The advantage of these notes is that through them I can methodically capture and record ephemeral impressions that I experience while reading, sleeping, or composing, and that would probably be wasted. On the other hand, I already enjoy myself because I know, as I lap them up, that I am often rushing. It does not matter. I read a passage, I have an idea: this idea will become a note; this is a commitment already engraved in an imaginary stone. Analyzing coldly, I believe that these prose lines are the concretization of a rigorous method of mental utilization.
Tag: literature
Ah, If I Wanted to Be Part of a Club…
Ah, if I wanted to be part of a club, of a “school”, of a congregation! After becoming aware of Antero’s existence—whom I could even fantasize as a past existence, seeing how much I have catechized myself in these philosophies—I could easily take upon myself to “continue what he did not finish”, “rescuing” his “values”, searching for his disciples coeval to me, etc., etc. So, perhaps, I could never be Antero—someone who martyred himself by giving in to the relapses of that feeling which, for an unusual mind like his, must be exterminated for the sake of peace.
Antero de Quental and Cesare Pavese
In Cesare Pavese’s diary, suicide can be easily glimpsed since we find, first, the suicidal idea that appears repeatedly as a solution, and, second, temperamental oscillations that cloud the reason. In Antero de Quental, the picture is completely different. Antero is, among other things, a stoic—and this implies both the ability to accept reality and the ability to control himself. In Antero, despite the atrocious psychological conflict, we find reason taking the reins of instinct, and from this it follows that the spirit, accustomed to sharp oscillations, is also accustomed to converting them into fruitful impulses through meditation. How, at the age of forty-nine, could Antero commit suicide? On the one hand, it seems obvious to me that we are all subject to the susceptibilities of the race; on the other hand, it seems erroneous to want to attribute common causes to an uncommon man.
The Old Debate
Castilho says, in my translation:
The verses of Filinto displease and martyr any ear, even if not of the delicate; those of Camões commonly satisfy; those of Bocage enchant; to these, if anything should be reprehended it would be their excessively constant perfection.
It is true, it is true: technically, Bocage is no less than a master. But that does not stop the laughter at this conclusion that seems like a love letter. “Excessively constant perfection…” We should ask ourselves once again if the value of a poetic composition is reduced to technique or if, perhaps, poetry is configured as an expressive vehicle of a soul. If we opt for the latter hypothesis, we must conclude that the type of the soul that composes verses necessarily influences the value of the composition. And what else? A noble soul engages itself in issues worthy of its nobility; it expresses them because, for it, they carry real and decisive weight. How can we call perfect a poetry corroded by passions and worldly concerns? a poetry incapable of rising to more virtuous planes? Camões’ verses “commonly satisfy”, while Bocage’s “enchant”. What a conclusion!