Long-time listener, first-time caller. I always look forward to your newsletter 🤩, and this one did not disappoint.
In regards to grouching around—having just returned from Lisbon—I offer a hefty Pessoa quote to counter, or to perhaps, in unity, soothe another struggling writer or join in solidarity with writers who adopt heteronyms to weather the cursed “block”:
“One day, on March 8, 1914 – I found myself standing before a tall chest of drawers, took up a piece of paper, began to write, remaining upright all the while since I always stand when I can. I wrote thirty some poems in a row, all in a kind of ecstasy, the nature of which I shall never fathom. It was the triumphant day of my life, and I shall never have another like it. I began with a title, The Keeper of Sheep. And what followed was the appearance of someone within me to whom I promptly assigned the name of Alberto Caeiro. Please excuse the absurdity of what I am about to say, but there had appeared within me, then and there, my own master. It was my immediate sensation. So much so that, with those thirty odd poems written, I immediately took up another sheet of paper and wrote as well, in a row, the six poems that make up ‘Oblique Rain’ by Fernando Pessoa. Immediately and totally... It was the return from Fernando Pessoa/Alberto Caeiro to Fernando Pessoa alone. Or better still, it was Fernando Pessoa's reaction to his own inexistence as Alberto Caeiro…”
Wow! Thanks so much for sharing that (and for reading!) Love those triumphant days of one’s life! Though “my master” has yet to reveal their name to me…
Long-time listener, first-time caller. I always look forward to your newsletter 🤩, and this one did not disappoint.
In regards to grouching around—having just returned from Lisbon—I offer a hefty Pessoa quote to counter, or to perhaps, in unity, soothe another struggling writer or join in solidarity with writers who adopt heteronyms to weather the cursed “block”:
“One day, on March 8, 1914 – I found myself standing before a tall chest of drawers, took up a piece of paper, began to write, remaining upright all the while since I always stand when I can. I wrote thirty some poems in a row, all in a kind of ecstasy, the nature of which I shall never fathom. It was the triumphant day of my life, and I shall never have another like it. I began with a title, The Keeper of Sheep. And what followed was the appearance of someone within me to whom I promptly assigned the name of Alberto Caeiro. Please excuse the absurdity of what I am about to say, but there had appeared within me, then and there, my own master. It was my immediate sensation. So much so that, with those thirty odd poems written, I immediately took up another sheet of paper and wrote as well, in a row, the six poems that make up ‘Oblique Rain’ by Fernando Pessoa. Immediately and totally... It was the return from Fernando Pessoa/Alberto Caeiro to Fernando Pessoa alone. Or better still, it was Fernando Pessoa's reaction to his own inexistence as Alberto Caeiro…”
Wow! Thanks so much for sharing that (and for reading!) Love those triumphant days of one’s life! Though “my master” has yet to reveal their name to me…