And the man fell silent, looking at the sunset.
But what good is a sunset to one who hates and loves?
[...] The opposite of Faust, this troubled Portuguese soul traded in real life for the spiritual world of his writing. Perhaps most writers do this to some extent, but who has annulled himself like Pessoa? Not Joyce. Not Pound. Not even Franz Kafka. We can see Joyce as the brilliant conductor of …
In what appears to be a cynical act of self-promotion, some of today’s theorists are building high-visibility careers on their “discovery” that the subject is a fiction, that there is only text born of text and leading to more text. Pessoa, acting on better faith, lived out the textual dream, or ni…
Any nostalgia I feel is literary. I remember my childhood with tears, but they’re rhythmic tears, in which prose is already being formed. . . . I feel nostalgia for scenes. Thus someone else’s childhood can move me as much as my own; both are purely visual phenomena from a past I’m unable to fathom…
Or should we call those writings an expanding universe? Over the last ten years, as new texts from the archives have been transcribed and published and with many new players entering the picture, Fernando Pessoa & Co. has proved to be a larger, more complex enterprise than anyone had imagined. When…
