Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Fernando Pessoa

Note

My soul shattered like an empty vase.
It fell irretrievably down the stairs.
If fell from the hands of the careless maid.
It fell, breaking into more pieces than there was china in the vase.

Nonsense? Impossible? I’m not so sure!
I have more sensations than when I felt like myself.
I’m a scattering of shards on a doormat that needs shaking.

My fall made a noise like a shattering vase.
All the gods there are lean over the stair rail
And look at the shards their maid changed me into.

They don’t get mad at her.
They’re forgiving.
What was I but an empty vase?

They look at the absurdly conscious shards –
Conscious of themselves, not of the gods.

They look and smile.
They smile forgivingly at the unwitting maid.

The great staircase stretches out, carpeted with stars.
A shard gleams, shiny side up, among the heavenly bodies.
My work? My primary soul? My life?
A shard.
And the gods stare at it, intrigued, not knowing why it’s there.

Apontamento

Apontamento

A minha alma partiu-se como um vaso vazio.
Caiu pela escada excessivamente abaixo.
Caiu das mãos da criada descuidada.
Caiu, fez-se em mais pedaços do que havia loiça no vaso.

Asneira? Impossível? Sei lá!
Tenho mais sensações do que tinha quando me sentia eu.
Sou um espalhamento de cacos sobre um capacho por sacudir.

Fiz barulho na queda como um vaso que se partia.
Os deuses que há debruçam-se do parapeito da escada.
E fitam os cacos que a criada deles fez de mim.

Não se zangam com ela.
São tolerantes com ela.
O que eu era um vaso vazio?

Olham os cacos absurdamente conscientes,
Mas conscientes de si-mesmos, não conscientes deles.

Olham e sorriem.
Sorriem tolerantes à criada involuntária.

Alastra a grande escadaria atapetada de estrelas.
Um caco brilha, virado do exterior lustroso, entre os astros.
A minha obra? A minha alma principal? A minha vida?
Um caco.
E os deuses olham-no especialmente, pois não sabem por que ficou ali.
Close

Note

My soul shattered like an empty vase.
It fell irretrievably down the stairs.
If fell from the hands of the careless maid.
It fell, breaking into more pieces than there was china in the vase.

Nonsense? Impossible? I’m not so sure!
I have more sensations than when I felt like myself.
I’m a scattering of shards on a doormat that needs shaking.

My fall made a noise like a shattering vase.
All the gods there are lean over the stair rail
And look at the shards their maid changed me into.

They don’t get mad at her.
They’re forgiving.
What was I but an empty vase?

They look at the absurdly conscious shards –
Conscious of themselves, not of the gods.

They look and smile.
They smile forgivingly at the unwitting maid.

The great staircase stretches out, carpeted with stars.
A shard gleams, shiny side up, among the heavenly bodies.
My work? My primary soul? My life?
A shard.
And the gods stare at it, intrigued, not knowing why it’s there.

Note

My soul shattered like an empty vase.
It fell irretrievably down the stairs.
If fell from the hands of the careless maid.
It fell, breaking into more pieces than there was china in the vase.

Nonsense? Impossible? I’m not so sure!
I have more sensations than when I felt like myself.
I’m a scattering of shards on a doormat that needs shaking.

My fall made a noise like a shattering vase.
All the gods there are lean over the stair rail
And look at the shards their maid changed me into.

They don’t get mad at her.
They’re forgiving.
What was I but an empty vase?

They look at the absurdly conscious shards –
Conscious of themselves, not of the gods.

They look and smile.
They smile forgivingly at the unwitting maid.

The great staircase stretches out, carpeted with stars.
A shard gleams, shiny side up, among the heavenly bodies.
My work? My primary soul? My life?
A shard.
And the gods stare at it, intrigued, not knowing why it’s there.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère