Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) was an Irish author, playwright, and poet. He was incredibly well-known not just for his writing, but also for his role in London society and the aesthetic movement, and then for the publicity surrounding his trial and conviction for "gross indecency" for his sexuality and relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas. (A note from Tristan: He also sucked off Walt Whitman and may have slept with Bram Stoker, although the latter is much more debated. This isn't relevant, but it brings me great joy as a literature nerd).
Though it was his novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, which was used in his trial as evidence of his homosexuality, his poetry also dealt with desire for and appreciation of men, wrapped up and somewhat disguised by classical imagery. His poem Wasted Days is a perfect example of this.
Wasted Days
A fair slim boy not made for this world's pain. With hair of gold thick clustering round his ears, And longing eyes half veiled by foolish tears Like bluest water seen through mists of rain: - Pale cheeks whereon no kiss hath left its stain, Red under lip drawn for fear of Love, And white throat whiter than the breast of dove. Alas! alas! if all should be in vain. - Behind, wide fields, and reapers all a-row In heat and labour toiling wearily, To no sweet sound of laughter or of lute. The sun is shooting wide its crimson glow, Still the boy dreams: nor knows that night is nigh, And in the night-time no man gathers fruit.
Read more of his poetry here.
A note from Tristan: It is a near miracle that we have made it this far into the month without Oscar Wilde being mentioned, given how much I love him. My middle name is Oscar because of him. I am going to be writing about him for a significant part of my postgraduate degree. I own multiple copies of most of his work. With that in mind, keep an eye on this blog for a post about Wilde, his trial and queer aesthetics later this month!
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