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Wasn't he the man who broke the Enigma code? And with this he helped to win the war for the Allies? And they give their thanks? Whow!!!!!

Some more on Paul Verlaine (1844-1896).

Rimbaud's career as a poet was as shortlived as it was intense and revolutionary; from the late 1870s he didn't write a single more piece of poetry and thought from now on, that poetry was something silly and stupid.

So it was Rimbaud's old friend, mentor, lover and foe Paul Verlaine who took care of his former lovers literary aftermath, published many of Rimbaud's best poems for the first time and constructed his literary fame in a series of influential publications in the mid-to-late 1880s.

But Verlaine also wrote some magnificent homoerotic dirty poetry on his own, and in particular a group of poems mostly written in 1891, but only posthumously published in 1904 under the title Hombres, and this is one of the poems from this collection!


Oh my lovers...

Oh my lovers,
Simple chaps,
But oh what characters!
Console me for a life's mishaps;
Give me a rest from all those books.
You, Paris kid, let's wank in slang;
You from the fields, in your provincial twang
Tell me the bill for all our foocks,
The cocks up arses and the old quill pen
Trimmed to a point for gentlemen:
And in the woods, the bushy woods, let's join
The battle of the lip and loin,
The tangled scrum
Of kiss and come.
And you, you well-dressed pricks,
Let's swop a few deep licks
Like artists, at the stage door of the bum,
And damn the glum
Remarks of pedants and of cunts.
(By cunts here, I mean bloody fools -
The other cunts are quite in place, in all respects,
Even by us peculiar tools
And choosy servants of the best of sects,
Whose pope is Plato, I suppose,
With Socrates
One of the Secretary-Nuncios.
Having a woman now and then's well-bred,
And giving in you don't give up a thing.
Besides, as someone said,
Give every man his due,
And woman too,
God knows, have got a right to share
Our glory. So let's use
Them gently, between screws,
And then return to our affair.)
Oh my young darlings, help me get
My own back in your grave caresses,
Among your arses
And tasty tarses,
With the delicious messes
And dainty dishes of a king -
Help me forget
The empty stuffing of those hollow meats
That rhetoric puts out for tender
To those whose brains, fouled up like babies' seats,
Have still not found the best thing on their beats,
Sad sad old pals who still don't know what's what in gender.
But bugger metaphors! let's screw -
It's bollock-time for me and you;
Knock up, a lively stroke or two,
To wet our pricks and start the feast off right;
Tuck in to come and shite
To buttocks and to thighs.

Lots of other gay men and women found that their sexuality was ignored during the war because of the importance of work they were doing. That plus the fact that during wartime the authorities had more urgent priorities than the persecution of it's own citizens made some gays wish the war had never ended, for the minute it did end, bigotry went back to business as usual.
The feeble late apology to the memory of Alan Turing was nothing more than a reminder of how shamefuly my country treats its best people.

Hi good morning Gorgik9 - as I told you this is one of the best and most interesting threads on GH. Thank you for your work. Would it be too much for you to give us here some other poems of Verlaine. I'm a little bit ashamed but it is the first time that I'm hearing from him so much more as only his name and that he has been a poet.

Allan Turing was by no means the only gay British benefactor of humanity persecuted and murdered by the government. Roger David Casement ( 1 September 1864 – 3 August 1916)—known as Sir Roger Casement CMG between 1911 and shortly before his execution for treason, when he was stripped of his knighthood—was an Irish nationalist, anti-slavery activist, poet and gay diarist, was another notable one.

Shelter said:

Hi good morning Gorgik9 - as I told you this is one of the best and most interesting threads on GH. Thank you for your work. Would it be too much for you to give us here some other poems of Verlaine. I'm a little bit ashamed but it is the first time that I'm hearing from him so much more as only his name and that he has been a poet.

Click to expand...

Sure:thumbs up: Since you're asking me so politely, I'll see what I can do laters this evening or maybe tomorrow :cheers:

trencherman said:

Allan Turing was by no means the only gay British benefactor of humanity persecuted and murdered by the government. Roger David Casement ( 1 September 1864 – 3 August 1916)—known as Sir Roger Casement CMG between 1911 and shortly before his execution for treason, when he was stripped of his knighthood—was an Irish nationalist, anti-slavery activist, poet and gay diarist, was another notable one.

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As an Irishman I contest your description of him as British

Yet some more Verlaine.

Another piece from Verlaines book Hombres by request from Shelter.

A thousand and three

My lovers come, not from the floating classes: they're
Labourers from the dephts of suburbs or the land,
Aged fifteen, twenty, with no graces, but an air
Of pretty brutal strength and manners none too grand.

I like them in their work-clothes - jacket, overalls:
Smelling of pure and simple health, never a whiff
Of scent: their step sounds heavy, yes, but still it falls
Nimbly enough - they're young, their bounce a little stiff.

Their crafty and wide eyes crackle with cordial
Mischief : the wit of their naively knowing quips
Comes salted with gay swearwords, to be rhythmical,
From their fresh, wholesome mouths and soundly kissing lips;

With energetic knobs and buttockfuls of joy
They can rejoice my arsehole and my cock all night;
By lamplight and at dawn their flesh, all over joy,
Wakes my desire again, tired but still full of fight.

Thighs, hands, and souls, all of me mixed up, memory, feet,
Heart, back and ear and nose and all my ringing guts
Begin to bawl in chorus as they hit the beat,
Reeling and jig-a-jigging in their frenzied ruts:

A crazy dance, a crazy chorus as we're lined
Up, up, divinely rising because hell is high
On heavenly routes: I dance to save myself, and find,
Swimming in sweat, it's in our common breath I fly.

So, my two Charleses: one, young tiger with cat's eyes,
A choirboy with his volume swelling rough and thick;
The other a wild blade so cheeky I surprise
Him only with my dizzy penchant for his prick;

And Odilon, a kid, equipped, though, like a lord:
His feet in love with mine, which rave about their catch -
Those toes! - though thick and fast the rest of him's adored -
Those feet! - there's nothing like them! - even they don't match!

How they caress, so satin cool, with sensitive
Knuckles that stroke the soles and, round the ankles, graze
Over the veiny arch! how these strange kisses give
A sweet soul to this quadruped with soulful ways!

Then Antoine, with that tail of legendary size,
My god, my phallocrat who triumphs from the rear,
Piercing my heart with the blue lightning of his eyes,
My violet arsehole with his terryfying spear;

Paul,a blond athlete - pectorals that you could eat! -
A white breast with hard buttons that are sucked as much
As the more juicy end; and Francois, lithe as wheat,
His pecker coiled in that fantastic dancer's crutch;

Auguste, who daily makes himself more masculine
(Oh when it happened first he was a pretty lass!);
Jules, rather whorish with his pallid beauty's skin;
Henri, the marvellous conscript who's gone off, alas! -

I see you all, alone or friends together, some
Unique, some I confuse, a vision of past love
Clear as my passions who come now, or are to come,
My countless darlings who can never come enough!

Jean Daniel Cadinot

Thank you so much Gorgik9 for this new poem from Verlaine. I'm totally enthusiastic about these poems I've never heard from. From now on I will look for more from him. I will learn to know his work. I beg your pardon that I've not perceived Verlaine before. Gorgik9 you have broaden my horizons - and for that I'm truly grateful to you and as well to all the others who posted on this thread. Thank you for your proud work.

Joan Rivers

Montgomery Clift


(I had the hardest crush on Montgomery Clift from the first moment I ever saw him on screen. Something about him, besides his beauty, connected with me intimately. He was special...)

Edward Montgomery (Monty) Clift (October 17, 1920 – July 23, 1966) was an American film and stage actor. The New York Times’ obituary of Clift noted his portrayal of "moody, sensitive young men".

He often played outsiders and "victim-heroes"; examples include the social climber in George Stevens's A Place in the Sun, the anguished Catholic priest in Alfred Hitchcock's I Confess, the doomed regular soldier Robert E. Lee Prewitt in Fred Zinnemann's From Here to Eternity, and the Jewish GI bullied by antisemites in Edward Dmytryk's The Young Lions.

After surviving a car crash in 1956, which left his face partially paralyzed and his profile altered, Clift became addicted to alcohol and prescription drugs, leading to his erratic behavior off screen. Nevertheless, he continued his acting career, playing such parts as "the reckless, alcoholic, mother-fixated rodeo performer" in John Huston's The Misfits and the title role in Huston's Freud: The Secret Passion.

In 1961, Clift portrayed Rudolph Peterson, a victim of forced sterilization at the hands of Nazi authorities in the Stanley Kramer film Judgment at Nuremberg, earning a nomination for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor.

Clift received four Academy Award nominations during his career, three for Best Actor and one for Best Supporting Actor.

Early life

Clift was born on October 17, 1920, in Omaha, Nebraska. His father, William Brooks Clift, was a vice-president of Omaha National Trust Company. His mother was the former Ethel Fogg Anderson. They had married in 1914. Clift had a twin sister, Roberta (aka Ethel), and a brother, William Brooks Clift, Jr. (1919–1986), who had an illegitimate son with actress Kim Stanley and was later married to political reporter Eleanor Clift. Clift had English, as well as Dutch and Irish ancestry. He resided in Jackson Heights, Queens, until he got his break on Broadway.

Clift's mother's nickname was "Sunny", and was reportedly adopted as a one-year-old. She spent part of her life and her husband's money attempting to establish the Southern lineage that had reportedly been revealed to her at age 18 by the physician who delivered her, Edward Montgomery, after whom she named her younger son. According to Clift biographer Patricia Bosworth, Ethel was the illegitimate daughter of Woodbury Blair and Maria Anderson, whose marriage had been annulled before her birth and subsequent adoption. This would make her a granddaughter of Montgomery Blair, Postmaster General under President Abraham Lincoln, and a great-granddaughter of Francis Preston Blair, a journalist and adviser to President Andrew Jackson, and Levi Woodbury, an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court. However, the relationship between Blair and Anderson has not been proven and, in the absence of doentation, any connection to the Clifts remains in doubt.

As part of Sunny Clift's lifelong preparation for acceptance by her reported biological family, a goal which she never fully achieved, she raised Clift and his siblings as if they were aristocrats. Home-schooled by their mother as well as private tutors in the United States and Europe, in spite of their father's fluctuating finances, they did not attend a regular school until they were in their teens. The adjustment was difficult, particularly for Montgomery. His academic performance lagged behind that of his sister and brother.

Clift was educated in French, German, and Italian. During World War II, he was rejected for military service due to allergies and colitis.

Prime years

Entering the 1950s, Clift was one of the most sought-after leading men in Hollywood; his only direct competitor was Marlon Brando. According to Elizabeth Taylor (as quoted in Patricia Bosworth's biography of Clift), "Monty could've been the biggest star in the world if he did more movies." Clift was notoriously picky with his projects. His next movie, A Place in the Sun (1951), is one of his iconic roles. The studio paired up two of the biggest young stars in Hollywood at the time (Clift and Taylor) in what was expected to be a blockbuster that would capitalize on their sex symbol status.

Clift's performance in A Place in the Sun is regarded as one of his signature method acting performances. He worked extensively on his character and was again nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actor. For his character's scenes in jail, Clift spent a night in a real state prison. He also refused to go along with director George Stevens' suggestion that he do "something amazing" on his character's walk to the electric chair. Instead, he walked to his death with a natural, depressed facial expression. His main acting rival, Marlon Brando, was so moved by Clift's performance that he voted for Clift to win the Academy Award for Best Actor and was sure that he would win. That year, Clift voted for Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire. A Place in the Sun was critically acclaimed; Charlie Chaplin called it "the greatest movie made about America." The film received added media attention due to the rumors that Clift and Taylor were dating in real life. They were billed as "the most beautiful couple in Hollywood." Many critics still call Clift and Taylor "the most beautiful Hollywood movie couple of all time."

Clift's next movie was Alfred Hitchcock's I Confess. True to his method, Clift spent a few days in a Catholic monastery and studied priests. The movie was a box office failure due to the controversy over its portrayal of a Catholic priest being romantically involved with a woman.

In the 1953 film From Here to Eternity, Clift worked exceptionally hard on the character of Robert E. Lee Prewitt. For example, in one of his scenes he changed the word "blind" to "see," because he did not feel the former. He also decided that his character would reveal his feelings only while playing the bugle. For this, he learned to play the bugle even though he knew that he would be dubbed by a professional bugler (he said that he wanted his lip movements to be accurate). He acted his character's death scene so realistically that many members of the cast and crew cried. His co-star Burt Lancaster revealed that he was so nervous about being out-acted by Clift that he was shaking during their first scene together in the movie. Once again, Clift received a nomination for an Academy Award for Best Actor. Clift lost out to William Holden, who won for Stalag 17. Allegedly, Clift was unpopular among the Hollywood elite for his refusal to conform to Hollywood standards. For example, he refused to publicize his private life, avoided movie premieres and parties, was usually unavailable for interviews, and preferred to live outside of Los Angeles. Clift was reportedly devastated over his loss and was sent an honorary small golden bugle award by the movie's producers, which he treasured for the rest of his life.

Clift's final completely pre-accident movie was Terminal Station (also known as "Indiscretion of an American Wife"), shot before From Here to Eternity, but released after it. Once again Clift's performance was critically acclaimed; however, the movie bombed at the box office due to its lackluster script.

Relationships

Patricia Bosworth, who had access to Clift's family and many people who knew and worked with him, wrote in her book, "Monty carried on affairs with men and women. After his car accident his addiction included pain killers and became serious. His deepest commitments were emotional and reserved for old friends; he was unflinchingly loyal to women like Elizabeth Taylor, Libby Holman, Nancy Walker and Ann Lincoln".

Elizabeth Taylor was a significant figure in his life. He met her when she was supposed to be his date at the premiere for The Heiress. They appeared together in A Place in the Sun, where, in their romantic scenes, they received considerable acclaim for their naturalness and their appearance. Clift and Taylor appeared together again in Raintree County and Suddenly, Last Summer.

Because Clift was considered unemployable in the mid 1960s, Taylor put her salary for the film on the line as insurance, in order to have Clift cast as her co-star in Reflections in a Golden Eye. Clift died before the movie was set to shoot. Clift and Taylor remained good friends until his death.

Clift also had a relationship with legendary choreographer Jerome Robbins.

Death

On July 22, 1966, Clift spent most of the hot summer day in his bedroom in his New York City townhouse, located at 217 East 61st Street. He and his live-in personal secretary, Lorenzo James, had not spoken much all day. Shortly before 1:00 a.m., James went up to say goodnight to Clift, who was still awake and sitting up in his bed. James asked Clift if he needed anything and Clift politely refused and then told James that he would stay up for a while either to read a book or watch some television. James then noted that The Misfits was on television that night airing as a late-night movie, and he asked Clift if he wanted to watch it with him. "Absolutely not!" was the firm reply. This was the last time Montgomery Clift spoke to anyone. James went to his own bedroom to sleep without saying another word to Clift. At 6:30 a.m. the next day, James woke up and went to wake Clift, but found the bedroom door closed and locked. James became more concerned when Clift did not respond to his knocking on the door. Unable to break the door down, James ran down to the back garden and climbed up a ladder to enter through the second-floor bedroom window. Inside, he found Clift dead: he was undressed, lying on his back in bed, with eyeglasses on and both fists clenched by his side. James then used the bedroom telephone to call the police and an ambulance.

Clift's body was taken to the city morgue less than two miles away at 520 First Avenue and autopsied. The autopsy report cited the cause of death as a heart attack brought on by "occlusive coronary artery disease". No evidence was found that suggested foul play or suicide. It is commonly believed that drug addiction was responsible for Clift's many health problems and his death. In addition to lingering effects of dysentery and chronic colitis, an underactive thyroid was later revealed. The condition (among other things) lowers blood pressure; it may have caused Clift to appear drunk or drugged when he was sober.

Following a 15-minute ceremony at St. James' Church attended by 150 guests, including Lauren Bacall, Frank Sinatra and Nancy Walker, Clift was buried in the Friends [Quaker] Cemetery, Prospect Park, Brooklyn, New York City. Elizabeth Taylor, who was in Rome, sent flowers, as did Roddy McDowall, Myrna Loy and Lew Wasserman.

Thank you Sniffit for this beautiful report about this great actor. On this place once more I must say you and Gorgik9 make a great job to bring us near to famous Gays of our History.
And one thing I must say - I think all of them haven't had a lucky life. Is or was it so horrible to be gay? When I read all thisy stories here I must say how happy and lucky I can be to have a family and friends which accept me so as I am. So - I'm grateful!

Way back in the anals of porn history there was one actor who stood head and shoulders above the rest.
And standing next to him was Charles Peyton, better known as Jeff Stryker and possibly the greatest gay icon and role model there has ever been.*
No other performer has ever been able to match the physical versatility and emotional range of this most subtle of artists. Here are just three classic examples of his genius;
In one of the great mans most creative moments he said;
"Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,
Suck that big dick, suck it,
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,
Suck it, suck that big dick,
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,"

Although the cognoscenti are said to favour this extract;
"Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,
Suck it, suck that big dick,
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,
Suck that big dick, suck it,
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,"

Myself, I like the stunning originality of this piece;
"Suck it, suck that big dick,
Suck that big dick, suck it,
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,"


The greatest contribution of all is the banishment of cliche and stereotyping.
Thanks to Mister Stryker the image of the porn star as a monosyllabic slab of meat is gone, never to return.



*or possibly not

Well me and zortek used to agree on, that - next to AIDS - Jeff Stryker is just about the worst that ever happened to gay porn...

Hi Dargelos - these "poems" you have given us here are really Shakespearian! I will try to memorize them, although I must admit - it will not be very easy. But I'll try it!!!! -

There is no question that the Barbie doll Jeff is the winner in terms of acting ability.
But it's not the terrible acting or the moronic dialogue that grates so much in his films.
It's the insulting message those movies send that we are all so one dimensional that we will put up with any selfish unfeeling arrogant jerk as long as he has a big cock. That's why I shrank it in the image, to show him with a more normal dick. It took a lot of shrinking to get it that size.

dargelos said:

There is no question that the Barbie doll Jeff is the winner in terms of acting ability.
But it's not the terrible acting or the moronic dialogue that grates so much in his films.
It's the insulting message those movies send that we are all so one dimensional that we will put up with any selfish unfeeling arrogant jerk as long as he has a big cock. That's why I shrank it in the image, to show him with a more normal dick. It took a lot of shrinking to get it that size.

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I fully agree with you :agree:

If we should appoint someone as the radical opposite of Jeff Stryker (that horrible artificial Product of the greedy minds of Matt Sterling and John Travis), then my candidate would be Scott O'Hara (1961-1998) :thumbs up::thumbs up::thumbs up:
- yes, a porn star, and yes with a very big dick (and good at selfsucking!), but so far from being one-dimensional you could imagine : writer, poet, Publisher, playright, photographer.

I sincerely recommend the books he published :

- Autopornography : A memoir of Life in the lust lane.

- Rarely pure and never simple: Selected essays of Scott O'Hara.