I have recorded, in these Notes, how amazed I was to go through the three-month diary kept by Pessoa at the age of twenty-four. I remember comparing him to myself at that age, and saying that his routine, to an animal of my species, seemed like literature. What to say, now, when reading the same phase described by Richard Zenith? Fernando Pessoa, no doubt, was much more concerned than I am with posterity. Burning in months an inheritance that could afford him, according to his biographer, a modest life for several years; immersed in debt, rejecting outright the idea of having a “normal” job and instead writing a letter asking a multimillionaire philanthropist for money… This is the kind of attitude that makes a biography worthwhile! And to think that I never thought of such an idea! Instead of sending CVs, send letters asking for money! There is no arguing about how much more fun a biography like this is: how can it be compared to another one of someone who chooses to clock in from Monday to Friday, in an evident lack of creativity? Not to mention the inheritance, which stupidly incinerated makes the biography much more interesting to us…
Tag: literature
Few Things Are as Delightful…
Few things are as delightful as planning and foreseeing, in this act, everything happening as foreseen. And then allow oneself to sail on the placid waters of optimism, rejoicing in advance because the planning will go well. What a satisfaction! The best thing is to always be able to do it, and always enjoy this expansive and invigorating feeling that only innocence is capable of delivering.
Literature Does Not Need Readers
Literature, contrary to what it may seem, does not need readers in order for it to survive. In fact, it does not need any readers, ever—a handful of true artists is enough. As long as there is someone, like Pessoa, who sees in Antero a brother in spirit, literature will endure. And it does not matter that humanity does not know these men, that the overwhelming majority will never hear a word about them: all it takes is for one of them to be born, and fulfill the mission of putting another link in the chain.
The Intelligence That Is Manifested by the Style
It is curious how translations, no matter how faithful they are to the meaning of the text, no matter how grammatically correct, almost always fail to transmit the style, or rather the intelligence that is manifested by the style of an author. There is something almost always untranslatable from one language to another, which is the creative organization of the sentences that exploits not only the syntax, but also the particular semantics of the language being spoken in. Thus, the translation most often sounds strange when the translator prudently chooses to convey the meaning to the detriment of the translated author’s style. To do otherwise, one must allow oneself a freedom that will be in trouble to free itself from falsification.
