[100 Challenge] DanJi’s reading note_96

Livro do Desassossego
Fernando Pessoa
PORTUGUESE
Publisher: Independently published
Published: 01 JUL, 2017

Table of Contents
questioning
Ability to Want Nothing Soyeon Kim (poet)
a preface
Text
commentary
a translator's writing
The name is a sign: Bae Soo

Fernando Pessoa, 1888~1935
Born in Lisbon, Portugal, in 1888, he spent his childhood in Durban, South Africa, where his adoptive father worked as a consul. He returned to Lisbon at 17 and lived an unnoticed and everyday life as a trade correspondence translator until he finished his life there in 1935. During his lifetime, he published only a few poems and rarely worked as a writer. However, his posthumous works, including poetry, drama drafts, and political essays, amounted to 27,543 pages. Among them, a collection of posthumous works published in 1982 caused a great repercussion in the literary world. He is considered one of the most influential writers in Portuguese modern literature today.
I hope someone who knows how the square sunlight that comes through the window moves gradually with time and completely traps my boundaries will read it because this book is a story that entirely moves away from all the misconceptions in the world.
Soares, a persona, uses the word "tired" the most. He also uses "sleep and dream" as much as "tired." "One day, if I were given a stroke of genius as combining all the arts into one, I would write a hymn for sleep. I know no more joy in life than sleep. The complete out-of-state of life and soul, the perfect exclusion of all other beings and humans, a night with no memory or fantasy, time without past and no future." Perhaps this book is "Chan for Sleep?" "I write as if I were sleeping."
You must be able to distinguish between wise and fatal disillusionment. You must dehydrate your emotions and look down on your dreams like an eagle. You must be aware that they are trivial things that cannot appear without me, whether they are emotions, dreams, or shadows of me, and that I am just nothing. There was a time when I had a desire, but I treated things that were not meant to be me.
"The conditions of reality always constrain my life. The same kind of new constraints bind me tightly when I try to solve some of the constraints that bind me. I struggle to remove the grip of someone who strangles me from the scruff of my neck, as if a ghost with hostility is in control of everything. But my hand, which just removed someone else's hand from my neck, hung the rope around my neck at the same time as the gesture of liberation. I carefully remove the rope. And I strangle myself by gripping my neck tightly with my hand."
I am the one who locks me up, and I am the one who locks me up. I am a prisoner who shakes the key in front of my eyes and reminds me that I am a prisoner, and I am a prisoner who does not mumble while curled up in a corner for the attention of my guards. I am my eternal enemy. I want to break up with all the tired and ugly things in the world, but the priority may be to break up with my old enemy, "Another Me." The clumsy, wise men have deceived us that the journey to know who I am in life, but the journey to forget who I am may be life itself. The clumsy and timid me hovering around me, the chauffeur who sweetly recommends only the harmful things to me, the director who teaches me hypocrisy or evil, the keeper who throws false tears, false sighs, and false laughter at me like candy, and I have to drag my unknown anxiety and discomfort like a shadow no matter what I live. I am a spectator who laughs at the sight. The only way to break up with me may be to give up the fact that I am myself like the flower setting season in which the flower tree gives up being a flowering tree like the clear sky in the morning after the rainy season gives up being a rainy season. To know the most natural way to give up and give up, it should not be vague optimism but after arriving at wiser disillusionment.
I am dreaming or acting. I have to choose between one and the other. The choices are terrible. My reason is that I hate dreaming, and my sensitivity is disgusted with acting. Action is a nature that I am not endowed with, and dreaming is a destiny that no one is blessed with. I hate them so much that I can't choose between them. But I often dream or have to act, so I mix one thing up with the other.