Selected poems：The Complete Works of Alberto Caeiro : Bilingual editionSelected
如我們所知，佩索阿以「異名者」(heteronyms) 展現他多樣的寫作風格，而阿爾伯特‧卡埃羅 (Alberto Caeiro) 是他創造的第一位異名者，其中又以組詩《守羊人》成為他最有名的作品。
這一本葡英雙語對照的新譯本在今年7月才剛出版，是否能像 Richard Zenith 的譯本一樣值得信賴，或許還要時間證明。
Alberto Caeiro was Pessoas first great heteronym; it is summarized by Pessoa as follows: "He sees things with the eyes only, not with the mind. He does not let any thoughts arise when he looks at a flower... the only thing a stone tells him is that it has nothing at all to tell him... this way of looking at a stone may be described as the totally unpoetic way of looking at it. The stupendous fact about Caeiro is that out of this sentiment, or rather, absence of sentiment, he makes poetry."
The Complete Works of Alberto Caeiro : Bilingual edition
By (author) Fernando Pessoa
, Translated by Margaret Jull Costa
, Translated by Patricio Ferrari
, Introduction by Jeronimo Pizarro
Publication date 28 Jul 2020
Publisher New Directions Publishing Corporation http://www.books.com.tw/products/CN11038678 阿爾伯特‧卡埃羅
In my gaze, everything is clear as a sunflower.
I’m in the habit of going for walks along the roads,
Looking to the right and to the left,
And now and then looking back...
And what I see at each moment
Is something I’ve never seen before,
And I’m very good at that...
I know how to feel the profound astonishment
A child would feel if, on being born,
He realized that he truly had been born...
I feel newborn with every moment
To the complete newness of the world...
I believe in the world as in a daisy
Because I see it. But I don’t think about it
Because to think is to not understand...
The world wasn’t made for us to think about it
(Thinking is a sickness of the eyes)
But for us to look at it and to be at one...
I have no philosophy: I have senses...
If I talk about Nature, that isn’t because I know what it is,
But because I love it, and that’s why I love it,
Because whoever loves never knows what he loves
Nor why he loves, nor what it means to love...
To love is the first innocence,
And the only true innocence is not think…
The mystery of things, where is it?
If it exists, why doesn’t it at least appear
To show us that it is a mystery?
What does the river or the tree know of mystery?
And I, who am not more real than they are, what do I know of it?
Whenever I look at things and think what men think about them,
I laugh like a stream as it rushes over a stone.
Because the only hidden meaning of things
Is that they have no hidden meaning at all.
It is stranger than all strangenesses.
Than the dreams of all the poets
And the thoughts of all the philosophers,
That things really are what they seem to be
And there is nothing to understand.
Yes, this is what my senses learned on their own:–
Things have no signification: they have existence.
Things are the only hidden meaning of things.
I never know how anyone can find a sunset sad.
Unless it’s because a sunset isn’t a dawn.
But if it’s a sunset, how could it possibly be a dawn?
Ship setting off for distant lands,
Why is it that, unlike everyone else,
I don’t miss you once you’ve disappeared?
Because when I don’t see you, you have ceased to exist.
And if you miss something that doesn’t exist,
You’re not missing anything,
It isn’t the ship we miss, it’s ourselves.