Deep down, I didn't stop being a poet, but a poet who expresses himself through prose and probably – and this is a flattering idea I want to have about myself – it is possible that I am today more and better poet than when I was writing poetry
2014 (1st edition at Porto Editora; 8th edition); 2019, 11th ed.
The calligraphy on the cover is by the writer Almeida Faria
«This world is no good, come another one. / We've been here for too long now / Pretending enough reasons. / Let's be dog dogs: we know everything / To bite the weakest if we command, / And to lick our hands, if dependent.»
In José Saramago's first poetic work, a poetry of freedom, fraternity and struggle is discovered. A fight in disguise, inside the words. Through the labyrinthine interior of breathing that inhabit all these poems, published for the first time in 1966. Let's say they were the "possible poems" of the time, when the censors spied on the souls of writers. And yet, Saramago's deep convictions are already clearly visible in poems like “Creation”: “God doesn't exist yet, I don't even know when / Even the sketch, the color will assert itself / In the confusing design of the passage / Of countless generations in this sphere . / No gesture is lost, no trace, / That the meaning of life is just this: / Make the Earth a God who deserves us, / And give the Universe the God that awaits.»
Diário de Notícias, October 9, 1998