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chervbim's review against another edition
5.0
Love Pessoa and love writers whose multiplicity guides their work (in all forms and incantations).
blueyorkie's review against another edition
5.0
These poetry pages ring valid; the language is musical, rhythmic and pleasant to read despite the peculiarity of the thoughts and ideas of the author.
I appreciated this great book which highlights (well) chosen texts and opens up a new horizon on the author.
I appreciated this great book which highlights (well) chosen texts and opens up a new horizon on the author.
nancygs's review against another edition
challenging
inspiring
reflective
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
4.0
pagesofnectar's review against another edition
5.0
My new favorite poet, for sure!
I just fell utterly in love with these poems! So, so beautiful! Exactly the poetry I adore: heart-wrenching lyrics describing the most humaine emotions of despair, of feeling lost. Like you're not living your life but you're instead watching a vessel, that is supposed to be you, experiencing it!
Damn, such deep lyrics, so understanding of the human psyche and the heart-breaking urge to express one's emotions of emptiness and wish to swallow all the sorrow caused by the unimaginable beauty of life!
Fernando Pessoa owns my heart now!
I just fell utterly in love with these poems! So, so beautiful! Exactly the poetry I adore: heart-wrenching lyrics describing the most humaine emotions of despair, of feeling lost. Like you're not living your life but you're instead watching a vessel, that is supposed to be you, experiencing it!
Damn, such deep lyrics, so understanding of the human psyche and the heart-breaking urge to express one's emotions of emptiness and wish to swallow all the sorrow caused by the unimaginable beauty of life!
Fernando Pessoa owns my heart now!
yanina's review against another edition
5.0
Me gustó de la misma forma que la primera vez que lo leí. Es muy interesante recorrer esta selección de poemas de distintos heterónimos del autor y compararlos. A pesar de ser una lectura "obligatoria" para la facultad, lo pude disfrutar. Lo recomiendo muchísimo para la gente que le huye un poco a la poesía porque no son poemas "difíciles" (más allá de cada uno pueda analizarse y tenga sus particularidades, claro está) y son muy amenos.
lizzie_e's review against another edition
5.0
Nunca leio poesia de fio a pavio. Abro uma página ao calhas e vou lendo os poemas assim, de forma completamente descomprometida e aleatória. Comprei este livro em Janeiro do ano passado e foi assim que o fui lendo, julgava até já ter devorado todos os poemas contidos neste pequeno livro.
Até que ontem (dia 10 de Outubro de 2015), encontrando-me num estado tal de melancolia, decidi virar-me para a poesia e peguei em Caeiro. Abrindo numa página aleatoriamente calhou-me o único poema que ainda não tinha lido. Gostei tanto que reli todos os outros.
De facto, Pessoa conforta-me sempre, até nos dias mais tristes.
XLVI
Deste modo ou daquele modo.
Conforme calha ou não calha.
Podendo às vezes dizer o que penso,
E outras vezes dizendo-o mal e com misturas,
Vou escrevendo os meus versos sem querer,
Como se escrever não fosse uma cousa feita de gestos,
Como se escrever fosse uma cousa que me acontecesse
Como dar-me o sol de fora.
Procuro dizer o que sinto
Sem pensar em que o sinto.
Procuro encostar as palavras à idéia
E não precisar dum corredor
Do pensamento para as palavras.
Nem sempre consigo sentir o que sei que devo sentir.
O meu pensamento só muito devagar atravessa o rio a
nado
Porque lhe pesa o fato que os homens o fizeram usar.
Procuro despir-me do que aprendi,
Procuro esquecer-me do modo de lembrar que me
ensinaram,
E raspar a tinta com que me pintaram os sentidos,
Desencaixotar as minhas emoções verdadeiras,
Desembrulhar-me e ser eu, não Alberto Caeiro,
Mas um animal humano que a Natureza produziu.
E assim escrevo, querendo sentir a Natureza, nem sequer
como um homem,
Mas como quem sente a Natureza, e mais nada.
E assim escrevo, ora bem ora mal,
Ora acertando com o que quero dizer ora errando,
Caindo aqui, levantando-me acolá,
Mas indo sempre no meu caminho como um cego teimoso.
Ainda assim, sou alguém.
Sou o Descobridor da Natureza.
Sou o Argonauta das sensações verdadeiras.
Trago ao Universo um novo Universo
Porque trago ao Universo ele-próprio.
Isto sinto e isto escrevo
Perfeitamente sabedor e sem que não veja
Que são cinco horas do amanhecer
E que o sol, que ainda não mostrou a cabeça
Por cima do muro do horizonte,
Ainda assim já se lhe vêem as pontas dos dedos
Agarrando o cimo do muro
Do horizonte cheio de montes baixos.
Até que ontem (dia 10 de Outubro de 2015), encontrando-me num estado tal de melancolia, decidi virar-me para a poesia e peguei em Caeiro. Abrindo numa página aleatoriamente calhou-me o único poema que ainda não tinha lido. Gostei tanto que reli todos os outros.
De facto, Pessoa conforta-me sempre, até nos dias mais tristes.
XLVI
Deste modo ou daquele modo.
Conforme calha ou não calha.
Podendo às vezes dizer o que penso,
E outras vezes dizendo-o mal e com misturas,
Vou escrevendo os meus versos sem querer,
Como se escrever não fosse uma cousa feita de gestos,
Como se escrever fosse uma cousa que me acontecesse
Como dar-me o sol de fora.
Procuro dizer o que sinto
Sem pensar em que o sinto.
Procuro encostar as palavras à idéia
E não precisar dum corredor
Do pensamento para as palavras.
Nem sempre consigo sentir o que sei que devo sentir.
O meu pensamento só muito devagar atravessa o rio a
nado
Porque lhe pesa o fato que os homens o fizeram usar.
Procuro despir-me do que aprendi,
Procuro esquecer-me do modo de lembrar que me
ensinaram,
E raspar a tinta com que me pintaram os sentidos,
Desencaixotar as minhas emoções verdadeiras,
Desembrulhar-me e ser eu, não Alberto Caeiro,
Mas um animal humano que a Natureza produziu.
E assim escrevo, querendo sentir a Natureza, nem sequer
como um homem,
Mas como quem sente a Natureza, e mais nada.
E assim escrevo, ora bem ora mal,
Ora acertando com o que quero dizer ora errando,
Caindo aqui, levantando-me acolá,
Mas indo sempre no meu caminho como um cego teimoso.
Ainda assim, sou alguém.
Sou o Descobridor da Natureza.
Sou o Argonauta das sensações verdadeiras.
Trago ao Universo um novo Universo
Porque trago ao Universo ele-próprio.
Isto sinto e isto escrevo
Perfeitamente sabedor e sem que não veja
Que são cinco horas do amanhecer
E que o sol, que ainda não mostrou a cabeça
Por cima do muro do horizonte,
Ainda assim já se lhe vêem as pontas dos dedos
Agarrando o cimo do muro
Do horizonte cheio de montes baixos.
msand3's review against another edition
5.0
“My memory itself is a void, I feel
That who I am and who I was
Are different dreams.”
Certain writers come along at just the right moment in your life to give voice to exactly how you feel -- even when you have a hard time expressing it yourself. Pessoa is that writer for me now. Of course, I had known his work -- both [b:The Book of Disquiet|45974|The Book of Disquiet|Fernando Pessoa|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1382871857s/45974.jpg|983806], which I’ve owned for years but haven’t gotten around to reading, and his famous heteronymic poetry -- but this is the first time I’ve really delved into his poetry. He is the great poet of the search for identity and meaning in a world where everything is artifice. Only in the fictions of fiction can we attempt to touch truth -- but even then it is a tenuous grasp.
“What is true? What is’t that seems --
The lie that’s in reality
Or the lie that is in dreams?”
Pessoa wrote those words in English at the age of 19. He seems to have intuited the impossibility of knowledge and self-knowledge at an early age.
I strongly identified with his verse and the multiple perspectives from with each of his poetic voices emerged: the plain-spoken and direct pastoral observations of “Alberto Caeiro,” the Romantic and pagan lyrics of “Ricardo Reis,” and the Whitman-esque odes to doubt and alienation penned by “Alvaro de Campos.”
I want to explore the poems of each of these heteronyms in more detail in the future. The selection in the edition translated by Peter Rickard (which I couldn't find on Goodreads) contained the best of each heteronym, but I’d love to read much more. Rickard’s lengthy introduction (half the book) provided the perfect historical, biographical, and critical introduction to Pessoa I could have wanted.
Pessoa is the perfect poet for anyone who feels as if they are constantly searching for meaning or understanding, and who are dismayed by those who are too thoughtless to have the same type of self-reflection, as well as by those who claim to have any answers. Individuation is contradictory and impossible, Pessoa maintains, but in that search is the stuff of life itself. So also with poetry and art and love -- even when they fail us. Pessoa expresses that failure perhaps better than any other poet of the 20th century.
That who I am and who I was
Are different dreams.”
Certain writers come along at just the right moment in your life to give voice to exactly how you feel -- even when you have a hard time expressing it yourself. Pessoa is that writer for me now. Of course, I had known his work -- both [b:The Book of Disquiet|45974|The Book of Disquiet|Fernando Pessoa|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1382871857s/45974.jpg|983806], which I’ve owned for years but haven’t gotten around to reading, and his famous heteronymic poetry -- but this is the first time I’ve really delved into his poetry. He is the great poet of the search for identity and meaning in a world where everything is artifice. Only in the fictions of fiction can we attempt to touch truth -- but even then it is a tenuous grasp.
“What is true? What is’t that seems --
The lie that’s in reality
Or the lie that is in dreams?”
Pessoa wrote those words in English at the age of 19. He seems to have intuited the impossibility of knowledge and self-knowledge at an early age.
I strongly identified with his verse and the multiple perspectives from with each of his poetic voices emerged: the plain-spoken and direct pastoral observations of “Alberto Caeiro,” the Romantic and pagan lyrics of “Ricardo Reis,” and the Whitman-esque odes to doubt and alienation penned by “Alvaro de Campos.”
I want to explore the poems of each of these heteronyms in more detail in the future. The selection in the edition translated by Peter Rickard (which I couldn't find on Goodreads) contained the best of each heteronym, but I’d love to read much more. Rickard’s lengthy introduction (half the book) provided the perfect historical, biographical, and critical introduction to Pessoa I could have wanted.
Pessoa is the perfect poet for anyone who feels as if they are constantly searching for meaning or understanding, and who are dismayed by those who are too thoughtless to have the same type of self-reflection, as well as by those who claim to have any answers. Individuation is contradictory and impossible, Pessoa maintains, but in that search is the stuff of life itself. So also with poetry and art and love -- even when they fail us. Pessoa expresses that failure perhaps better than any other poet of the 20th century.
sarajesus95's review against another edition
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
lighthearted
reflective
sad
medium-paced
5.0