Outside there’s a quiet like nothing existed. My room is a dark thing with vaguely white walls. How difficult to be yourself and see only what you can! Then why do I say, “Things are beautiful”? I give to things in exchange for the delight they give me. When things have all the reality they can,īeauty is the name of something that doesn’t exist That being why I call them stars and flowers.Īt times, on days of perfect and exact light, Where the poets say the stars are the eternal brothers,Īnd flowers are penitent nuns who only live a day,īut where stars really aren’t anything but stars, If seeing and hearing are seeing and hearing?īut this (poor us carrying a clothed soul!),Īnd sequestration in freedom from that convent Why is it that seeing and hearing would deceive us Why would we see one thing as being another? That’s how it is and that’s how it should be… Naturally, like someone who doesn’t find it strangeĪnd when it’s time to die, remember the day dies,Īnd the sunset is beautiful, and the endless night is beautiful… When there’s been no rain for a while, you pray for it to come. If I could take a bite of the whole world Thinking about a flower is seeing and smelling itĪnd eating a piece of fruit is knowing its meaning.Īnd I throw myself lengthwise on the grassĪnd feeling my whole body lying on reality, Because it deals with an unlearning, Caeiro turns to the simple, not-thinking, almost to the absence of the word. It does so by returning to nature in a way that implies an absence of meaning, concepts, knowledge structures and prejudices that distort the look of things, the experience of Nature and feel of Reality. One that puts into question the cultural tradition that “covers” thought: philosophy, poetry, mysticism, religion. It contains all of Cavafy’s major works in the translation of Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard (edited by G.P.The work of the poet Alberto Caeiro, Fernando Pessoa’s heteronymous, is a philosophy without philosophy. The Cavafy Archive website was created by the Center for Neo-Hellenic Studies and is owned by the Onassis Foundation. It’s not very often one can find an entire library belonging to a writer with Pessoa’s universal dimension. The Fernando Pessoa House has a unique treasure: the private library of this great literary figure. keeper of horned flock (8) Crossword Clue ARMOURER Keeper of wine starts to drink excessively and lope gently along (8) DECANTER Indonesian capital deejay. Work is no longer protected by copyright. (1914) ”O Guardador de Rebanos” In Poemas de Alberto Caeiro (Nota explicativa e notas de João Gaspar Simões e Luiz de Montalvor.) Ática: Lisboa. Se sentavam com um baque, cansados de brincar,įernando Pessoa – Portugal – (1888 - 1935)Ĭaeiro, A. Mal a diligência levanta no cimo do outeiro. Ou olhando para as minhas ideias e vendo o meu rebanho,Į sorrindo vagamente como quem não compreende o que se diz Olhando para o meu rebanho e vendo as minhas ideias, Ou, passeando pelos caminhos ou pelos atalhos,Įscrevo versos num papel que está no meu pensamento, Ou quando uma nuvem passa a mão por cima da luz É só porque sinto o que escrevo ao pôr do Sol Read instantly on your browser with Kindle Cloud Reader. Quando o vento cresce e parece que chove mais. The keeper of flocks: Pessoa, Fernando: 9780903226868: : Books. Só tenho pena de saber que eles são contentes, Page Number 14.Į as mãos colhem flores sem ela dar por isso. The Foolish Poet Press, Wilmslow, Portugal. In Portuguese and translated to English by David Scanlon. With the sleeve of your dirty hand-me-down shirt. You sat down with a thud exhausted from play,Ĭleaning off the sweat from your warm brow The moment your stagecoach gets to the top of the hill. Looking down at my flock and seeing my ideas,Īnd smiling vaguely like when you don’t understand what you sayĪnd you want to pretend that you understand. I write poems on paper that’s in my thought, Or when a cloud passes her hand over the lamp It’s just that I feel what I write at sunset When the wind has grown and it looks like a storm is coming.īeing many things all happy at the same time), I think of upset when walking in the rain My only regret is knowing they are content, And your hands harvest flowers without her knowing it.
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