Homoerotic poetry

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Kunde jag följa dig
Kunde jag följa dig långt bort,
längre än allt du vet,
ut i de yttersta rymdernas
världsensamhet,
där Vintergatan rullar
ett bjärt dött skum
och där du söker ett fäste
i hisnande rum.

Jag vet: det går inte.

Men när du stiger huttrande
blind ur ditt dopm
tvärsigenom rymden
skall jag höra ditt rop,
vara dig ny värme,
vara dig ny famn,
vara dig när i en annan värld
bland ting med ofött namn.

* * *
If I could follow you far away
further off than all you knew
out to the uttermost regions
the world's solitude
where Wintergate* is rolling
its brash, dead trace
and you're looking for a foothold
in overwhelming space

I know - it can't happen.

But when you stagger shivering
blindly baptised
then right across the universe
I will hear your cry
and be your new warmth
and be your new arms
be near you in a different world
of things with unborn names

Translated by Michael Peverett

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ya comprendo la verdad

estalla en mis deseos

y mis desdichas
en mis desencuentros
en mis desequilibrios
en mis delirios

ya comprendo la verdad

ahora
a buscar la vida

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WHEN I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv’d with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that follow’d;
And else, when I carous’d, or when my plans were accomplish’d, still I was not happy;
But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health, refresh’d, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn,
When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in the morning light,
When I wander’d alone over the beach, and undressing, bathed, laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise,
And when I thought how my dear friend, my lover, was on his way coming, O then I was happy;
O then each breath tasted sweeter—and all that day my food nourish’d me more—and the beautiful day pass’d well,
And the next came with equal joy—and with the next, at evening, came my friend;
And that night, while all was still, I heard the waters roll slowly continually up the shores,
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands, as directed to me, whispering, to congratulate me,
For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night,
In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face was inclined toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast—and that night I was happy.

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I dreamed of him last night, I saw his face
All radiant and unshadowed of distress,
And as of old, in music measureless,
I heard his golden voice and marked him trace
Under the common thing the hidden grace,
And conjure wonder out of emptiness,
Till mean things put on beauty like a dress
And all the world was an enchanted place.

And then methought outside a fast locked gate
I mourned the loss of unrecorded words,
Forgotten tales and mysteries half said,
Wonders that might have been articulate,
And voiceless thoughts like murdered singing birds.
And so I woke and knew that he was dead.

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The rain outside was cold in Hadrian's soul.

The boy lay dead
On the low couch, on whose denuded whole,
To Hadrian's eyes, whose sorrow was a dread,
The shadowy light of Death's eclipse was shed.

The boy lay dead, and the day seemed a night
Outside. The rain fell like a sick affright
Of Nature at her work in killing him.
Memory of what he was gave no delight,
Delight at what he was was dead and dim.

O hands that once had clasped Hadrian's warm hands,
Whose cold now found them cold!
O hair bound erstwhile with the pressing bands!
O eyes half-diffidently bold!
O bare female male-body such
As a god's likeness to humanity!
O lips whose opening redness erst could touch
Lust's seats with a live art's variety!
O fingers skilled in things not to be told!
O tongue which, counter-tongued, made the blood bold!
O complete regency of lust throned on
Raged consciousness's spilled suspension!
... ... ...

more

(Fernando Pessoa wrote this poem in English)

* * *
A chuva fora era fria n'Alma de Adriano.

Jaz morto o jovem
No baixo coxim, e na sua plena nudez,
Aos olhos de Adriano, cujo pesar era pavor,
A crepuscu-luz do eclipse morte derramava-se.

Jaz morto o jovem e o dia como era noite
Lá fora. Caia a chuva, mórbido tormento
Da natura no ofício de matá-lo.
Lembrança do que ele era já não dava prazer,
Prazer que ele fôra estava morto e fosco.

Oh mãos que já enlaçaram as de Adriano ardentes,
Cuja frieza agora as sente frias!
Oh cabelos outrora atados por faixas!
Oh olhos de meio-tímida audácia!
Oh corpo, liso qual femea, masculino
Se assemelhando um deus à humanidade!
Oh lábios cujo róseo entreabrir podia tocar
Tronos da volúpia com variações de arte viva!
Oh dedos destros em coisas que não se diz!
Oh língua que, outra tocando, tornava o sangue audaz!
Oh total regência da luxuria entronizada
Na vertida suspensão da consciência irada!
... ... ...

more

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Los marineros son las alas del amor,
son los espejos del amor,
el mar les acompaña,
y sus ojos son rubios lo mismo que el amor
rubio es también, igual que son sus ojos.

La alegría vivaz que vierten en las venas
rubia es también,
idéntica a la piel que asoman;
no les dejéis marchar porque sonríen
como la libertad sonríe,
luz cegadora erguida sobre el mar.

Si un marinero es mar,
rubio mar amoroso cuya presencia es cántico,
no quiero la ciudad hecha de sueños grises;
quiero sólo ir al mar donde me anegue,
barca sin norte,
cuerpo sin norte hundirme en su luz rubia.

* * *
Sailors are the wings of love,
They are the mirrors of love,
The sea accompanies them,
And their eyes are blond just as love
Is blond, just like their eyes.


The lively happiness that flows in their veins
Is also blond,
Just like the skin it shows through;
Don't let them get away because they smile
As freedom smiles,
Blinding light erect over the sea.

If a sailor is the sea,
Blond amorous sea whose presence is poetry,
I don't want the city made of grey dreams;
I only want to go to the sea where I can drown,
A boat without bearing,
A body without bearing, immersing myself in its blond light.

Translated by Rick Lipinski

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Non mi pento
d' aver speso la vita
in futili amori
non ho desiderio di potenza
né conosco la fiamma dell’odio
amo la beltà dei ragazzi
la loro voce il loro riso felice.

.


Σώμα, θυμήσου όχι μόνο το πόσο αγαπήθηκες,
όχι μονάχα τα κρεββάτια όπου πλάγιασες,
αλλά κ’ εκείνες τες επιθυμίες που για σένα
γυάλιζαν μες στα μάτια φανερά,
κ’ ετρέμανε μες στην φωνή — και κάποιο
τυχαίον εμπόδιο τες ματαίωσε.
Τώρα που είναι όλα πια μέσα στο παρελθόν,
μοιάζει σχεδόν και στες επιθυμίες
εκείνες σαν να δόθηκες — πώς γυάλιζαν,
θυμήσου, μες στα μάτια που σε κύτταζαν·
πώς έτρεμαν μες στην φωνή, για σε, θυμήσου, σώμα.

* * *
Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds you lay on,
but also those desires that glowed openly
in eyes that looked at you,
trembled for you in the voices—
only some chance obstacle frustrated them.
Now that it’s all finally in the past,
it seems almost as if you gave yourself
to those desires too—how they glowed,
remember, in eyes that looked at you,
remember, body, how they trembled for you in those voices.

Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard