A better title might be The Books of Disquiet. Each entry in this fictional diary of one Bernardo Soares represents an attempt to create a distinct biography. The Book of Disquiet (Penguin Classics) [Fernando Pessoa, RICHARD Zenith] on *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. The prizewinning. The Book of Disquiet: The Complete Edition [Fernando Pessoa, Jerónimo Pizarro , Margaret Jull Costa] on *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers.
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This fits with how Soares claims the book came to be, which you quoted.
Books to give you hope: The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa
Suddenly, many of my thoughts and feelings were exposed in those pages that Ffernando was never able to write. It would become prey out of its web. When he died, his relatives saw feernando sheets of papers and 50 years after his death, this book was published. Got through a bottle of wine most evenings, had a cushy civil service job where he was allowed to spend most of the time working on his private projects.
We almost always live outside ourselves, and life itself is a continual dispersion. Can we be that alone? The melancholic beauty of his prose and the heartbreaking honesty of his sorrow made me feel too small. He never intended to publish The Book of Disquiet or so I’ve heard ; when he died, he left a trunk in his apartment filled with a billion little scraps of paper detailing his observations on everything. Growing in one language means leaving the other behind.
Back then, I was living in tedium, as the narrator puts it. For example, he declares himself both anti-revolutionary and anti-reformist. I’m romanticizing Pessoa’s loneliness, to be sure, but what bliss, this silence. My feeling special makes way for a special feeling.
‘The Book of Disquiet’ Is the Weirdest Autobiography Ever
Richard Zenith’s translation is truly luminous and he brings rich nuance into the discourse of every line. Almost bibli This just might be the 15th, 18th or 19th ‘top 10’ book that I have ever read. And so, leaning over the bridge, I wait for the truth to go away and let me return to being fictitious and non-existent, intelligent and natural.
His fragments are deep, consuming, intellectual dives into his own everyday life. However much one soul strives to now another, he can know only what is told him by a word — a shapeless shadow on the ground of his understanding Who else but the Germans could conceive of an epic such as this?
I used to think a lot about how ‘The’ Universe existed only for, and in, me Like my copy of “The Recognitions” by William Gaddis, I have underlined fragments on nearly every page because it is so deeply relevant, honest and compelling in its pure intellectual grandeur.
I don’t care if this makes me happy or unhappy, and I don’t much care. My existence is all damp caves and dark catacombs.
Alternatively, it might have consisted of complementary material, the absence of which did not detract from the content of the original version.
Richard Zenith, the editor and translator of this stunning, haunting, and achingly beautiful paean to the imaginary potentiality of man, has compiled the definitive edition of this tome in a truly outstanding translation that captures the expressive eloquence of Pessoa and his magical, metaphorically rich manner of constructing word images to portray his unique way of life.
Pero hay m Es curiosa la cadena de novelas que a veces se produce. Dreams are where the impossible become possible. Words are the physical value of gold. I am proud, but not vain. What to do when we are forced to leave the safe place our dreams represent?
The Book of Disquiet: The Complete Edition by Fernando Pessoa
He writes about his dreams, their nature and importance and goes as far as giving advice regarding them: Only in the water of rivers and ponds could he look at his face. What the hell, who cares. To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. I shape myself in periods and paragraphs, I punctuate myself and, in the unleashed chain of images, I make myself king, as children do, with a crown of made from a sheet of newspaper or, in finding rhythms in mere strings of words, I garland myself, as madmen do, with dried flowers that in my dreams still live.
To live is to be dead. My soul is damp from hearing it. Let God change my dreams, but for my gift of fernanddo. I was thinking that I would never pesspa a favorite writer other than Disuiet Dostoyevskyor a psesoa book other than The Brothers Karamazov. Before I knew, I found myself reading a mesmerizing passage that I couldn’t leave until I finished it. The one in solitude, the one in the mirror, the one in the photograph or the one in the mind?
The Book of Disquiet is a collection of the aphoristic prose-poetry musings of one such heteronymthat of Bernardo Soares, assembled from notes, entries, and jottings made over a span of some thirty years and left unpublished at the time of Pessoa’s death in However, the sheer difference in length has made me question whether and, if so, how much, text was omitted from the earlier version.
You might as well be truly dead. Opposites, well not entirely maybe but we exist because you exist, in the lack of universality, our disquiet is our very existence. It is as if Frrnando had a multiple personality disorder in artistic form.
As a result, my notes of my reactions to the book are equally fragmentary, each note representing a new stream as I glide to the next number and I start over.
Pessoa — “Dreams Without Illusions” I am free and lost.
While it’s true that suffering is not a prerequisite for great art – one must be talented, but is not required to be unhappy in order to pen a great symphony, or create a masterful sculpture – I wonder if the same holds true for great literature, which is so much more a direct expression of the artist’s mind, lacking as it does the interstitial abstraction of other fermando mediums.