Very soon, though, he found that this poet was really one Fernando Nogueira Pessoa, who signed his works with the names of non-existent poets, born of his mind. Tasked with a mission to manage Alfred Nobel's fortune and has ultimate responsibility for fulfilling the intentions of Nobel's will. Then I would get up, fold the coarse blanket and barefoot – in the village I always walked barefoot till I was fourteen – and with straws still stuck in my hair, I went from the cultivated part of the yard to the other part, where the sties were, by the house. The sounds we hear are from Domenico Scarlatti’s harpsichord, and he doesn’t quite know if he is supposed to be laughing or crying … This is the story of Baltazar and Blimunda, a book where the apprentice author, thanks to what had long ago been taught to him in his grandparents’ Jerónimo’s and Josefa’s time, managed to write some similar words not without poetry: “Besides women’s talk, dreams are what hold the world in its orbit. At that age and as we all do at some time, needless to say, I imagined my grandfather Jerónimo was master of all the knowledge in the world. Several outreach organisations and activities have been developed to inspire generations and disseminate knowledge about the Nobel Prize. More or less by antonomasia, an erudite word that I met only many years after and learned the meaning of … Amongst the peace of the night, amongst the tree’s high branches a star appeared to me and then slowly hid behind a leaf while, turning my gaze in another direction I saw rising into view like a river flowing silent through the hollow sky, the opal clarity of the Milky Way, the Road to Santiago as we still used to call it in the village. Explanation. Now I can clearly see those who were my life-masters, those who most intensively taught me the hard work of living, those dozens of characters from my novels and plays that right now I see marching past before my eyes, those men and women of paper and ink, those people I believed I was guiding as I the narrator chose according to my whim, obedient to my will as an author, like articulated puppets whose actions could have no more effect on me than the burden and the tension of the strings I moved them with. In de volksmond bekend als José Saramago, is nog steeds erg aanwezig met zijn eigen brieven en met de erfenis die hij ons na 87 jaar leven met hoofdletters naliet. Nobel Media AB 2021. Many times I helped my grandfather Jerónimo in his swineherd’s labour, many times I dug the land in the vegetable garden adjoining the house, and I chopped wood for the fire, many times, turning and turning the big iron wheel which worked the water pump. With sleep delayed, night was peopled with the stories and the cases my grandfather told and told: legends, apparitions, terrors, unique episodes, old deaths, scuffles with sticks and stones, the words of our forefathers, an untiring rumour of memories that would keep me awake while at the same time gently lulling me. True, and he has said so, the title was the result of an optical illusion, but it is fair to ask whether it was the serene example of the proof-reader who, all the time, had been preparing the ground from where the new novel would gush out. The book is called All the Names. That’s how the apprentice read, now surrounded by evangelical characters, as if for the first time, the description of the massacre of the innocents and, having read, he couldn’t understand. Of those masters, the first was, undoubtedly, a mediocre portrait-painter, whom I called simply H, the main character of a story that I feel may reasonably be called a double initiation (his own, but also in a manner of speaking the author’s) entitled Manual of Painting and Calligraphy, who taught me the simple honesty of acknowledging and observing, without resentment or frustration, my own limitations: as I could not and did not aspire to venture beyond my little plot of cultivated land, all I had left was the possibility of digging down, underneath, towards the roots. Look for popular awards and laureates in different fields, and discover the history of the Nobel Prize. At least once in life, every author has been, or will have to be, Luís de Camões, even if they haven’t written the poem Sôbolos Rios … Among nobles, courtiers and censors from the Holy Inquisition, among the loves of yester-year and the disillusionments of premature old age, between the pain of writing and the joy of having written, it was this ill man, returning poor from India where so many sailed just to get rich, it was this soldier blind in one eye, slashed in his soul, it was this seducer of no fortune who will never again flutter the hearts of the ladies in the royal court, whom I put on stage in a play called What shall I do with this Book?, whose ending repeats another question, the only truly important one, the one we will never know if it will ever have a sufficient answer: “What will you do with this book?” It was also proud humility to carry under his arm a masterpiece and to be unfairly rejected by the world. There also approaches a Jesuit priest called Bartolomeu who invented a machine capable of going up to the sky and flying with no other fuel than the human will, the will which, people say, can do anything, the will that could not, or did not know how to, or until today did not want to, be the sun and the moon of simple kindness or of even simpler respect. . Discurso en la entrega del NOBEL SARAMAGO El hombre más sabio que he conocido en toda mi vida no sabía leer ni escribir. The son of rural labourers, Saramago grew up in great poverty in Lisbon.After holding a series of jobs as mechanic and metalworker, Saramago began working in a Lisbon … This time it was not a matter of looking behind the pages of the New Testament searching for antitheses, but of illuminating their surfaces, like that of a painting, with a low light to heighten their relief, the traces of crossings, the shadows of depressions. My grandmother, already afoot before my grandfather, set in front of me a big bowl of coffee with pieces of bread in and asked me if I had slept well. T here is a revealing moment when José Saramago, Portugal's austere Nobel laureate, relaxes into laughter, and it comes as he is talking of his own death.Frail and … She was sitting at the door of a house like none other I can imagine in all the world, because in it lived people who could sleep with piglets as if they were their own children, people who were sorry to leave life just because the world was beautiful; and this Jerónimo, my grandfather, swineherd and story-teller, feeling death about to arrive and take him, went and said goodbye to the trees in the yard, one by one, embracing them and crying because he knew he wouldn’t see them again. It cannot even be argued in defence that it was necessary for the children of Bethlehem to die to save the life of Jesus: simple common sense, that should preside over all things human and divine, is there to remind us that God would not send His Son to Earth, particularly with the mission of redeeming the sins of mankind, to die beheaded by a soldier of Herod at the age of two … In that Gospel, written by the apprentice with the great respect due to great drama, Joseph will be aware of his guilt, will accept remorse as a punishment for the sin he has committed and will be taken to die almost without resistance, as if this were the last remaining thing to do to clear his accounts with the world. Hij won in 1998 de Nobelprijs voor Literatuur. Hän on Portugalin tunnetuin nykykirjailija. And what he saw was, once again, the hideous mask of intolerance, an intolerance that in Münster became an insane paroxysm, an intolerance that insulted the very cause that both parties claimed to defend. The characters in The Stone Raft – two women, three men and a dog – continually travel through the Peninsula as it furrows the ocean. She didn’t say she was afraid of dying, but that it was a pity to die, as if her hard life of unrelenting work was, in that almost final moment, receiving the grace of a supreme and last farewell, the consolation of beauty revealed. Then the apprentice, as if trying to exorcise the monsters generated by the blindness of reason, started writing the simplest of all stories: one person is looking for another, because he has realised that life has nothing more important to demand from a human being. Jaar. Once more, with no other help than the tiny light of his reason, the apprentice had to penetrate the obscure labyrinth of religious beliefs, the beliefs that so easily make human beings kill and be killed. Because it was not a question of war in the name of two inimical gods, but of war in the name of a same god. Proud humility also, and obstinate too – wanting to know what the purpose will be, tomorrow, of the books we are writing today, and immediately doubting whether they will last a long time (how long?) The Nobel Prize in Literature 1998 was awarded to José Saramago "who with parables sustained by imagination, compassion and irony continually enables us once again to apprehend an elusory reality." No lesson would fit me, no lesson could I learn, except the simplest, which could have been offered to me by Luís Vaz de Camões in his pure humanity, for instance the proud humility of an author who goes knocking at every door looking for someone willing to publish the book he has written, thereby suffering the scorn of the ignoramuses of blood and race, the disdainful indifference of a king and of his powerful entourage, the mockery with which the world has always received the visits of poets, visionaries and fools. He couldn’t understand why there were already martyrs in a religion that would have to wait thirty years more to listen to its founder pronouncing the first word about it, he could not understand why the only person that could have done so dared not save the lives of the children of Bethlehem, he could not understand Joseph’s lack of a minimum feeling of responsibility, of remorse, of guilt, or even of curiosity, after returning with his family from Egypt. 1993 - Literaire Levensprijs van de Portugese Schrijvers Vereniging; 1995 - Ereprijs van de Portugese Auteurs Vereniging; 1992 - Internationale Ennio Flaiano Prijs voor. José Saramago (Ribatejo, 1922) werd geboren als zoon van een arme, ongeletterde boerenfamilie, en groeide op in Lissabon. Under the coarse blankets, the warmth from the humans saved the little animals from freezing and rescued them from certain death. My own but also the world’s, if I can be allowed such an immoderate ambition. It was about time. Nobel laureate José Saramago dies, aged 87. Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube. Unwritten, all our names are there. The only thing I am not sure of having assimilated satisfactorily is something that the hardship of those experiences turned into virtues in those women and men: a naturally austere attitude towards life. The literature prize is one of five established by Alfred Nobel, the Swedish industrialist and inventor of dynamite. Nobel Literature prizewinner Jose Saramago from Portugal stands at the rostrum giving the traditional Nobel lecture 07 December. (From the publisher)... Διαβάστε περισσότερα... ΤΟ ΤΕΛΕΥΤΑΙΟ ΤΕΤΡΑΔΙΟ . The wisest man I ever knew in my whole life could not read or write. There were two other fig trees, but that one, certainly because it was the biggest, because it was the oldest, and timeless, was, for everybody in the house, the fig tree. Here comes a man whose left hand was taken in war and a woman who came to this world with the mysterious power of seeing what lies beyond people’s skin. There could have been no other reason why, sitting one evening at the door of her cottage where she now lived alone, staring at the biggest and smallest stars overhead, she said these words: “The world is so beautiful and it is such a pity that I have to die”. "José de Sousa Saramago, GColSE (Portuguese: [ʒuˈzɛ ðɨ ˈsozɐ sɐɾɐˈmaÉ£u]; 16 November 1922 – 18 June 2010), was a Portuguese writer and recipient of the 1998 Nobel Prize in Literature. Such historical and literary mischief are Saramago trademarks. José de Sousa Saramago (16. marraskuuta 1922 Azinhaga, Ribatejo, Portugali – 18. kesäkuuta 2010 Lanzarote, Espanja) oli portugalilainen kirjailija, joka sai Nobelin kirjallisuuspalkinnon vuonna 1998.