Days Of 1896
He became completely degraded. His erotic tendency,
condemned and strictly forbidden
(but innate for all that) , was the cause of it:
society was totally prudish.
He gradually lost what little money he had,
then his social standing, then his reputation.
Nearly thirty, he had never worked a full year—
at least not at a legitimate job.
Sometimes he earned enough to get by
acting the go-between in deals considered shameful.
He ended up the type likely to compromise you thoroughly
if you were seen around with him often.
But this isn't the whole story—that would not be fair.
The memory of his beauty deserves better.
There is another angle; seen from that
he appears attractive, appears
a simple, genuine child of love,
without hesitation putting,
above his honor and reputation,
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poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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The Battle of Magnesia
He's lost his old fire, his courage.
Now his tired, almost decrepit body
will be his first concern. And the rest of his life he'll spend
without worrying. So Philip says, anyway.
Tonight he's playing a game with dice;
he's in a mood to amuse himself.
Cover the table with roses. What if Antiochos
was defeated at Magnesia? They say
the bulk of his brilliant army was totally crushed.
Maybe they're stretching it a bit; it can't all be true.
Let's hope so anyway. Because though enemies, they do belong to our race.
But one "let's hope so" is enough. Perhaps even too much.
Of course Philip won't put off the festivities.
However much his life has worn him out,
one blessing remains: his memory is still intact.
He recalls the extent of their mourning in Syria, the kind of sorrow they felt,
when Macedonia, their motherland, was smashed to pieces.
Let the banquet begin. Slaves! The music, the lights!
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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The First Step
The young poet Evmenis
complained one day to Theocritus:
"I've been writing for two years now
and I've composed only one idyll.
It's my single completed work.
I see, sadly, that the ladder
of Poetry is tall, extremely tall;
and from this first step I'm standing on now
I'll never climb any higher."
Theocritus retorted: "Words like that
are improper, blasphemous.
Just to be on the first step
should make you happy and proud.
To have reached this point is no small achievement:
what you've done already is a wonderful thing.
Even this first step
is a long way above the ordinary world.
To stand on this step
you must be in your own right
a member of the city of ideas.
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poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Kleitos' Illness
Kleitos, a likeable young man,
about twenty-three years old
with a first-class education, a rare knowledge of Greek
is seriously ill. He caught the fever
that reaped a harvest this year in Alexandria.
The fever found him already worn out morally
by the pain of knowing that his friend, a young actor,
had stopped loving and wanting him.
He's seriously ill, and his parents are terribly worried.
An old servant who brought him up
is also full of fear for Kleitos' life;
and in her panic
she remembers an idol she used to worship
when she was young, before she came there as a maid,
to the house of distinguished Christians, and turned Christian
herself.
She secretly brings some votive bread, some wine and honey,
and places them before the idol. She chants whatever phrases
she remembers from old prayers: odds and ends. The ninny
doesn't realize that the black demon couldn't care less
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poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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The Twenty-Fifth Year of His Life
He goes regularly to the taverna
where they'd met the previous month.
He made inquiries, but they weren't able to tell him
anything.
From what they said, he gathered the person he'd met
was someone completely unknown,
one of the many unknown and shady young types
who dropped in there.
But he still goes to the taverna regularly, at night,
and sits there gazing toward the doorway,
gazing toward the doorway until he's worn out.
Maybe he'll walk in. Tonight maybe he'll turn up.
He does this for nearly three weeks.
His mind's sick with longing.
The kisses are there on his mouth.
His flesh, all of it, suffers from endless desire,
the feel of that other body is on his,
he wants to be joined with it again.
Of course he tries not to give himself away.
But sometimes he almost doesn't care.
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poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Alexander Jannaios And Alexandra
Full of their success, thoroughly satisfied,
King Alexander Jannaios
and his wife Queen Alexandra
move through the streets of Jerusalem
with musicians in the lead
and every kind of pomp and circumstance.
The work begun by the great Judas Maccabaios
and his four celebrated brothers
has now been concluded brilliantly,
work relentlessly carried on
among so many obstacles and dangers.
Nothing unseemly remains now.
All subservience to the haughty monarchs
of Antioch is over. Clearly
King Alexander Jannaios
and his wife Queen Alexandra
are equal to the Selefkids in every way.
Good Jews, pure Jews, devoted Jews above all.
But, as circumstances require,
also skilled in speaking Greek,
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poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Unfaithfulness
When Thetis and Peleus got married
Apollo stood up at the sumptuous wedding feast
and blessed the bridal pair
for the son who would come from their union.
'Sickness will never visit him,' he said,
'and his life will be a long one.'
This pleased Thetis immensely:
the words of Apollo, expert in prophecies,
seemed a guarantee of security for her child.
And when Achilles grew up
and all Thessaly said how beautiful he was,
Thetis remembered the god's words.
But one day some elders came in with the news
that Achilles had been killed at Troy.
Thetis tore her purple robes,
pulled off rings, bracelets,
flung them to the ground.
And in her grief, remembering that wedding scene,
she asked what the wise Apollo was up to,
where was this poet who spouts
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poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Julian and the Antiochians
Neither the letter C, they say, nor the
letter K had ever harmed the city.... We,
finding interpreters... learned that these
are the initial letters of names, the first
of Christ and the second of Konstantios.
Julian, Misopogon (The Beard-Hater)
Was it conceivable that they would ever give up
their beautiful way of life, the range
of their daily pleasures, their brilliant theatre
which consummated a union between Art
and the erotic proclivities of the flesh?
Immoral to a degree—and probably more than a degree—
they certainly were. But they had the satisfaction that their life
was the notorious life of Antioch,
delectably sensual, in absolute good taste.
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poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Herodis Attikos
What glory, this, for Herodis Attikos!
Alexander of Selefkia, one of our better sophists,
on reaching Athens to lecture
finds the city deserted
because Herodis was in the country and all the young men
had followed him there to hear him.
This makes sophist Alexander
write Herodis a letter
begging him to send the Greeks back.
And the tactful Herodis answers at once:
'Along with the Greeks, I'm coming too.'
How many young men now in Alexandria,
in Antioch or Beirut
(being trained by Hellenism as its future orators),
meeting at choice banquets
where the talk is sometimes about fine sophistry,
sometimes about their exquisite love affairs,
suddenly find their attention wandering and fall silent?
Their glasses untouched,
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poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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The Horses of Achilles
When they saw Patroklos dead
—so brave and strong, so young—
the horses of Achilles began to weep;
their immortal nature was upset deeply
by this work of death they had to look at.
They reared their heads, tossed their long manes,
beat the ground with their hooves, and mourned
Patroklos, seeing him lifeless, destroyed,
now mere flesh only, his spirit gone,
defenseless, without breath,
turned back from life to the great Nothingness.
Zeus saw the tears of those immortal horses and felt sorry.
"At the wedding of Peleus," he said,
"I should not have acted so thoughtlessly.
Better if we hadn't given you as a gift,
my unhappy horses. What business did you have down there,
among pathetic human beings, the toys of fate.
You are free of death, you will not get old,
yet ephemeral disasters torment you.
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poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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