WRFH/Radio Free Hillsdale 101.7 FM - The Poetry Fix: My Essence is Exhaustion

Episode Date: March 18, 2024

In this episode of The Poetry Fix, we explore Fernando Pessoa's "My Essence is Exhaustion." No, this is not the lament of a tired college student- it's something a little darker.

Welcome to the Poetry Fix. I'm your host, Erica Kaiba, bringing you your weekly fix of poetry from across time. Today we're reading My Essence is Exhaustion by Ferdinand Lepessoa. No, this is not the lament of a tired college student. It's an expression of the poets deep on we with life, which results from his fruitless passions for things that are ultimately meaningless. He describes how violent passions can erupt over nothing at all, and suggest, that even romantic love is only a love for what a person might be, what we suspect they are, which may or may not be true to life. The intensity of the poet's feelings for objects that have no ultimate meaning leads to a profound weariness. Beisoa then goes on to list what he calls

the three idealists, people who love the infinite, desire the impossible, or desire nothing at all. The idealists, the poet claims, ultimately have some stake, in reality, the balance between everything and nothing. The poet, on the other hand, invests infinite love in finite objects, which traps him in a kind of liminal space. So what is it about the poet that bars him from having access to meaning, as opposed to the idealists? Let's consider that as we dive in. My essence is exhaustion. What there in me is, I'm,

not of this, nor of this, nor of all, nor de all, or of nothing, cansauc, as in him himself,

cansao. The subtileza of the sensations inutees, the passions violentes for a thing none,

the amories intensos for the supposed in someone, these things all, these,

and what fall in them eternally, all this says a cansao this cansao cansao there's

there's there's there's who I'm who I'm there's who don't want to

nothing three types of idealists and I none of them because I am infinitely the finito

because I I'm impossibly the possible because I want the I'm a little more if better

or even if not could be, and the result? For them, a life, vivid or sonned, for them the sonno,

sonned, or vivid, for them the medd between all and nothing, this is,

this, for me, so a great, a profound, and there, with what felicity

infecundo, cansao, a supremissimus uncasso, isim, isim, isim, isim,

My essence is exhaustion, not this or that, not even everything or nothing. Exhaustion, just that, the thing itself, exhaustion. The subtlety of useless sensations, the violent passions for nothing at all, the intense love for what a person might be, all these things, these things and what is eternally missing from them, all this creates an exhaustion, this exhaustion, exhaustion. Without a doubt, there is he who loves the infinite. Without a doubt, there is he who desires the impossible. Without a doubt, there is he who wants nothing at all.

Three types of idealists, and I am none of these. Because I love the finite infinitely, because I desire the possible impossibly, because I want everything, or a little more, if that could be. or even if it couldn't be. And the result? For them life, whether lived or dreamed. For them dreams, whether dreamed or lived.

For them, the balance between everything and nothing. That is that, for me, only a large, a deep. And ah, with what fruitless happiness, exhaustion, the supremest exhaustion, supremest, supremest, supremest, supremest, expatriest. You've been listening to The Poetry Fix with Erica Kaiba. Join me next week and we'll be reading the final poem in this series of Brazilian writers.