#antonio botto

[homocon31]

i love gays wdym we have been using “…” for over a hundred years..

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

Se a mulher quiser ser homem,

e o homem ser a mulher,

Que importa se tudo junto

E um pouco mais misturado

Não vem a ser mais gostoso

e menos banalizado?

Antonio Botto

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

The moon Was wandering in the sky With the stars that round her loom. In candelabra Of bronze Candles were burning In the stillness of my room. On the floor, crumpled in flood, The velvets seemed Waves of wine and waves of blood. He looked at me and he dreamed: And I Just smoked in silence and watched How the white and naked moon Passed through the skies which it matched. He came to me, and he sought Wildly, hungrily and thirstily My mouth, which he kissed and drained— My mouth which is like a flower— And from kissing back refrained. He drew me towards himself And, leaning upon my shoulder, Spoke to me of a fair page Who had died of love and longing, Singing, singing, by the sea… I looked at the sky. The moon was going astray Among clouds which made the night Dark and gray. Then our mouths met in a kiss, A nervous kiss slowly sinned… Man is driven by desire As a cloud is by the wind. Morn was still far, far away. At last, Releasing That body Which had tired itself to sleep And I had so madly kissed, So unconsciously, so well, I drank wine till all was mist, I drank wine until I fell.

— António Botto, The Songs of António Botto (1921; translated by Fernando Pessoa)

[sivavakkiyar]

Antonio Botto, trans. Fernando Pessoa

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

Who is it that clasps me to him In the half-light of my bed? Who is it that kisses me And bit my breast till it bled? Who is it that speaks of death In my ear, so slow, so sweet? It is you, lord of my eyes, Who have my dreams at your feet.

— António Botto, The Songs of António Botto (1921; translated by Fernando Pessoa)

[alwaysalreadyangry]

António Botto, translated by Fernando Pessoa

[goreprofonde]

“The last echoes of the band— A dance of Aragon, Fade away.

The afternoon, Somehow, Has not the natural air Of just merging into evening.

Then he appears in the arena, Golden flower!, Very sensual, very manly, And lithely He strives to come near the bull. The crowd Breaks out into shouting madness.

Then, With a supreme noble gesture,

He raises his arm To kill.

The daylight is like a flame, The silence is deeper still.

The horns touch the gold and silk, And he falls, Conquered, Torn, His brow all covered with blood.

The evening Now draws in coldly and slow.

He has his belly exposed, And the darknesses Of his manhood Everyone can see them now”

- António Botto, The Songs of António Botto. Translated by Fernando Pessoa.

[goreprofonde]

“Love never really lies: / It simply exaggerates”

- António Botto, The Songs of António Botto. Translated by Fernando Pessoa.