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.

Alcohol and Art

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.

There Must Be a Difference…

There must be a difference between long meditated verse and verse carved out in seconds. If not the reader, it is the poet who must feel it. Otherwise, it is admitting that neither the mind nor the effort are of any use. And patience a virtue of those who have no talent. No, no… there seems to be a contradiction here, just as there is justice in the greater gratification that comes from the completion of long works. Great art asks for time, even if it is to ratify a creation conceived suddenly.

The True and the Artificial

Says Guyau, in the preface to his Vers d’un philosophe:

Il y a deux écoles en poésie : l’une recherche la vérité de la pensée, la sincérité de l’émotion, le naturel et la fidélité parfaite de l’expression, qui font qu’au lieu d’un auteur ” on trouve un homme ” : pour cette école, pas de poésie possible sans une idée et un sentiment qui soient vraiment pensés et sentis. Pour d’autres, au contraire, la vérité du fond et la valeur des idées sont chose accessoire dans la poésie : le tissu brillant de ses fictions n’a rien de commun ni avec la philosophie ni avec la science ; c’est un jeu d’imagination et de style, un ravissant mensonge dont personne ne doit être dupe, surtout le poète.

This division, which seems more precise than the traditional literary schools, and which can be easily extended to the other arts, summarizes artists in two groups: the true and the artificial. The only possible caveat consists in saying that, in many cases, the imagined emotion can be a felt emotion, that is, the imagination, as strong as it is, is worth as experience. For the rest, it is to admit that there are those who make art out of expressive necessity, those for whom a life without art is absolutely unjustified, absolutely impossible; and there are those for whom art is an entertainment and an exhibition. That is enough.