Like A Mist
By: Fernando Pessoa
I have in me like a mist that is and contains nothing nostalgia for nothing at all, the desire for something fine. I am enveloped by it as if by a fog and I see the last star glowing above the stub in my ashtray I smoked life away. How uncertain all I saw or read! And the whole world, a vast open book, smiles at me in an unknown language.
love him. Read Disquiet several versions translated. Reading now (attempting to) in the original. Visited casa pessoa when in Portugal. where he lived. for a time. with his family. Also love very much another writer who wrote in Portuguese but she is from brazil, Clarice Lispector.
He bought me breakfast once. I was in London. Coming for a bookstore. Blew all my cash for the week on a wonderful book in French about Pessoa. Stopped for a coffee. Sitting at counter, explained to the handsome waiter, couldnt afford anything else as I just blew all my money on this lovely book about a poet I was :involved with named Fernando Pessoa. Pulled out book and hugged it. Turns out it was a Portuguese restaurant. And the waiter was himself from Portugal. And they all love their Pessoa. So, I had to buy the orange juice, but got the rest of my breakfast for free.