My sexuality has always been a dodgy topic among my art creation. At times, I was uninterested in using it as fodder for poems, at others, I couldn’t find poetic fodder to feed a poem worthy of contemplation.
Among a plethora of failed attempts at doing so, I did draw a composition that would eventually become “HOSMOSIS” (quite proud of the title, to be honest here). Being gay was never something I considered integral part of me, until I faced the reality of loving someone in a displayed fashion, as well as the reactions that would prompt. Thankfully, it didn’t only prompt bad reactions, it also prompted this poem, once of the few I can say I genuinely like and feel proud of.
Also, officially the 50th english poem published on the blog. Thank you so much for allowing me to continue.
With a lot of love,
Long ago, I envisioned two sister books I would eventually finish in English, before I gave up English poetry. The two had interesting concepts in my mind, FUSCUS and EXCELSE, focusing in calming yet existencial poetry, and beautiful yet exaggerated and borderline detached poetry respectively.
I do love those concepts, unfortunately I’m not an actual poet, so, who knows, maybe one day I will get to publish them.
Here is the first poem of FUSCUS, written 3 years ago, I was 19 (it shows a lot).
Took me five hours to translate this poem, I’m exhausted, why do I use so many ancient words in portuguese. And it isn’t even that complex really.
This one is very special.
A little while back, I talked about my Caliath volumes and how the first four were disowned. For good reason, they contain all my poems from the peak of my depression from 15 to 17 years of age, meaning they have incredibly saddening and dark poetics that I don’t like getting back to. Recently, I decided to uncover them and attempt to read some. I didn’t get very far, but I decided to translate one of the poems from that time into English.
Disclaimer: This one, Name of War (Nome de Guerra in Portuguese), is not at all inspired by the racial induced of 1675 in New England, rather by a book of portuguese authorship, by José Almada Negreiros, which I was reading at the time. Despite being sad, I hope you enjoy it.