Tuesday, 14 February 2017

Real poets only lie to themselves

There’s nothing more unfair than to translate a poem, for it loses so much of its essence, more than any other writing form. That is why, whenever I can, I try to read in each one’s own language. Although, this writer in particular did write a lot in English, and I must say, I’m quite happy with whomever translated this poem:

"The poet is a faker
Who’s so good at his act
He even fakes the pain
Of pain he feels in fact.

And those who read his words
Will feel in his writing
Neither of the pains he has
But just the one they’re missing.

And so around its track
This thing called the heart winds,
A little clockwork train
To entertain our minds."

Edited: translation by Richard Zenith, 2006, NYC

Original:

“O poeta é um fingidor.
Finge tão completamente
Que chega a fingir que é dor
A dor que deveras sente.

E os que lêem o que escreve,
Na dor lida sentem bem,
Não as duas que ele teve,
Mas só a que eles não têm.

E assim nas calhas da roda
Gira, a entreter a razão,
Esse comboio de corda
Que se chama o coração.”

By Fernando Pessoa

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