Álvaro de Campos - Tobacco Shop

Before the next contemplation video, I was hit by the inspiration of reading a translation of this poem by the Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa (Álvaro de Campos was a heteronym). Please forgive the accent, if you can.
Full poem translation as found in www.azores-adventures.com/201...
Music:
"Soledad", composed by Astor Piazzolla, performed by Gidon Kremer

[@armunnrigh]

Check out this beautifully done reading of this same poem, on the "Who Is Me?" channel: kzbin.info/www/bejne/gni4lYuhhK2LZ7c What a marvellous surprise. My appreciation and gratefulness for your interpretation! (edit 21/02/2020) And also another excellent reading, in Brazilian Portuguese, hosted in the channel "Brazilian High Culture": kzbin.info/www/bejne/emHId3acaJdnY6s Outstanding contribution, your channel! Thank you!

[@whoisme8894]

Hello Armunn Righ. Thanks for pinning this and glad you liked it. I seem to have a crrtain affinity with the sentiment of this poem, as dour as it is.

[@CamelliaYang]

Amazing! I read the same poem before kzbin.info/www/bejne/ol7ceKhoqNqgq8k I also performed that in Portugal, which was such a great memory for me as a Pessoa fan.

[@namibianodetombua]

Every year, I read Tabacaria. Just found yours in English... last year, I found a spanish translation. And the reality is, at least amazing, this powerful poem is beautiful in all languages I know!

[@PadreMarceloRossi]

Thank you for sharing this great poem, perhaps the greatest poem written in Portuguese language.

[@armunnrigh]

I would personally agree, Marcelo, that it is the greatest! Thank You and Kind Regards!

[@MG-ge5xq]

Oh woww! What a treasure!

[@jm252nc]

‘With destiny driving the wagon of everything down the road of nothing’ A fool’s paradise will have its inhabitants shaggin’ that wagon in hopes of achieving false riches. But the road to nowhere often leads right back to ourselves. You just have to know when to make the turn onto it. I’ve found that it’s great to have a guide who can help to steer you in that direction. Looking forward to Saturday 👊🏼

[@m4m4b0y2]

The accent made it that much more beautiful. Sounded professionally produced. Please make more. I think you've found your channel's voice and purpose.

[@armunnrigh]

Thank You! What purpose do you see, if you don't mind me asking? :-)

[@gregruland1934]

Great job!

[@jeanjacqueslundi3502]

I really like the way you read the poem. But why do people insist on adding music to poems? It's such a risky choice, because a song colors the poem so much. And we all have very different associations with different types of music. It's an added layer to a piece of art that was not intended by the original creator.

[@armunnrigh]

Hi Jean and thanks for the comment. Yes, I can understand and accept that. When someone reads a poem aloud they are already changing it from the author's original perspective or intent, for sure. The reader, if successful, makes the poem theirs, to be able to convey it. In this case, as in others I have read, I have chosen music that is able to carry the same "tonality" as I try to convey as I read it. The whole reading then becomes, if successful, a conjunction of voice + music that is a whole in itself and not two parts added together. I would only add music if that music fits how I read it, otherwise, I would leave it without. Thank You again and Kind Regards!

[@PedroKrick]

Yes exactly, and even though I actually enjoyed the choice of music here, it STILL it clashes with the poem, and it will probably always clash, being Tabacaria one of my personal favorite poems it clashes even harder because the poem itself is basically a piece, it has its ups and downs climaxes rests tempo, and adding another piece of music on top of that feels almost the same as for example playing a random bach and Beethoven at the same time. It's really weird. I think that IF you're gonna put something on the background it should be as ambiguous and ambient or atonal and quiet as possible But that aside I never listened/read to a translation of this poem so it's really interesting and it's a good reading conveying the same feel actually

[@katyporto]

Beautifully read - the fact that you have the slightest Portuguese accent makes it all the better and more genuine. I wonder what FP's English accent was like - probably South African.

[@jennyhirschowitz1999]

Indeed…… Durban Boys Highschool….. please read the preface to Pessoa’s masterpiece “The Book of Disquiet” ….. translation Richard Zenith.

[@PoetryETrain]

This is beyond great. Thank you. Subscribed & Shared.

[@AjLloyd-uy2tr]

Really enjoyed this. Thank-you for sharing. Your accent is perfect for story telling as it has character all on it’s own which only adds to the content.

[@armunnrigh]

Thank you for your kind words, A.J. I am glad to know that the accent didn't get in the way of the poem :-) Best Regards!

[@kriptovvalutov1095]

Nice. Love your channel!

[@somadood]

lovely

[@lenasthy4146]

Truly sublime, both the poem and the declamation. As much as I adore the original version, in portuguese, must I admit that some sentences, such as “(…)of a half-grasping soul” gain more power in english and, perhaps, other languages too. I beg you to not, ever, delete this video: it is cathartic!

[@armunnrigh]

Muito grato, Lenasthy! Respondo em Português, pois verifica-se que conhece bem a língua :-) Concordo que o tipo de poesia apresentada n'A Tabacaria tem um estilo muito "língua Inglesa", aliás, como assumidamente quase todo o trabalho poético do Fernando Pessoa. Note que esta excelente tradução não é minha, mas encontrei-a no link apresentado na descrição. Por minha iniciativa, não retirarei este video ou outro qualquer do canal, espero que o KZbin também não o faça por qualquer motivo. Grato, uma vez mais, pelo seu apreço e comentário!

[@lenasthy4146]

@@armunnrigh , coincide que sou português e, por isso, indago-me - também o és? Se sim, a declamação ganha maior valor aos meus olhos.

[@armunnrigh]

Sim, sim, Lenasthy, também sou Português :-) Daí o sotaque meio estranho na declamação. Muito grato!

[@EF-kc6ty]

Beautiful

[@die_schlechtere_Milch]

Thank you.

[@danyaguayo3014]

Amazing, thanks so much

[@rogerioseabra1420]

Thanks !!!!!

[@roberturbonas2905]

Even after all this time the Sun never says to the earth, “you owe me” Look what happens with a love like that,It lights the whole sky. -Hafiz

[@AjLloyd-uy2tr]

Wow. That is beautiful. Thank-you for sharing

[@RightlyDividingMysteryWoman]

Incredible how you were able to express the true art of giving. Expecting nothing in return or holding on to the virtue of it.

[@m.j.3123]

Now, are we sure this was a Tobacco shop ? : )

[@juliomoreno8452]

I love your accent. I wonder where you're from? England, maybe? Your declamation is superb, like few people can do these days. Álvaro de Campos is incredible! I do love your translation. Is that yours or Sonig's? Applause!

[@armunnrigh]

Thank You, Julio! I am from Portugal, English is not my native language, hence the strange accent 🙂 The translation, which I prefer to other official ones, can be found here www.azores-adventures.com/2015/10/tabacaria-by-fernando-pessoa-%C3%A1lvaro-de-campos.html but the translator is not identified, so I really can't tell. Thank You again and Kind Regards!

[@juliomoreno8452]

@@armunnrigh Your accent isn't strange at all. It's unique. And it's very clear, understandable by anyone in the Commonwealth. It evokes British accents. These days, it's not about having an accent (everyone has one in the English speaking world, and some are hard to understand). Diction is the most important factor. Your diction is excellent. Best.

[@armunnrigh]

@@juliomoreno8452 Thank You very much for your appreciation! Kind Regards!

[@ghabwy9733]

It is almost as though consciously, I am projecting reality. Existence is far and, currently, unobtainable. I scream at the screen, "I have value!" At the same time, I must chase the screen to validate I exist, right now. Everything in mind suggests the stress, or, importance of self awareness and important central to the observer prospective. I do not assume such a punishment. Why, though? Do we need validation that we are now, conscious? Why do I hypocritically chase this reality and, at the same time, fear the screens demise?

[@armunnrigh]

I understand. The "letting go", although seemingly an easy process to understand, faces a sneaky and persistent resistance from the habits that have no other universe to live in other than the one in our minds. Everything is programmed for survival, even the things that do not "exist". Best Regards!

[@barrywilliamsmb]

@@armunnrigh Like if you think you're hooped, you are?

[@Hirvet]

Here it is! I'm too tired to work with the quality, but tomorrow I will try and add HD to the video. Thank you very much! kzbin.info/www/bejne/epeTp2ltmdabbtk

[@armunnrigh]

Brilliant! Thank You humbly! A true honor! Kind Regards!

[@Hirvet]

kzbin.info/www/bejne/nZSUc5eEq72iprc - the Estonian version

[@brazilianhighculture2300]

I've subtitled a portuguese recitation of the poem . Although the translation isn't that good as the one you used to recitate (didn't know that translation at the time), could you please take a look if the video is decent enough? Now that a knew that translation, I not sure if I should keep this video online. Thanks!

[@armunnrigh]

Com certeza! Vou já ver o video! É você quem lê o poema no video? Deixarei um comentário lá. Grato!

[@junglejarred6366]

Truth speaks no words. Perhaps if this dude grew his own food he wouldn't have had time to think so much. ;)

[@eduardoserrao7372]

Very thuethfull your words.

[@Hirvet]

Can I use this in my future video? I'd like to draw Pessoa and put this in the background

[@armunnrigh]

Certainly. It would be a honor. When you upload it, just post the link here, please. Kind Regards!

[@Hirvet]

@@armunnrigh Thank you very much! It will take some time, but I will do my best. I will also record my fiancée reading the poem in Estonian.

[@armunnrigh]

@@Hirvet Wow! That will be interesting to listen to, even if I don't understand a word :-) Do post here whenever any of those are uploaded! Kind Regards!

[@zeynepsahin6437]

I am nothing I shall never be anything I cannot wish to be anything. Aside from that, I have within me all the dreams of the world. Windows of my room, The room of one of the world's millions nobody knows about (And if they knew about me, what would they know?) You open onto the mystery of a street continually crossed by people, A street inaccessible to any thought, Real, impossibly real, certain, unknowingly certain, With the mystery of things beneath the stones and beings, With death making the walls damp and the hair of men white, With Destiny driving the wagon of everything down the road of nothing. Today I am defeated, as if I knew the truth. Today I am clear-minded, as if I were about to die And had no greater kinship with things Than to say goodbye, this building and this side of the street becoming A row of train cars, departing at the sound of a whistle Blowing from inside my head, And a jolt to my nerves and a creak of bones as we go. Today I am bewildered, as one who wondered and discovered and forgot. Today I am torn between the loyalty I owe To the outward reality of the Tobacco Shop across the street And to the inward reality of my feeling that everything is but a dream. I failed in everything. Since I had no aims, maybe everything was indeed nothing. What I was taught, I climbed out of that, down from the window at the back of the house. I went to the countryside with grand plans, But all I found there was grass and trees, And when there were people, they were just like the others. I step back from the window and sit in a chair. What should I think about now? What do I know about what I will be, I who don't know what I am? To be hat I think? But I think to be many things! And there are many people thinking they are the same thing then cannot be possible there are many! Genius? At this moment hundred thousand brains conceive themselves in dream as geniuses like me, And the History won't mark, who knows?, not even one, No, I don't believe in myself. In all of madhouses there are mad persons insanes with so many sureties! I, who I have not any surety, am more sure or less sure? No, not even in myself... In how much garrets and no-garrets of the world At this moment are there geniuses-for-themselves dreaming? How much high and noble and lucid aspirations - Yes, truly high and noble and lucid -, And who knows if realizable, Never they will see the real sun's light nor will find people's ears? The world is for the one who that is born to conquest it And not for the one who dreams might can conquest it, even the one have reason. I have dreamed more than Napoleon did. I have held tight to the hypothetical chest more humanities than Christ, I have secretly created philosophies which no Kant has ever written. But I am, and maybe always should be, the one from the garret Although I don't live in it; I shall always be the one not born for this; I shall always be the one who just had qualities; I shall always be the one who has waited for a gate to open to him near a doorless wall And sang the ballad of the Infinite in a poultry yard, And heard God's voice in a covered well. Believe in myself? No, nor in anything. May Nature be spilled on my feverish head Her sun, her rain, the wind that finds my hair, And the rest, let it come if it must, or not come. Heartly slaves to the stars, We have conquered the whole world before leaving our beds; But we were awakened and it was opaque, We rose and it was indifferent, We left the house and it was the whole earth, Moreover the Solar System, the Milky Way and the Indefinite. (Eat chocolates, little one; Eat chocolates! Know there are no metaphysics in the world but chocolates. Know that all religions don't teach more than confectionery. Eat, dirty little one, eat! If only I could eat chocolates with the same truth as you do! But I think and, when I lift the silver paper of a tin-foil leaf, I let everything fall to the ground, as I have lost to my life.) But, at least, remains from the bitterness of what I will never be. The speedy calligraphy of these verses, Broken portico to the Impossible. But, at least, I devote to myself a despisal without tears, Noble, at least, in this wide gesture with I throw The dirty clothes that I am, without roll, to the course of things, And I stay in home without shirt. (You, who consoles, not exists and so console, Or greek goddess, conceived as a living statue, Or roman patrician, impossibly noble and nefast, Or princess of minstrels, very gentil and colorful, Or marquess of eighteenth century, décolleté and very so far, Or famous cocote of the time od our fathers, Or modern thing I not know - I not know what - all of this, be what will be, what you are, if you can inspire then inspire! My heart is a poured out bucket. As that ones invocating spirits invocate spirits I invocate Myself and I find nothing. I come close to the window and I see the street with a absolute clearness. I see the shops, I see the sidewalks, I see the passing cars, I see the dressed living ones crossing by themselves, I see the dogs also existing, And all of this is foreign, as everything. ) I lived, studied, loved, and even believed, And today there is no beggar whom I not envy just for he is not me. I look at everyone the rags and the sores and the lie, And I think: maybe never I had lived nor studied nor loved nor believed (For is possible to make the reality of all of this without making nothing about this) Maybe existed just as lizard which the tail they had cut And the tail besides the lizard at movement. I had made with myself what I never knew, I made of myself what I did not know how, And what I could have made of myself I failed to do. The domino costume that I wore was all wrong And I was immediately recognized as someone I was not and I did not deny it, and was lost. When I tried to take off the mask, It was stuck to my face. When I took it off and looked myself in the mirror, I had already grown old. I was drunk, and I no longer knew how to put on the costume that I had not taken off. I threw the mask away and slept in the dressing room Like a dog tolerated by the management Because it is harmless. And I am going to write this story to prove that I am sublime. . Musical essence of my useless verses, If only I could face you as something I had made Instead of always facing the Tobacco Shop across the street, Treading at my feet the consciousness of existing, Like a rug a drunkard stumbles on Or a doormat stolen by gypsies and not worth a thing. But the Tobacco Shop owner has come to the door and is standing there. I look at him with the discomfort of an half-turned head Compounded by the discomfort of an half-grasping soul. He shall die and I shall die. He shall leave his signboard and I shall leave my poems. His sign will also eventually die, and so will my poems. Eventually the street where the sign was will die, And so will the language in which the poems were written. Then the whirling planet where all of this happened will die. On other satellites of other systems some semblance of people Will go on making things like poems and living under things like signs, Always one thing facing the other, Always one thing as useless as the other, Always the impossible as stupid as reality, Always the mystery of the bottom as true as the shadow of mystery of the top. Always this thing or always some other, or neither one nor the other. But a man has entered the Tobacco Shop (to buy tobacco?), And plausible reality suddenly hits me. I half rise to my feet energetic, sure of myself, human And I will try to write these verses in which I say the opposite. I light up a cigarette as I think about writing them, And in that cigarette I savor a freedom from all thoughts. I follow the smoke as if it were my own trail, And enjoy, for a sensitive and adequate moment The liberation from all speculation And the awareness that metaphysics is a consequence of not feeling well. Afterwards I lean back in the chair And keep smoking. As long as Destiny allows, I will keep smoking. (If I married my washwoman's daughter I might conceivably be happy.) Given this, I rise and go to the window. The man has come out of the Tobacco Shop (putting change into his pocket?). Ah, I know him: he is Esteves without methaphysics. (The Tobacco Shop owner has come to the door.) As if by a divine instinct, Esteves turned around and saw me. He waved hello, I shouted back "Hello there, Esteves!" and the universe Reconstructed itself to me, without ideals or hope, and the owner of the Tobacco Shop smiled.

[@rogerioseabra1420]

Thanks ...

[@louisav11]

thank you

[@barrywilliamsmb]

I thank you too.

[@driftwood9807]

Guess he became malcontent when he saw all the social engineering and failed narcissistic dreams it lead to. Not having the tools for such grandiose, but could dream about it. Perhaps misplaced dreams? Wishing he could recreate himself after he pulled off the mask. ???interesting he was in a dressing room after , full of lifeless clothes in the style and culture of the day. Just being accepted, but no longer apart of. Then he had an epiphany and said "fuck it". Accepted it and created. A lot more to it me thinks. This world gives you countless unachievable character to chase. Fake nonsense that kills your real self. Feeds the machine. Funny that people believe this lie their whole life, whatever character chosen. Erases the person in such a lie. I see it all the time. It is difficult to pull off the mask. Painful. Mine is still half stuck. What an awful expectation it is for the ego. The worst thing seems to be ordinary. We don't want to accept that. Rather live a lie. Ordinary is liberating. Perhaps ordinary is not the right word🤔 But he is awake and free. Can be happy in his situation and recreate. At least how I saw it. I enjoyed it. Even a few years ago, I wouldn't be able to understand much of it. Thanks for the upload. You found a diamond.

[@armunnrigh]

Words of wisdom, Robert, and sharp interpretation. Just like myth, good elevated poetry has the ability to bring to the fore an individual alchemical process, despite the individual differences. It is you who have found your diamond - your listening to and understanding of this poem merely reflects it. :-) My Best Regards!