonseca’s quality. And it must be somewhat irritating for those plagued by that old complex to realize that Rubem Fonseca has reached the level of the best in the genre. Less impressive than his mastery of varied narrative techniques, his creativity in plot structure, and his somewhat shocking vocabulary are the incisiveness of his themes and a style that does not shy away from speaking plainly. It is in this, above all, that the great writer stands out. Breaking away from a tradition that insinuates, that ironizes, but that fears raw and direct expression, Rubem Fonseca manages to highlight real problems laid bare by the reality of his time. In short, he is a unique writer who had the courage to put on paper what seemed essential to him.
No Longer Human, by Osamu Dazai
It is incredible how much sympathy a man like Osamu Dazai inspires. Though it has been some time since I read his work, the image of that profound anguish remains. An anguish that is familiar, all too familiar, which not even the language barrier can obscure. And to recall, in this work, those recurring, unpleasant, dangerous ideas, which, once they take root in the mind, are truly to be feared… The aura that emanates from this little book needs no explanation. Nor do the reasons for the inevitable sympathy. Osamu Dazai is so human, just like us… What will endure of him is the memory of the writer who did not play games, who ennobled art through the seriousness of his motivation.
In Brazil, When a True Writer Is Born…
In Brazil, when a true writer is born, he is required to possess an extraordinary strength of character: from the outset, he already knows that his life’s work will be nothing more than a testament of love. There will be no recognition for his work, nor could there be, because one cannot expect someone to acknowledge something that holds no importance for him. There is nothing to regret. Brazilians do not read and do not like books; books are not part of their lives. Therefore, regardless of the seriousness and caliber of the Brazilian writer, his work will have neither relevance nor influence, as one might expect. That, however, is not the end of the story. He can also be certain in advance that, even if he studies more than writers from other countries, even if he endures greater hardships, overcomes greater obstacles, and practices his craft with greater dedication, even if the monument he erects proves irrefutably more worthy and moving, there will be, after his death, one of those journalists who pretend to be intellectuals, dazzled by their knowledge of English, to spew, from the heights of their ineptitude and terrible command of the language, phrases like “nothing is any good in Brazilian literature,” “nothing good has ever been produced here.” The Brazilian writer is doomed to be despised by fools and insulted by imbeciles.