tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post3261105381645724631..comments2024-01-28T03:56:39.351-08:00Comments on TOM CLARK: Fernando Pessoa: Inscriptions (from English Poems)Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-43729853817126993012013-09-30T05:35:05.307-07:002013-09-30T05:35:05.307-07:00I tried to put this poem into music. Since I'm...I tried to put this poem into music. Since I'm french there are bound to be pronunciation issues...<br />Hope you enjoy it<br /><br />http://soundcloud.com/in-mobile/inscriptions-in-mobile-wordsTheMaxxhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14354915844041316095noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-47674358524887830922011-01-29T07:21:47.718-08:002011-01-29T07:21:47.718-08:00Glad you like these, Bowie. They are delicate and ...Glad you like these, Bowie. They are delicate and speak by implication; one hears echoes of the Greek Anthology, as if one of the ancients had returned to leave us these belated epigrams.TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-12050874609280890212011-01-26T09:17:14.526-08:002011-01-26T09:17:14.526-08:00Tom,
Very much enjoy Pessoa, here in his Inscrip...Tom, <br /><br />Very much enjoy Pessoa, here in his Inscriptions; Such a light and weaving song, haunting as the painting's mirror. thanks. <br /><br />BowieBowie Haganhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07567007646230928407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-5063415554732596382011-01-03T05:31:33.966-08:002011-01-03T05:31:33.966-08:00Thanks Don, Terry, Manik.
Pessoa's early (and...Thanks Don, Terry, Manik.<br /><br />Pessoa's early (and very good) English poems are consistent with his later work in their invention of a fictive voice and persona. Here the speaker echoes the epigrams of the Greek anthology, adopting a cool, distanced "classical voice", in composing what would seem to be ancient Roman or Greek tomb inscriptions.<br /><br />(As is perhaps obvious, the fictional archaic context prompted the selection of images from Eric Fischl's Rome series.)<br /><br />I had intended to post the complete Inscriptions, with titles and covers and end pages, in facsimile, but the high-res jpg files of these were simply too simply too big for our weak little old computer (which, too, dates from the days of the ancients).<br /><br />At any rate, this selection of seven of the Inscriptions represents my own editorial judgment. Other editors doubtless would have made different choices.<br /><br />Here are the ones I've left out, which, as I've gone to the trouble to type them out, may prove of interest to somebody.<br /><br />___<br /><br />II<br /><br />Me, Chloe, a maid, the mighty fates have given,<br /><br />Who was nought to them, to the peopled shades.<br /><br />Thus the gods will. My years were but twice seven.<br /><br />I am forgotten in my distant glades.<br /><br /><br />III<br /><br />From my villa on the hill I long looked down<br /><br />Upon the muttering town;<br /><br />Then one day drew (life sight-sick, dull hope shed)<br /><br />My toga o'er my head<br /><br />(The simplest gesture being the greatest thing)<br /><br />Like a raised wing.<br /><br />IV<br /><br />Not Cecrops kept my bees. My olives bore<br /><br />Oil like the sun. My several herd lowed far.<br /><br />The breathing traveller rested by my door.<br /><br />The wet earth smells still; dead my nostrils are.<br /><br /><br />VIII<br /><br />Scarce five years passed ere I passed too.<br /><br />Death came and took the child he found.<br /><br />No god spared, or fate smiled at, so<br /><br />Small hands, clutching so little round.<br /><br />IX<br /><br />There is a silence where the town was old.<br /><br />Grass grows where not a memory lies below.<br /><br />We that dined loud are sand. The tale is told.<br /><br />The far hoofs hush. The inn's last light doth go.<br /><br /><br />X<br /><br />We, that both lie here, loved. This denies us.<br /><br />My lost hand crumbles where her breasts' lack is.<br /><br />Love's known, each lover is anonymous.<br /><br />We both felt fair. Kiss, for that was our kiss.<br /><br />XI<br /><br />I for my city's want fought far and fell.<br /><br />I could not tell<br /><br />What she did want, that knew she wanted me.<br /><br />Her walls be free,<br /><br />Her speech keep such as I spoke, and men die,<br /><br />That she die not, as I.TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-55011942308476998142011-01-03T00:51:10.264-08:002011-01-03T00:51:10.264-08:00tom,
i bow to this..thank youtom,<br />i bow to this..thank youmanik sharmahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18055072451804840121noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-12075234786196097052011-01-02T15:48:40.158-08:002011-01-02T15:48:40.158-08:00Great poem. Thanks.Great poem. Thanks.tpwhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05909239000589253931noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-56923262730368736972011-01-02T13:32:07.967-08:002011-01-02T13:32:07.967-08:00Gorgeous, Pessoa. Thank you, Tom.Gorgeous, Pessoa. Thank you, Tom.Issa's Untidy Huthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07352841590717991698noreply@blogger.com