Tag: writing

The role of creativity in a work is simply to direct the effort. This, and not that, is what will make the work come to fruition. Naturally, a work in which the first does not shine will seem weak: but it is still a finished work, something that will never have the one who idealizes the role of creativity, believing it capable of materializing without boring work. One stimulates the brain and it points out paths: the legs, however, are the ones to follow them.

Those moments when the mind unleashes weeks of creative work in a single burst are indescribable. It is amazing how the ideas shine with clarity and quickly pile up into sentences that become pages, until the point where they cease not because they are exhausted, but so that the eyes can admire, in disbelief, how productive the work session was. Everything is impressive, from the spontaneity to the abundance of manifestation, which takes place without the spirit seeming to exert itself as usual, and consequently takes place and generates no fatigue. Some artists have said that such an experience resembles a state of semi-lucidity, whereas a force beyond one’s control seems to do the work. Perhaps semi-lucidity is not the most appropriate term, since at such moments there is a pulsating sense of epiphany, and the mind seems lucid and clear as it has never been. And then, rare as they are, it is to make the most of them, rejoicing for as long as they last, and knowing that they will not always be available…

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.

Although I have already joked, in a poem dedicated to Augusto dos Anjos, that I supposedly made verses next to a glass of wine, such a possibility is absolutely unthinkable to me, and I cannot even conceive of a possible stimulus coming from alcohol that facilitates creative work, especially when it comes to poetry. To write verse, it is necessary to gather not only all the lucidity available, but also a lot of energy, good disposition and silence, so that it is possible to concentrate the spirit entirely on the creation. Even in prose, which sometimes seems like a labor of strength, alcohol would only be a hindrance after the first few lines, when it is necessary to sustain concentration and move forward as if pushing the very heavy words forward. From alcohol, one can only extract a certain euphoria and an illusion that the idea will come out magnificent on paper—just as it sometimes does without it, and then one has to confront reality… I think the comparison with a high-level athlete is a fair one, who although he may like to drink, will never do so in the moments before a serious training session or a competition.