“44 [167]” by Fernando Pessoa

Fernando Pessoa was born in Lisbon in 1888 and died in 1935 still largely unknown, publishing just one book during his lifetime. Upon his death, more than 25,000 pages of written works were found in his belongings. And with them, he has become known as one of the greatest Portuguese poets of the 20th century.

One of the most notable things about Pessoa’s poetry is that he wrote using distinct heteronyms. Each of these personas — most notably, Campos, Reis and Caeiro — had their own biography and philosophy and wrote with their own literary style and voice. Pessoa’s most famous work, “The Book of Disquiet,” was attributed to two of his semi-heteronyms: Vicente Guedes and, later, Bernando Soares. Soares is considered most closely related to Pessoa’s own character, as Pessoa himself stated he was “a mere mutilation of my personality.”

“The Book of Disquiet” has been arranged by many editors, who have done their best to collate his the pieces chronologically. Hence, the naming conventions of this poem, 44 [167]. The prose piece, dated Feb. 11, 1933, is, like much of the book, a philosophical musing on sadness and pain. The piece begins with the line:

“There are some deepseated griefs so subtle and pervasive that it is difficult to grasp whether they belong to our soul or to our body…”

The beauty of Pessoa’s work is how perfectly he communicates the often incomprehensible feelings of sadness and melancholy. Anyone who has experienced overwhelming grief or depression will immediately connect with his description of this pain:

“My soul today is sad to the very marrow of its bones. Everything hurts me — memory, eyes, arms. It’s like having rheumatism in every part of my being.”

Even as Pessoa clearly describes the intensity of the connection between physical sensation and emotional pain, in the following section he immediately doubts his own expression of such, saying:

 “These words do not convey exactly what I feel because doubtless nothing can convey exactly what someone feels. But I am trying in some way to give an idea of what I feel…”

He goes on to reflect on his consciousness and his desire to feel different and also be different. The piece closes with him looking out the window at the street below, where his sadness is, “out there, in the street strewn with boxes.” He imagines the dustmen below cleaning up his “tedium, anguish, and nausea” into the box and placing it on the cart that is not there.

The piece marked 44 [167] and the entirety of “The Book of Disquiet” isn’t necessarily a “feel good” work, and may not be for everyone. Each prose piece reveals a portrait of an intriguing character who manages the difficulties of existence through dreaming, writing and reflecting. As such, it contains some of the most poignant, vivid, and relatable sentences you will ever read — ones that are both comforting and disquieting all at once.