[after Constantine Cavafy's poems, "Craftsman Of Wine Bowls,"
and, "In An Old Book," both in the Keeley and Sherrard translation]
The painting, without signature and its exact
provenance unknown, is rarely seen. It depicts
an indoor, in-floor pool that is fairly shallow,
just ankle deep. Seated on one of its edges is a
long-haired adolescent, almost naked (old prudes
are often shocked by this, if they even have the
opportunity to view it). His long hair, cascading
well below his shoulders, is chestnut in color.
He has not removed all of his clothes: he
has kept on, instead, a pair of metallic blue
thigh-high socks, and has plunged his feet into the
water. His eyes gaze directly at the viewer,
with a shy smile---as if wanting company (perhaps
similarly clad), but not entirely sure how to
express the invitation. His body is lithe and
slender; his pubic hair ginger, his pleasurer
partially engorged. (This is another reason that
few are permitted access; the candor of the
picture is offensive to some.) You can imagine the
young man, depicted, has moved among the
initiated, and has found, among them, the sensual
pleasures that society condemns under the term,
Homosexual. He looks like someone I once loved,
during my own adolescence, but I doubt it. I
loved him a long time ago, more years than I
care to admit, but society being what it was
(then and now, despite the best of efforts), I
was too cowardly to tell him; and the opportunity
passed, and circumstances separated us. I think of
him often, and I envy the man he eventually loved.
Starward