Antero Tarquinio de Quental
Antero Tarquinio de Quental Poems
Erguendo os braços para o ceu distante
E invectivando os deuses invisiveis,
Os homens clamam:--«Deuses impassiveis,
...
What mortal beauty resembles yours,
O vision which my soul has dreamed
And which reflects in me your gleam
Like sunlight on the ocean’s mirror?
...
Esse negro corcél cujas passadas
Escuto em sonhos, quando a sombra desce,
E, passando a galope, me apparece
...
Ali, onde o mar quebra, num cachão
Rugidor e monotono, e os ventos
Erguem pelo areal os seus lamentos,
Ali se hade enterrar meu coração.
...
Estava a Morte ali, em pé, diante,
Sim, diante de mim, como serpente,
Que dormisse na estrada e de repente
...
Chamei em volta do meu frio leito
As memorias melhores de outra idade,
Fórmas vagas, que ás noites, com piedade,
...
I
Sae das nuvens, levanta a fronte e escuta
O que dizem teus filhos rebellados,
...
Num sonho todo feito de incerteza,
De nocturna e indizivel anciedade,
É que eu vi teu olhar de piedade
...
Among the sons of an accursed century
I took my place at the irreverent table,
Where still was heard, under all the revel,
...
I dream I’m a knight who ventures forth
Through deserts, hot days, and pitch-black nights.
A defender of love, with all my might
...
The familiar ghost who accompanies me
(Without, however, showing his face)
And whom I sometimes view with distaste,
...
You have been born for sadness and for pains:
Fate could have placed your narrow baby-bed
In palace, by the royal couch, instead
...
Alone! – On the hill the solitary hermit
Glimpses God, who grants him solace.
At sea the sailor whom the high winds toss
...
What mortal beauty could a man behold
Like you, dream-vision of my soul in flame,
Reflecting your great brilliance thru my frame,
...
Já socega, depois de tanta lucta,
Já me descança em paz o coração.
Cahi na conta, emfim, de quanto é vão
O bem que ao Mundo e á Sorte se disputa.
...
I've been dead for over a millennium,
Exposed, on this cliff, to wind and rain:
Not even a ghost has a thinner frame,
...
Fly on misfortune's wing as black as night,
You thought of love, your shadow of an hour
That I embraced delirious in my tower.
...
Para além do Universo luminoso,
Cheio de fórmas, de rumor, de lida,
De forças, de desejos e de vida,
Abre-se como um vácuo tenebroso.
...
No meu sonho desfilam as visões,
Espectros dos meus proprios pensamentos,
Como um bando levado pelos ventos,
Arrebatado em vastos turbilhões...
...
Antero Tarquinio de Quental Biography
Antero Tarquínio de Quental , (April 18, 1842 - September 11, 1891), is a Portuguese poet, was born in Ponta Delgada on the island of São Miguel, in the Azores, into one of the oldest families of the provincial captaincies on the island. Antero stands at the head of modern Portuguese poetry after João de Deus. His principal defect is monotony: his own self is his solitary theme, and he seldom attempts any other form of composition than the sonnet. On the other hand, few poets who have chiefly devoted themselves to this form have produced so large a proportion of really exquisite work. The comparatively few pieces in which be either forgets his doubts and inward conflicts, or succeeds in giving them an objective form, are among the most beautiful in any literature. The purely introspective sonnets are less attractive, but equally finely wrought, interesting as psychological studies, and impressive from their sincerity. His mental attitude is well described by himself as the effect of Germanism on the unprepared mind of a Southerner. He had learned much, and half-learned more, which he was unable to assimilate, and his mind became a chaos of conflicting ideas, settling down into a condition of gloomy negation, save for the one conviction of the vanity of existence, which ultimately destroyed him. A healthy participation in public affairs might have saved him, but he seemed incapable of entering upon any course that did not lead to delusion and disappointment. As a prose writer Quental displayed high talents, though he wrote little. His most important prose is the Considerações sobre a philosophia da historia literaria Portugueza, but he earned fame by his pamphlets on the Coimbra question, Bom senso e bom gosto, a letter to Castilho, and A dignidade das lettras e litteraturas officiaes. His friend Oliveira Martins edited the Sonnets (Oporto, 1886), supplying an introductory essay; and an interesting collection of studies on the poet by the leading Portuguese writers appeared in a volume entitled Anthero de Quental. In Memoriam (Oporto, 1896). The sonnets have been translated into many languages; into English by Edgar Prestage (Anthero de Quental, Sixty-four Sonnets, London, 1894), together with a striking autobiographical letter addressed by Quental to his German translator, Dr. Storck.)
The Best Poem Of Antero Tarquinio de Quental
Divina Comedia (Divine Comedy)
Erguendo os braços para o ceu distante
E invectivando os deuses invisiveis,
Os homens clamam:--«Deuses impassiveis,
A quem serve o destino triumphante,
Porque é que nos creastes?! Incessante
Corre o tempo e só géra, inextinguiveis,
Dôr, peccado, illusão, luctas horriveis,
Num turbilhão cruel e delirante...
Pois não era melhor na paz clemente
Do nada e do que ainda não existe,
Ter ficado a dormir eternamente?
Porque é que para a dôr nos evocastes?»
Mas os deuses, com voz ainda mais triste,
Dizem:--«Homens! porque é que nos creastes?»
Lifting their arms to the heavens on high
And addressing the invisible gods,
The men cry out, “Immovable gods,
Who gains from invincible fate? Why
Did you create us?! Time unfurls
Relentlessly, and all it breeds
Is pain, illusion, strife, foul deeds,
In a cruel and delirious whirl. . .
Wouldn’t it have been better for us
To remain in the peace of pre-matter,
In the eternal sleep of nothingness?
Why were we made, if pain is our greatest
End?” But the gods, with a voice yet sadder,
Say, “Why, O men, did you create us?”
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