Research Catalog

Title

The keeper of sheep = O guardador de rebanhos / by Alberto Caeiro (Fernando Pessoa) ; translated from the Portuguese by Edwin Honig and Susan M. Brown.

Author

Pessoa, Fernando, 1888-1935

Publication

Riverdale-on-Hudson, N.Y. : Sheep Meadow Press, [1997?]

Items in the Library & Off-site

Details

Additional Authors

• Honig, Edwin.
• Brown, Susan M. (Susan Margaret)

Description

xviii, 119 p.; 23 cm.

Uniform Title

Guardador de rebanhos. English & Portuguese

Alternative Title

• Guardador de rebanhos.
• Guardador de rebanhos

Subjects

• History
• Literature and medicine > England > History > To 1500

Genre/Form

History

Language (note)

• English and Portuguese on facing pages.

Processing Action (note)

• committed to retain

Contents

• Introduction / Edwin Honig and Susan M. Brown -- I.I never kept sheep -- II. My glance is clear like a sunflower -- III. Leaning over the window sill at sunset -- IV. This afternoon a thunderstorm broke -- V. There's metaphysics enough in not thinking about anything -- VI. To think of God is to disobey God -- VII. From my village I see as much of the earth as can be seen in the Universe -- VIII. Once at midday in late spring -- IX. I'm a keeper of sheep -- X. "Hello, there, keeper of sheep" -- XI. The woman over there has a piano -- XII. The shepherds in Virgil played flutes and other things -- XIII. Lightly, lightly, ever so lightly -- XIV. Rhymes mean nothing to me. Only rarely -- XV. The four songs that follow now -- XVI. I'd give anything if only my life were an oxcart -- XVII. Such a potpourri of Nature on my plate -- XVIII. I'd give anything just to be the roadside dust -- XIX. The moonlight when it beats the grass --^
• XX. The Tagus is lovelier than the river running through my village -- XXI. If I could take a bite of the whole earth -- XXII. Like someone opening his house door on a Summer's day -- XXIII. Like the sky, my blue gaze -- XXIV. What we see of things are those things -- XV. The soap bubbles this child -- XXVI. Some days, when the light is perfect and precise -- XXVII. Only Nature is divine, and she's not divine -- XXVIII. Today I read nearly two pages -- XXIX. I'm not always the same in what I say and write -- XXX. If they want me to be a mystic, fine. I'm a mystic -- XXXI. If at times I say that flowers smile -- XXXII. Yesterday afternoon a city man -- XXXIII. Poor flowers in beds in neatly trimmed gardens -- XXXIV. I find it so natural not to think -- XXXV. The moonlight behind the tall branches -- XXXVI. And there are poets who are artists -- XXXVII. Like a great blotch of filthy fire -- XXXVIII. Blessed be the selfsame sun in other lands --^
• XXXIX. The mystery of things, where is it -- XL. A butterfly passes before me -- XLI. At times, in the late afternoons of Summer -- XLII. A coach passed down the road and went off -- XLIII. Rather the flight of the bird passing and leaving no trace -- XLIV. At night I suddenly waken -- XLV. There, way over there by the hillside, a row of trees -- XLVI. One way or another -- XLVII. On a terribly clear day -- XLVIII. From the highest window of my house -- XLIX. I go indoors, and shut the window.

ISBN

1878818457 (trade paper)

LCCN

^^^97037487^

OCLC

37567342

Owning Institutions

Harvard Library