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Fernando Pessoa
Fernando Pessoa foi um poeta, escritor, crítico literário, tradutor e filósofo português, considerado um dos maiores expoentes da literatura em língua portuguesa e um dos mais relevantes poetas do século XX. A sua vasta obra, marcada pela criação de múltiplos heterónimos com personalidades e estilos distintos, explora temas como a identidade, a angústia existencial, a saudade e a busca por significado num mundo em constante transformação. Pessoa deixou um legado literário complexo e multifacetado, que continua a fascinar e a desafiar leitores e críticos.
1888-06-13 Lisboa
1935-11-30 Lisboa
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13 - SUSPENSE
SUSPENSE
I dream, and strange dim powers
My shining sleep assist;
A sound as of coming showers
Creeps towards me, loudly hist;
And lo! all my forgotten hours
Lie round me like a mist.
The ghosts of my dead selves
Weave round me a false mesh;
My undreamed dreams, pale elves,
Are now part of my flesh;
And all I am my unselfing shelves
On dreams, out of my reach.
I touch impalpable things;
I am sunny with past days;
Remote sounds, like near wings,
Flank my blind spirit's ways;
And from the other side of the big hill rings
A bell that summons to praise.
But I am sick of dreaming,
Weary of being the same
Over desert spaces of seeming,
Unwilling player of a game
With life, far star but gleaming
On dead earths without name.
Fierce dreams of something else!
Frenzy to go away
(O wave in me that swells!)
From life where life must stay –
Life ever at today!
Some other place and thing!
Not a life! not mine so!
O to be a wind, a wing,
A bark me there to bring!
Whither? If I could know,
I would not wish to go.
I dream, and strange dim powers
My shining sleep assist;
A sound as of coming showers
Creeps towards me, loudly hist;
And lo! all my forgotten hours
Lie round me like a mist.
The ghosts of my dead selves
Weave round me a false mesh;
My undreamed dreams, pale elves,
Are now part of my flesh;
And all I am my unselfing shelves
On dreams, out of my reach.
I touch impalpable things;
I am sunny with past days;
Remote sounds, like near wings,
Flank my blind spirit's ways;
And from the other side of the big hill rings
A bell that summons to praise.
But I am sick of dreaming,
Weary of being the same
Over desert spaces of seeming,
Unwilling player of a game
With life, far star but gleaming
On dead earths without name.
Fierce dreams of something else!
Frenzy to go away
(O wave in me that swells!)
From life where life must stay –
Life ever at today!
Some other place and thing!
Not a life! not mine so!
O to be a wind, a wing,
A bark me there to bring!
Whither? If I could know,
I would not wish to go.
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