"Salute to Walt Whitman" (excerpt)
Wherever I am not the first, I would prefer to be nothing, just not to be there at all,
Wherever I cannot be the first to take action, I prefer to watch others act.
Wherever I cannot be in command, I would prefer not even to obey.
I am so excessive in my desire for everything, so excessive that I never falter,
And I never do falter, because I never even try.
"All or Nothing" has a special meaning for me.
But I cannot be universal because I am individual.
I cannot be everyone because I am One, only one, only me.
I cannot be the first in anything, because there is no first.
I therefore prefer the nothing of being only that being nothing.

When does the last train leave, Walt?
I want to leave this city, the Earth,
I want to leave the country of Me once and for all,
To leave the world like a self-confessed failure,
Like a traveling salesman selling ships to people who live far from the sea.

To the scrapyard with all the broken-down engines!
What did my existence ever amount to? A great, futile longing—
The sterile realization of an impossible fate—
A mad inventor's attempt to build a perpetual motion machine,
An obsessive's theorem for squaring the circle,
Or for swimming the Atlantic without leaving the shore
Or even getting into the water, just by looking and calculating,
Throwing stones at the moon,
An absurd longing for the parallel lines of God and life to meet.

Megalomania of the nerves,
My stiff body's longing to grow limber,
My physical self's fury because it isn't the be-all-and-end-all
Sensuality's vehicle of abstract enthusiasm
The dynamic vacuum of the world.

Let's get away from Existing!
Let's leave, once and for all and for ever, the village of Life,
The suburb of God's World
And plunge into the city, impulsively,
Recklessly, crazily Going . . .
Let's leave once and for all.

When does the last train leave for your place, Walt?
What kind of God was I that my nostalgia should turn into such longings?
Perhaps by leaving, I'll return. Perhaps by ending, I'll arrive.
Who knows? Any moment could be the right moment. Let's go,
Come on! To stay is to delay. To leave is to have left already.

Let's leave for wherever you might be.
Oh, to stay in a place where there-is-no-staying!
A terminus where there are No-Stops!
from the book THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÁLVARO DE CAMPOS / New Directions Publishing
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One reason Campos is such a pleasure to translate is the combination of linguistic playfulness and rhythmic voice. One small example:
Prefiro porisso o nada de ser apenas esse ser nada. 
where the word ser [to be/being] is used as verb and noun:
I therefore prefer the nothing of being only that being nothing. 
which surprises the reader with that grammatical tilt, and yet maintains an eminently speakable rhythm.


Margaret Jull Costa on "Salute to Walt Whitman"
Photograph of Walt Whitman holding a cardboard moth on a finger
How Whitman Used Portraits to Curate the Self

"Whitman told Horace Traubel, the poet’s close friend and earliest biographer, that '[y]es – that was an actual moth, the picture is substantially literal.' Likewise, he told historian William Roscoe Thayer: 'I’ve always had the knack of attracting birds and butterflies and other wild critters.' Of course, historians now know that the butterfly was, in fact, a cutout, which currently resides at the Library of Congress. So what was Whitman doing? Why would he lie?"

via THE CONVERSATION
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What Sparks Poetry:
Eleanor Goodman on Translation


"For Zheng, and for me, the function of poetry, its innate raison d’être, is to mourn. And in mourning, to point a finger. Look! the poet cries, Look! Look at everything that’s been lost, that we are in the process of losing, that we are throwing away out of ignorance and fear and laziness and greed, the habits we’ve formed over a lifetime and cannot loosen our grasp on even if it kills us.”
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