понедельник, 19 ноября 2012
Charles Bryant
Hadrian Remembers Antinous:
Our First Carnal Encounter
The rich interior world behind the eyelids
populates a summer afternoon.
Later - if not sometime very soon -
what was dream unfolds in the real world
(given that the world is real and not
a mere subjunction of the dream).
Unceasingly the everyday trails off
among the thick lianas of the mind.
The imagined perpetually merges with the real.
The rich interior world behind the eyelids
populates a summer afternoon.
Later - if not sometime very soon -
what was dream unfolds in the real world
(given that the world is real and not
a mere subjunction of the dream).
Unceasingly the everyday trails off
among the thick lianas of the mind.
The imagined perpetually merges with the real.
'Spiritual love seeks sexual expression'
- where did I read that?
My ba, my soul (psyche, butterfly,
glorious winged angel) attracted by the light,
the flame that lit his alabaster body,
spent itself in poetry and song,
fluttered like a moth about his flame,
hypnotised by that clear ray of being.
The moth is singed, is doomed, must surely die
less she escapes from light into the dark.
So my soul escaped into the body,
there found peace and pleasure and repose
upon his couch of flesh and in his open arms.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
We had been out hunting.
After the hunt, he stripped.
I gazed upon that plenitude of flesh,
that luscious living cornucopia;
watched as what was godlike in the boy
glowed in living being there before me.
He stripped. Not shamelessly
but just to get out of his clothes,
simple as that, natural as that,
unhampered in his perfect poise and grace
by any base lascivious intention -
just to get out of his clothes,
to relish the cooling breeze
that crept along the forest floor
rustling among the brittle fallen leaves
like rippling water over pebble beds.
We had ridden so long and hard that day.
Birds in the forest sang. The insects danced
in sunlight. Then a sudden stillness came.
A wind, a gusting wind. Then still again
as if a storm were brewing. And yet no storm
disturbed the dreaming vision of the trees
communing with us as I gazed at him
and he unblinkingly gazed back at me
his eyes in the dim green twilight turned to gold.
He smiled at me. He was always smiling.
By now I think he knew I wanted him.
It was all quite natural, in the calm Greek way.
Not like those lascivious Latins
I had known at uncle Trajan's court,
had known, had had,
sucking their forefingers, showing their bums.
There was a way, a code. We behaved like men.
Not like men pretending to be women.
I know that that sounds prudish.
And yet it was so vital to me then
to act with circumspection.
I wanted him and not some common tart,
the simpering lads that hang around the army.
He loved as he hunted,
determinedly, with humour,
never losing sight of the fleeting quarry,
relaxed and natural with a smiling face;
with politeness and with foresight and with grace,
perfectly accomplished.
Had he done this before? I never asked.
He lay upon the forest floor
among fallen stalks and leaves and mossy earth
stretched out like a wary woodland faun
propped upon one elbow, watching me,
having just combed his hair,
his wonderful luxuriant curling hair -
the comb caught in the tresses, they were so thick.
Then he stretched his aching limbs and rested.
Yawning - how fondly I recall his graceful yawning! -
(Was there anything, in all the time I knew him,
that was not done with grace?)
half turning,
one smooth hand clasping the other above his head,
the lovely legs crossed sensuously at the knee -
a warm bow of flesh awaiting
the hand to draw it. And he smiled again, consenting.
(So doting and so fond, my grammar awry!)
Never man more smitten than myself.
Never longing more powerful than mine.
Never love more poised more calm than his.
The first kiss on those large and lovely lips
had in it the taste of nectar
Ganymede himself the cup, my page
Antinous.
Far off my men were setting up the camp
their voices echoed dampened through the wood
as my thigh slid between his strong smooth thighs
and forest creatures watched us from the trees
and mating butterflies thronged the heavy air
forming a canopy above our heads.
When he whispered 'Master' I silenced him
hating the word and meaning of the word
told him he was free to love or not.
Again he whispered 'Master' to annoy me,
all the laughter glinting in his eyes.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
When we walked back to the camp
the men were watching
smiling among themselves.
They envied me.
How could they help but envy me, the lover
of the loveliest boy in all Bithynia?
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19.11.2012 в 18:15-
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19.11.2012 в 18:25-
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19.11.2012 в 18:29зато история ЛЮБВИ.
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19.11.2012 в 18:34история ЛЮБВИ.
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