Tag: literature

To hell with this absurd feeling! I can, of course, separate myself from Antero and judge him. The comparison with Bocage comes in handy. Bocage is the full and sole artist, the technically impeccable poet. Bocage’s refinement in his verse work takes him to the top of the Portuguese language. However, I cannot judge Bocage superior to Antero. Come, stones! Antero fills his art with philosophy or, better said, art is for him the poetic expression of critical thinking. The same is not true of Bocage. The agonies, the torments, the lofty vision and metaphysical restlessness transformed into verse by Antero display a union between form and idea that impresses because it seems complete, satisfying the needs of the spirit. Bocage, the great though only poet, is not able to reason coldly, to isolate the idea; he lacks the vein of the philosopher. But, before that, his verses are concerned with ostensibly ordinary themes. The summary: Antero de Quental’s poetry, although full of flaws, is the expression of a superior spirit.

 

This is how this note would begin: “In Os sonetos completos, by Antero de Quental, for the first time I felt before Portuguese compositions that seemed like sprouts of myself.” Incredible! And I feel unfit to criticize them, since doing so, in a strange way, seems to me to be criticizing my own compositions. Why is that? My first impulse is to think: are Antero’s poems commonplace? Except for something from his youth, not at all! How, then, do I feel expressed by countless of his verses? Aesthetically, I think, there is a notable difference between our compositions: the speech, above all, comes out differently. And so? I conclude, after much reflection, that Antero’s torments are mine. Antero’s psychological conflict is identical to the one I experience. Antero’s expression is the corollary of the paths I have walked. And even Antero’s look before existence seems to keep an enormous similarity with mine. Incredible! And to think that Antero, at the end of it all… let’s leave that aside.

Although, essentially, the human tragedy repeats itself over the centuries, the variations in the scenario, the characters, and the plot are striking. It is as if each epoch had a peculiar pair of lenses. That is why the artist, in complying with the fair recommendation to “belong to his time,” must be very careful not to lose sight of the timeless. In the same way, the particularities of a scenario can generate interest and boredom: everything depends on the proportion in which they are balanced with features that will not wear out over the years.

Whenever a man tries to concentrate, something happens to get in his way: this fundamental law of the universe has been tested by me infinite times, and I have always verified its validity. I have analyzed it with more thoroughness than any scientist, and I say without hesitation: it is infallible and has no exceptions. Almost always, the universe sends the human voice as a disturbance, in its most diverse and detestable manifestations. That is why, to me, the greatest elevation of spirit in the history of mankind was that of the —anonymous!—guy who invented this marvel called the acoustic muffler, noise muffler, ear protector, or portable peace—this last name, of course, is how I named it myself. Designed to protect workers who are subjected to noise that can make them deaf, this magnificent invention symbolizes man spitting in his hand and nailing it to the face of the universe. It is the greatest human creation of all time! May this genius, this saint, this enlightened man that history has forgotten be blessed for all eternity!