Arquivo virtual da Geração de Orpheu

Almada Negreiros e Sarah Affonso

O Arquivo Virtual começou a ser constituído por dois espólios importantes: o de Almada Negreiros (1893-1970), multifacetado escritor e artista plástico, e de Sarah Affonso (1899-1983), sua mulher, figura marcante da pintura modernista. O seu espólio conjunto inclui manuscritos literários, fotografias, cartas, documentos e obras plásticas, e está hoje em depósito no Centro de Estudos e Documentação Almada Negreiros Sarah Affonso (CEDANSA - NOVA FCSH).

 

Medium
F. Pessoa - Heterónimos ingleses
BNP/E3, 49A3 – 37-38
BNP/E3, 49A3 – 37-38
Fernando Pessoa
Identificação
Fernando Pessoa – «My disease is that when with |silver| speech…»

[BNP/E3, 49A3 – 37-38]

 

My disease is that when with |silver| speech

The morn calls up the stream’s soul to its eyes,

And every tremulous wave towards us doth reach

Invisible hands that round me such are ties,[1]

 

My heart is never with the wave I see

My thought firm never o’er the stream I find,

Another this morn shameth within me

My cheeks pale but wish for another wind…

___

|The morn of all romantic hours and places,

The morn that shone in Putra’s real garden,

She that saw Orient loves dark far-off graces

With modesties {…} conscious of the random…|

 

Therefore is it that when I see the morn

My delight is a desolate unset

And I desire it as if I had it not

And my thought’s actual[2] other morn is e’en the best

 

[38r]

 

2.

 

Three maidens in the garden

Looking at senses the three

Their eyes are soft as pardon

Given to an enemy.

___

In the garden three unit maidens

Dream something at the sores…

And yet my sudden heart saddens

With what as it supposes

___

For why should I dream of this

Of maidens, gardens and flowers

As clouds that will shed showers

Lost Hope formed beginning

3/9/1913

________________________________________

I am the sky that loves me.

I am the ground I walk upon.

My sense of that[3] fight is never free

To take me where I have not gone.

___

The spirit universe’s deeps

Are of the same depth as my glance

A useless sky my cloud hard keeps,

What one is then

___

I am all, but not transparently

Knowing God a creation of mine

Gives me no less to fear and pine,

Being God raises not one for me.

 

My faith is useless as a fever

My burning sense of God all where

Stops not from grazing me my brian

Makes me not less to brave and waver… 

 

|But[4] whereof this king is my

Let me hope though there’s no door in

There is no door in space.|

|Some day my soul will understand.

Somebody outside all dream of days.|

|Yet let me hope… This king in my head!

Ay, thou there is no door in space| 

 


 
[1] Invisible hands that round me such are ties, /Inner hands that at our soul’s hands are prize/loosing my soul are wise…\\
[2] actual /unfound\
[3] that /highest\
[4] But /Yet\

https://modernismo.pt/index.php/arquivo-almada-negreiros/details/33/8034
Classificação
Literatura
Dados Físicos
Dados de produção
3/9/1913
Inglês
Dados de conservação
Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal
Palavras chave
Documentação Associada