Escritas.org
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
5648021
196
2960
ODE IN CONSOLATION FOR MISFORTUNE
He that would conquer must a soldier be.
He that a soldier will be must be made
To bear all the hard preface of his trade,
All the rough training must he bear
Whereby he shall the conqueror
……
All pain, all failure and all woe
These are but training we must undergo
Ere those heights of ourselves we full can reach
Whence God has things to teach
And the discarnate fate that girds us round
Still more to teach and more to wound.
With patience and with fortitude
Bear thou thy training rude,
Support with grace thy masters that are days
Made of pain and amaze,
Thy potion take, even it that potion look
That Socrates for his divinity took.
To Aesculape the cock immolate,
To the Masters of thy fate
Abandon life, thyself strong above all
Thy power to let things thee appall,
By the sole virtue of thy power set far
Over thy power to feel fate's war.
The rest, that thing that shall remain of thee
When land and sky and sea
Alike are mist in thy unseeing eyes,
This shall nowise
Mater, nor all when all is thine abode,
Nor God himself when all is God.
He that a soldier will be must be made
To bear all the hard preface of his trade,
All the rough training must he bear
Whereby he shall the conqueror
……
All pain, all failure and all woe
These are but training we must undergo
Ere those heights of ourselves we full can reach
Whence God has things to teach
And the discarnate fate that girds us round
Still more to teach and more to wound.
With patience and with fortitude
Bear thou thy training rude,
Support with grace thy masters that are days
Made of pain and amaze,
Thy potion take, even it that potion look
That Socrates for his divinity took.
To Aesculape the cock immolate,
To the Masters of thy fate
Abandon life, thyself strong above all
Thy power to let things thee appall,
By the sole virtue of thy power set far
Over thy power to feel fate's war.
The rest, that thing that shall remain of thee
When land and sky and sea
Alike are mist in thy unseeing eyes,
This shall nowise
Mater, nor all when all is thine abode,
Nor God himself when all is God.
1393
0