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Living The Book of Disquiet
Fernando Pessoa
14 episodes
5 days ago
Every so often, I sit down and write a letter to Fernando Pessoa, the Portuguese poet and writer. I not only write but also send each letter to the postal address where Pessoa spent the last fifteen years of his life before dying at the age of 47 with cirrhosis of the liver - most likely due to alcoholism. He hasn't written back to me yet, even though I put my own name and address on every missive I send. One day he, or someone very much like him, will perhaps write back. I live in hope.
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Personal Journals
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Every so often, I sit down and write a letter to Fernando Pessoa, the Portuguese poet and writer. I not only write but also send each letter to the postal address where Pessoa spent the last fifteen years of his life before dying at the age of 47 with cirrhosis of the liver - most likely due to alcoholism. He hasn't written back to me yet, even though I put my own name and address on every missive I send. One day he, or someone very much like him, will perhaps write back. I live in hope.
Show more...
Personal Journals
Society & Culture
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Beyond The Yellow Brick Road
Living The Book of Disquiet
24 minutes 29 seconds
5 days ago
Beyond The Yellow Brick Road

You, whose coming is so gentle that it resembles a departure,

Whose ebb and flow of darkness, when the moon exhales,

Contains waves of dead affection, cold as a sea of dreams,

Breezes from landscapes fashioned to calm our excess of anxiety . . .

You, palely, you, feebly, you, liquidly, or in the form of a numbing vapour,

The smell of death among flowers, the whiff of fever on river banks,

You, the queen, you, the chatelaine, you, the pale lady, come . . .

From the closing section of Ode Marítima (1916) Pessoa writing as Álvaro de Campos. Translation: Margaret Jull Costa

Tu, cuja vinda é tão suave que parece um afastamento,

Cujo fluxo e refluxo de treva, quando a lua bafeja,

Tem ondas de carinho morto, frio de mares de sonho,

Brisas de paisagens supostas para a nossa angústia excessiva…

Tu, palidamente, tu, flébil, tu, liquidamente,

Aroma de morte entre flores, hálito de febre sobre margens,T

u, rainha, tu, castelã, tu, dona pálida, vem…

Living The Book of Disquiet
Every so often, I sit down and write a letter to Fernando Pessoa, the Portuguese poet and writer. I not only write but also send each letter to the postal address where Pessoa spent the last fifteen years of his life before dying at the age of 47 with cirrhosis of the liver - most likely due to alcoholism. He hasn't written back to me yet, even though I put my own name and address on every missive I send. One day he, or someone very much like him, will perhaps write back. I live in hope.