[tes3m]

В виде приложения к рассказу о споре Пессоа с противниками стихов Антониу Ботту (дописываю) — несколько отрывков из этих стихов в переводе Пессоа (чтобы было понятно, почему стихи Ботту показались его современникам непривычно откровенными):
There's that slow smile of yours again...
It seems to say: "Our bodies understand each other. That's enouph. Why complain?"

...
If you doubt your body can
Really tremble close to mine
And feel
The same full fleshy embrace,
Strip it fully,
Let it come into my arms
And don't speak to me,
Say nothing, nothing at all,
Because the silence of two
Gives more freedom
To the things love makes befall.
...
I know your nerves very well:
They have left stains of their fire
In my flesh so nicely brown,
In this flesh
That looked like the light of autumn
And now slowly goldens down
To an end nothing can soften.
Don't I know your sex so well?
Have you not liked me so often?
The fresh pressure of your kiss,
The power of your embrace —
All that I have deeply tried...
No, this isn't jealousy.
But, when I saw you with her —
No one was looking —I cried.
...
And pleasure
Is quite a deep
Philosophy in itself,
Even—what are you laughing at?—
The firmest yet easiest flowing.
Now come near me.
I want to kiss you, to feel
Your brown body's burning sway.
...
Listen, my angel:
What if I should kiss your skin,
What if I should kiss your mouth
Which is all honey within?

He wanted to move away,
Half in disdain, smiling faint;
But, alas!,
The flesh of the rankest sinner
Is like the flesh of the saint.

Midly, softly, in a posture
Which was misteriously feigned,
He gave me his golden body
Which my feverish kisses drained. ...

In the windowpane the rain
Tinkled lightly,tinkled slow...

He clasped me and closed his eyes,
The better to see me there;
And I died, slowly died,
Like a vague scent in the air...

Предыдущее стихотворение я процитировала целиком, а две строки там пропущены в оригинале. А вот довольно необычное стихотворение для Ботту: тут он неожиданно выражает разочарование в физической любви, которую до этого воспевал (комментаторы объясняют влиянием идей Патера).

It's a pity, but I must not understand you.
My fancy was different —
A love
That asks nothing of the body.
This love.
Of which you speak to me, biting
Your red mouth
And caressing
A certain masculine detail
Of your body
— Look here, all that leads to nothing . . .
That sort of love
Is degrading, very vile,
It's selfish and strangely moved.
Why should that brutal thing that says "I want you"
Be a good reason why we should be loved?

Кстати, в предисловии к этой книге Пессоа пишет, что переводил очень точно, к тому же настолько хорошо знает Ботту — и как поэта, и как человека — что если даже и отступил где-то от буквальной точности, все равно верно передал суть оригинала.