"I was born in Alegrete, on July 30, 1906. I believe it was the most important thing that ever happened to me. And now they ask me to talk about myself. Well! I've always believed that any confession not transfigured by art is indecent. My life is in my poems, my poems are me, I have never written a comma that wasn't a confession. Ah! But what they want are details, crudities, gossip... Here it goes! I'm 78 years old, but without age. There are only two ages: either you are alive or you are dead. In the latter case, that's too much age, because we were promised Eternity.
I was born in the rigor of winter, temperature: 1 degree; and to make matters worse, prematurely, which made me feel a bit self-conscious, because I thought I wasn't ready. Until one day I discovered that someone as complete as Winston Churchill was also born prematurely – the same happened to Sir Isaac Newton! Excusez du peu... I prefer to quote others' opinions about me. They say I am modest. On the contrary, I am so proud that I think I've never written anything worthy of my height. Because poetry is dissatisfaction, a longing for self-overcoming. A satisfied poet does not satisfy. They say I am shy. None of that! I am just quiet, introspective. I don't know why they subject introverts to treatments. Just because they can't be as boring as others?
Exactly because I abhor boringness, lethargy, that I adore synthesis. Another element of poetry is the search for form (not the mold), the dosage of words. Perhaps my carefulness stems from the fact that I was a pharmacy assistant for five years. Note that this is also the case with Carlos Drummond de Andrade, Alberto de Oliveira, and Erico Verissimo – who well know (or knew) what the passionate struggle with words is."
Text written for Revista IstoÉ on 14/11/1984
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