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Quem sabe sequer o que pensa ou o que deseja? Quem sabe o que é para si-mesmo? Quantas coisas a música sugere e nos sabe bem que não possam ser! Quantas a noite recorda e choramos e não foram nunca! Como uma voz solta da paz deitada ao comprido, a enrolação da onda estoira e esfria e há um salivar audível pela praia invisível fora.
Quanto morro se sinto por tudo! Quanto sinto se assim vagueio, incorpóreo e humano, com o coração parado como uma praia, e todo o mar de tudo, na noite em que vivemos, batendo alto, chasco, e esfria-se, no meu eterno passeio nocturno à beira-mar!
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Who even knows what he thinks or wants? Who knows what he is to himself? How many things music suggests, and we’re glad they can never be! How many things the night recalls, and we weep, and they never even were! As if a long, horizontal peace had raised its voice, the risen wave crashes and then calms, and a dribbling can be heard up and down the invisible beach.
How much I die if I feel for everything! How much I feel if I meander this way, bodiless and human, with my heart as still as a beach, and the entire sea of all things beating loud and derisive, then becoming calm, on the night that we live, on my eternal nocturnal walk to the seashore.
//
Wer weiß wenigstens, was er denkt oder was er wünscht? Wer weiß, was er für sich selbst bedeutet? Wie vieles suggeriert uns die Musik, und es ist uns recht, dass es nicht sein kann! Wie vieles ruft uns die Nacht in Erinnerung, und wir weinen, und doch ist es nie gewesen! Wie eine sich aus diesem weiten, horizontalen Frieden erhebende Stimme rollt eine Welle heran, bricht krachend, beruhigt sich, und ihr Geifer versickert zischend auf dem unsichtbaren Strand.
Wie sehr sterbe ich, wenn ich um aller Dinge willen fühle! Wie sehr fühle ich, wenn ich so umhergehe, unkörperlich und menschlich, und mein Herz still ist wie ein Strand, und das gesamte Meer aller Dinge, in dieser Nacht, in der wir leben, laut und spöttisch brandet, ehe es sich beruhigt, auf meinem ewig nächtlichen Spaziergang am Meer!
(Fernando Pessoa, Livro do Desassossego/The Book of Disquiet/Das Buch der Unruhe, Fragment #95)
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© by Florian Schmidt
My works are not stock and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
You can follow the trail of the snail also on
Google+ | art limited | Shadowness | last.fm
Quanto morro se sinto por tudo! Quanto sinto se assim vagueio, incorpóreo e humano, com o coração parado como uma praia, e todo o mar de tudo, na noite em que vivemos, batendo alto, chasco, e esfria-se, no meu eterno passeio nocturno à beira-mar!
//
Who even knows what he thinks or wants? Who knows what he is to himself? How many things music suggests, and we’re glad they can never be! How many things the night recalls, and we weep, and they never even were! As if a long, horizontal peace had raised its voice, the risen wave crashes and then calms, and a dribbling can be heard up and down the invisible beach.
How much I die if I feel for everything! How much I feel if I meander this way, bodiless and human, with my heart as still as a beach, and the entire sea of all things beating loud and derisive, then becoming calm, on the night that we live, on my eternal nocturnal walk to the seashore.
//
Wer weiß wenigstens, was er denkt oder was er wünscht? Wer weiß, was er für sich selbst bedeutet? Wie vieles suggeriert uns die Musik, und es ist uns recht, dass es nicht sein kann! Wie vieles ruft uns die Nacht in Erinnerung, und wir weinen, und doch ist es nie gewesen! Wie eine sich aus diesem weiten, horizontalen Frieden erhebende Stimme rollt eine Welle heran, bricht krachend, beruhigt sich, und ihr Geifer versickert zischend auf dem unsichtbaren Strand.
Wie sehr sterbe ich, wenn ich um aller Dinge willen fühle! Wie sehr fühle ich, wenn ich so umhergehe, unkörperlich und menschlich, und mein Herz still ist wie ein Strand, und das gesamte Meer aller Dinge, in dieser Nacht, in der wir leben, laut und spöttisch brandet, ehe es sich beruhigt, auf meinem ewig nächtlichen Spaziergang am Meer!
(Fernando Pessoa, Livro do Desassossego/The Book of Disquiet/Das Buch der Unruhe, Fragment #95)
Featured by
[link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link]© by Florian Schmidt
My works are not stock and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
You can follow the trail of the snail also on
Google+ | art limited | Shadowness | last.fm
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I love your photo! A static broken wave in gray it's like the period I'm living...
I used it on a blog. If you desagree, tell me. It's here: tiraforalidenti.wordpress.com/…
I used it on a blog. If you desagree, tell me. It's here: tiraforalidenti.wordpress.com/…