Constantine P. Cavafy (1863-1933)
I just learned that Greece has declared 2013 the Year of Cavafy, it being the 150th anniversary of his birth. This is my favorite Cavafy poem; please post yours!
The Bandaged Shoulder
Constantine P. CavafyHe said he'd hurt himself against a wall or had fallen down ( Read more... )
The Bandaged Shoulder
Constantine P. CavafyHe said he'd hurt himself against a wall or had fallen down ( Read more... )
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Like beautiful bodies of the dead who had not grown old
and they shut them, with tears, in a magnificent mausoleum,
with roses at the head and jasmine at the feet --
this is what desires resemble that have passed
without fulfillment; with none of them having achieved
a night of sensual delight, or a bright morning.
by C.P. Cavafy
Remember, Body ...
Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds where you lay,
but also those desires for you,
shining clearly in eyes
and trembling in a voice-and some chance
obstacle thwarted them.
Now when everything is the past,
it almost looks as if you gave yourself
to those desires as well-how they shone-
remember-in the eyes that looked at you,
how they trembled for you in the voice-remember, body.
by C. P. Cavafy
translated by Aliki Barnstone
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That we’ve broken their statues,
that we’ve driven them out of their temples,
doesn’t mean at all that the gods are dead.
O land of Ionia, they’re still in love with you,
their souls still keep your memory.
When an August dawn wakes over you,
your atmosphere is potent with their life,
and sometimes a young ethereal figure,
indistinct, in rapid flight,
wings across your hills.
Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard.
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Half past twelve. The time has quickly passed
since nine o'clock when I first turned up the lamp
and sat down here. I've been sitting without reading,
without speaking. With whom should I speak,
so utterly alone within this house?
The apparition of my youthful body,
since nine o'clock when I first turned up the lamp,
has come and found me and reminded me
of shuttered perfumed rooms
and of pleasure spent-what wanton pleasure!
And it also brought before my eyes
streets made unrecognizable by time,
bustling city centres that are no more
and theatres and cafés that existed long ago.
The apparition of my youthful body
came and also brought me cause for pain:
deaths in the family; separations;
the feelings of my loved ones, the feelings of
those long dead which I so little valued.
Half past twelve. How the time has passed.
Half past twelve. How the years have passed.
~by C. P. Cavafy
translated by Daniel Mendelsohn
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(also translated by Keeley and Sherrard)
When suddenly, at midnight, you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don’t mourn your luck that’s failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive-don’t mourn them uselessly.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.
Above all, don’t fool yourself, don’t say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don’t degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
as is right for you who proved worthy of this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion, but not
with the whining, the pleas of a coward;
listen-your final delectation-to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.
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