Um Português
In the tempered and subdued language of the first five lines of “Um Português”, the poet lulls us into a rather commonplace scene: a person returns from an extended trip, checks voice mail messages, and deletes most of them as unimportant. With words such as old, rarely, routine, general theme and m-hmm, the reader gets a vivid sense of N’s ennui.
Line 6 changes all that. In the space of three lines, N and the reader are “caught off-guard” and experience first, intense pleasure, then heartbreaking sorrow. I don’t know about others, but often when someone I love dies, regardless of the huge store of memories I may have of that person, there is always one event or one phrase that takes over my mind almost to the exclusion of every other. The sestet, which takes place in the hushed atmosphere of N’s remembrances, is a fine evocation of such an idée fixe, all the more moving because, in order to honor Paulo’s memory, N (though perhaps wishing to cry out in anguish) must respect silence, “leave the room, and gently close the door.”
I believe the most significant line in the sonnet is L14. I’m not sure whether the poet had Ryle’s “ghost in the machine” criticism of mind-body dualism in mind when writing it, or whether the line simply refers to the disembodied voice on N’s answering machine; but the poet has put the metaphysical flea in our ear; and whether or not we believe that only the physical and measurable is real, or whether the mental ghosts in our corporeal “machines” (hearts) are philosophical myths, the fact remains that Paulo was beloved, and that he will never be forgotten.
A memorable and powerfully understated love sonnet.
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