Portugali luuletaja, kirjastaja, esseist, keeleteadlane, tõlk ja polüglott Fernando Pessoa kuulub ka tänapäeval Portugali kultuurilise raudvara hulka. Selles blogis on juttu tulnud tema erakordsest päevikuvormis fragmentide kogumikust "Rahutuse raamat" (Book of Disquiet, link), lugesin aga hiljuti ka Pessoa ning tema heteronüümide poolt kirja pandud luuletusi.Autori olemus ning tema mõttemaailm avaldub luuletusi lugedes piisavalt, seega kommenteerin Pessoad vaid minimaalselt: tegu on erakordse autoriga ning tema luule ainus miinus on, et ma pole võimeline seda originaalkeeles hoomama.
Pessoa kirjutas palju ka ise inglise keeles, kahjuks pole luuletuste juures ära toodud, kas tegu on originaalvormiga või tõlkega. Allpool toodu on niisiis inglise keeles ning ma ei lugenud kahekeelelist kogumikku nagu luule puhul tavaks, kuid tõlk ja toimetaja Richard Zenith on tõlkinud praktiliselt kogu Pessoa loomingut, arvukalt portugali luulet ning pälvis 1999. aastal PEN-auhinna Pessoa ja teiste autorite kogutud luuletuste tõlke eest, seega pean loetud interpretatsiooni rohkem kui adektvaatseks.
Fernando Pessoa maailmapilt on üpris sünge ja nihilistlik - me oleme, vaid oleme hetkes ning arvata, et miski on midagi enamat kui ta ise, on vaid pettumustega seotud illusioon. Pessoa ainulaadne kirjapanemise viis avaldub tema heteronüümides - tegu pole pseudonüümidega nagu ehk "Rahutuse raamatu" päevikupidaja Bernardo Soares, vaid väljamõeldud elulugude, sünnikuupäevade, huvide ning elukutsetega pseudoautoritega, kelle nime all Pessoa vahelduvalt luulet avaldas.
Toon allpool mõned luulenäited ning soovitan jätkuvalt soojalt sirvida ning seejärel lugeda "Rahutuse raamatut".
Alberto Caeiro
Beyond the bend in the road
There may be a well, and there may be a castle,
And there may be just more road.
I don’t know and don’t ask.
As long as I’m on the road that’s before the bend
I look only at the road before the bend,
Because the road before the bend is all I can see.
It would do me no good to look anywhere else
Or at what I can’t see.
Let’s pay attention only to where we are.
There’s only enough beauty in being here and not somewhere else.
If there are people beyond the bend in the road,
Let them worry about what’s beyond the bend in the road.
That, for them, is the road.
If we’re to arrive there, when we arrive there we’ll know.
For now we know only that we’re not there.
Here there’s just the road before the bend, and before the bend
There’s the road without any bend.
(1914)
Ricardo Reis
Time passes
And tells us nothing.
We grow old.
Let us know how,
with a certain mischief,
To feel ourselves go.
Taking action
Serves no purpose.
No one can resist
The atrocious god
Who always devours
His own children.
Let us pick flowers.
Let us lightly
Wet our hands
In the calm rivers,
So as to learn
Some of their calmness.
Sunflowers forever
Beholding the sun,
We will serenely
Depart from life,
Without even the regret
Of having lived.
(1914)
Fernando Pessoa
Don’t you still sense in my sad and calm face
The sad child who always played far away from the others
And sometimes looked at them with sad eyes but without
regret?
I know you’re watching and don’t understand what sadness
it is
That makes me look sad.
It isn't regret or nostalgia, disappointment or resentment.
No...It’s the sadness
Of one who, in the great prenatal realm,
Must have received from God the Secret-
The secret of the world’s illusion,
Of the absolute emptiness of things-
The incurable sadness
Of one who realizes that everything’s pointless, worthless,
That effort is an absurd waste,
And that life is a void,
Since disillusion always follows on the heels of illusion
And Death seems to be the meaning of Life...
It’s this, but not only this, that you see in my face
And that makes you steal an occasional glance at me.
(1916)
Ah! The anguish, the vile rage, the despair
Of not being able to express
With a shout, an extreme and bitter shout,
The bleeding of my heart.
(1920)
Pain follows pleasure, which follows pain.
Today we drink wine in celebration,
Tomorrow we'll drink it because we grieve.
But nothing from either wine will remain.
(1926)
The master without disciples
Had a flawed machine
Which, despite all its levers,
Never did anything.
[...]
My soul, rather like
That machine, is flawed.
It's complicated and erratic,
and serves no purpose at all.
(1933)
Eesti keelde tõlgitud luulekogu "Tubakapood" (link)
Eesti keelde tõlgitud luulekogu "Autopsühhograafia" (link)
Lühiartikkel ning eestikeelse Pessoa luule katkendid Postimehes (link)
