Saturday, July 6, 2013

Gay Translationese




“If he takes the she-goat, 
the kid shall be yours.”
—translated by Robert Wells
Theocritus, Idyll 1

Pan chooses the horny guy—
then he does the she-goat

That leaves the goatherd—
the kid as my prize

Nothing tastes so delicious—
as a cute unmilked kid


“What can the water be, 
other than itself?”
—Robert Wells
The Pool

What else can the pool be—
but a mirror for your male beauty?

The thought that’s it’s all there—
gathered together just for you

Each svelte curve of you shoulders—
moist in the hollow of the pool

Your narrow face half-asleep—
douching yourself in the morning

How I’ve imagined you turning in sleep—
in some dark dream taking hold of you

Now your image bears you down further—
its weight a wish disguised, a knowledge 

Not to be kept by the living—
what remains is what’s unpossessible

Servitude's counterpart a hidden beauty—
ghosting your gestures, bringing you down 

To learn its own existence through you—
your weightless image in the water 

A different pose as the water chokes you—
drowning you with its cold vibrancy

“drugs as strong as
any brewed by Circe”
—translated by Robert Wells
Theocritus, Idyll 2

Give me some dope, Circe—
something to charm him with

Something to work a spell on him—
to bind him to me as my Lover

Twelve inches will surely satisfy—
my lonely, throbbing Clitoris!!!

A circlet of fine kinky pubes—
a virile manly macho Mustache

Bless my fine fellatio Lips!!!
so that I can finally know him!!!

May his young Manhood truly be—
Head Swine Odysseus himself!!!

Leader of his Crass Crew of—
unforgivably Porky Pig Swine!!!

Let them hurt me bad where it counts—
my swollen, bruised, needy Pussy!!!

Bind them with Moon and Magic—
Cum-bathed Hecatê, my Earthly Double

Going down on the whole wrestling-school—
of Timagetus, all his young muscle-boys

Listen to my song, I'll chant it low—
I’ll even raise Dead Dicks from the Grave!!!

Make my drink as strong as any brewed—
by Circe, Medea or yellow-haired Perimedê…


“Now I know Love 
as he is, an angry god”
—translated by Robert Wells
Theocritus, Idyll 3

Like Amaryllis I was bleeding—
bleeding for love, my dears

That’s after I met young Alteo—
and fell for him head over heels

But Alteo was only interested—
in girls, just girls, dontchaknow

“Only the girl who can bring me—
 a new flower will receive my love.”

Naturally, I despaired and turned to—
the Oracle at Delphi for some advice

There I was told to take an arrow—
from the temple & turn it into a poem

And to wound myself writing it—
publishing it and declaring my love

If necessary I should repeat this action—
every subsequent evening I got stoned

I did what the oracle told me to do—
stabbing my breast & heart for the Muse

Suddenly poetry began streaming out of me—
the Gay Muse cumming like a jizz-jet!!!

What became of my Amaryllis love?—
it became gay translationese at a glance

Like a bee flitting thru a drawn curtain—
out of a cave of dark ivy & maidenhair fern

O pity my restless heart! Look how I opine!—
now I know Love as he is, an angry god

Making me go down on him all the time—
wooing him & wagging my faggy tongue...


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