moment (perhaps improperly) with a religion, that Ricardo Reis is the normal religious spirit of that faith; Caeiro the pure mystic; Alvaro de Campos the ritualist in excess. For Caeiro loses sight of Nature in nature, loses sight of sensation in sensation, loses sight of things in things. And Campos loses sight of sensation in sensations.
[On Álvaro de Campos]
I. I. Crosse
Álvaro de Campos is one of the very greatest rhythmists that there has ever been. Every metric paragraph of his is a finished work of art. He makes definite, perfectly “curved” stanzas of these irregular “meters.”
He is the most violent of all writers. His master Whitman is mild and calm compared to him. Yet the more turbulent of the two poets is the most self-controlled. He is so violent that enough of the energy of his violence remains for him to use it in disciplining his violence.
The violence of the “Naval Ode”* is perfectly insane. Yet it is unparalleled in art, and because its violence is such.
His volcanic emotion, his violence of sensation, his formidable shifting from violence to tenderness, from a passion for great and loud things to a love of humble and quiet ones, his unparalleled transitions, his sudden silences, sudden pauses, his change from unstable to equable states of mind—none has ever approached him in the [expression] of this hysteria of our age.
The classic training of his early years that never deserts him (for he is one of the most unified of poets, and ever a builder and a fitter-togetherof parts into an organic whole); his individual stability, his mathematical training and scientific training adding another stabilizing influence (never too much for such a volcanic temperament).
His large-minded contempt of small things, of small people, of all our age, because it is composed of small things and of small people.
This quasi-Futurist who loves the great classic poets because they were great and despises the literary men of his time because they are all small.
His art of conveying sensations by a single stroke:
The pink ribbon left on top of the dresser
...
The broken toy (but still with the dirty string used to pull it)
Of the child who had to die, O mother dressed in black, folding up
his suit
... *
His terrible self-analysis, making suddenly cold all his emotion, as in the “Salutation to Walt Whitman.”*
[On the Work of Ricardo Reis]
Frederico Reis
The philosophy of the work of Ricardo Reis basically amounts to a sad Epicureanism, which we will try to characterize.
Each of us (contends the Poet) should live his own life, isolating himself from others and seeking, in an attitude of sober individualism, only what pleases and delights him. He should not seek violent pleasures nor flee from moderately painful sensations.
Avoiding unnecessary suffering or grief, man should seek peace and tranquillity above all else, abstaining from effort and useful activity.
The poet adheres to this as a temporary doctrine, as the right attitude for pagans as long as the barbarians (the Christians) reign supreme.If and when the barbarian empire crumbles, then this attitude may change, but for now it’s the only one possible.
We should try to give ourselves the illusion of freedom, happiness, and peace, all of which are unattainable, since freedom is a privilege denied even the gods (who are subject to Fate), since happiness cannot be felt by someone exiled from his own faith and from his soul’s natural habitat, and since we cannot pretend to be peaceful when we live in the midst of today’s commotion and know all too well that we’ll die. The work of Ricardo Reis, profoundly sad, is a lucid and disciplined effort to obtain a measure of calm.
His entire stance is based on an interesting psychological phenomenon: a true and real belief in the gods of ancient Greece, with Christ (sometimes considered inimical, but only insofar as he arouses the Christian spirit, which is indeed the ...... enemy of
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