miercuri, 22 februarie 2012

Gay love, love letters, gay letters

Depun scrisorile de mai jos ca probă la dosar în procesul intentat defăimătorilor iubirii gay, posesorilor de suflete clevetitoare, spiritelor fără profunzime. Doresc să reafirm ideea că acești smintiți detractori, ei sunt cei obsedați de sex, ei reduc miracolul iubirii la un act banal și o împlinire pasageră. Solicit pedeapsa maximă, cu îndurare. 

Walt Whitman către Lewis K. Brown, 1863
Both your letters have been received, Lewy – the second one came this morning & was welcome as any thing from you will always be, & the sight of your face welcomer than all, my darling – I see you write in good spirits, & appear to have first-rate times – Lew, you must not go around too much, nor eat & drink too promiscuous, but be careful & moderate, & not let the kindness of friends carry you away, lest you break down again, dear son –
            . . . – You speak of being here in Washington again about the last of August – O Lewy, how glad I should be to see you, to have you with me – I have thought if it could be so that you, & one other person & myself could be where we could work & love together, & have each other's society, we three, I should like it so much – but it is probably a dream –
            . . . – Dear son, you must write me whenever you can – take opportunity when you have nothing to do, & write me a good long letter – your letters & your love for me are very precious to me, for I appreciate it all, Lew, & give you the like in return.

Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky către Bob Davidov, 1892
I feel an awful fool. Here I have another two weeks without anything to help me kill time. I thought this would be easier in Paris than anywhere else but, except for the first day, I have been bored. Since yesterday I do not know what to think up to be free of the worry and boredom that come from idleness. . . Am still keeping my incognito. . . .
I often think of you and see you in my dreams, usually looking sad and depressed. This has added a feeling of compassion to my love for you and makes me love you even more. Oh God! How I want to see you this very minute. Write me a letter from College during some boring lecture and send it to this address (14, Rue Richepanse). It will still reach me as I am staying here for nearly two weeks.
I embrace you with mad tenderness.
     P. Tchaikovsky

Oscar Wilde către Alfred Douglas, 1893
My Own Boy,
Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there to cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things, and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and lacks only you; but go to Salisbury first.
Always, with undying love,
Yours, Oscar

Virginia Woolf către Vita Sackville, 1927
Look Here Vita -- throw over your man, and we'll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I'll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads -- They won't stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come.


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