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C.P. Cavafy: Collected Poems
C. P. Cavafy (1863 - 1933) lived in relative obscurity in Alexandria, and a collected edition of his poems was not published until after his death. Now, however, he is regarded as the most important figure in twentieth-century Greek poetry, and his poems are considered among the most powerful in modern European literature.
Here is an extensively revised edition of the acclaimed translations of Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard, which capture Cavafy's mixture of formal and idiomatic use of language and preserve the immediacy of his frank treatment of homosexual themes, his brilliant re-creation of history, and his astute political ironies. The resetting of the entire edition has permitted the translators to review each poem and to make alterations where appropriate. George Savidis has revised the notes according to his latest edition of the Greek text.
About the first edition: The best [English version] we are likely to see for some time.--James Merrill, The New York Review of Books [Keeley and Sherrard] have managed the miracle of capturing this elusive, inimitable, unforgettable voice. It is the most haunting voice I know in modern poetry.--Walter Kaiser, The New Republic
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Here is an extensively revised edition of the acclaimed translations of Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard, which capture Cavafy's mixture of formal and idiomatic use of language and preserve the immediacy of his frank treatment of homosexual themes, his brilliant re-creation of history, and his astute political ironies. The resetting of the entire edition has permitted the translators to review each poem and to make alterations where appropriate. George Savidis has revised the notes according to his latest edition of the Greek text.
About the first edition: The best [English version] we are likely to see for some time.--James Merrill, The New York Review of Books [Keeley and Sherrard] have managed the miracle of capturing this elusive, inimitable, unforgettable voice. It is the most haunting voice I know in modern poetry.--Walter Kaiser, The New Republic
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304 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1934
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About the author
Constantinos P. Cavafy
178 books533 followersConstantine P. Cavafy (also known as Konstantin or Konstantinos Petrou Kavafis, or Kavaphes; Greek Κ.Π. Καβάφης) was a major Greek poet who worked as a journalist and civil servant. His consciously individual style earned him a place among the most important figures not only in Greek poetry, but in Western poetry as well. He has been called a skeptic and a neo-pagan. In his poetry he examines critically some aspects of Christianity, patriotism, and homosexuality, though he was not always comfortable with his role as a nonconformist. He published 154 poems; dozens more remained incomplete or in sketch form. His most important poetry was written after his fortieth birthday.
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November 19, 2016
This is worthwhile. It seems so right that a prominent classicist should have translated Cavafy, whose poems range from paeans to same-sex pleasure--rivaling those of Catullus--to exquisitely rich poems set in a range of ancient Greek and Roman historical contexts. Now, ninety percent of this would be lost on me were it not for Daniel Mendelsohn's highly detailed notes. So, if you have an interest in Greek and Roman history, know some of the ancient writers like Aeschylus, Thucydides, Xenophon, etc. -- I imagine Gibbon would be helpful too though I've yet to read him -- then look into these spectacular translations rendered in an English that in its flatness reminds me of Wallace Stevens. (Strangely enough.)
Most interesting is Cavafy's use of dates to place the action of a poem at a specific historical juncture. Here's an example:
Theater of Sidon (400 A.D.)
A respectable citizen's son— above all else, a beauteous
youth who belongs to the theater, agreeable in so many ways:
I now and then compose, in the language of the Greeks,
exceedingly daring verses, which I circulate
very secretly, of course— gods! they mustn't be seen
by those who prate about morals, those who wear gray clothes—
verses about a pleasure that is select, that moves
toward a barren love of which the world disapproves.
As Mendelsohn explains in a note:
"The date of 400 A.D. is suggestive, marking as it does a historical moment not long after the triumph of Christianity in the Roman Empire, and not long before the advent of the barbarians; for this reason, the date Cavafy chooses for this poem evokes the short clarion swan song of pagan Classical culture." Also "Those who wear gray clothes is a reference to Christians."
Most interesting is Cavafy's use of dates to place the action of a poem at a specific historical juncture. Here's an example:
Theater of Sidon (400 A.D.)
A respectable citizen's son— above all else, a beauteous
youth who belongs to the theater, agreeable in so many ways:
I now and then compose, in the language of the Greeks,
exceedingly daring verses, which I circulate
very secretly, of course— gods! they mustn't be seen
by those who prate about morals, those who wear gray clothes—
verses about a pleasure that is select, that moves
toward a barren love of which the world disapproves.
As Mendelsohn explains in a note:
"The date of 400 A.D. is suggestive, marking as it does a historical moment not long after the triumph of Christianity in the Roman Empire, and not long before the advent of the barbarians; for this reason, the date Cavafy chooses for this poem evokes the short clarion swan song of pagan Classical culture." Also "Those who wear gray clothes is a reference to Christians."
April 1, 2025
One Night
The room was threadbare and tawdry,
hidden above that suspect restaurant.
From the window you could see the alley,
which was filthy and narrow. From below
came the voices of some laborers
who were playing cards and having a carouse.
And there, in that common, vulgar bed
I had the body of love, I had the lips,
sensuous and rose-colored, of drunkenness—
the rose of such a drunkenness, that even now
as I write, after so many years have passed!,
in my solitary house, I am drunk again.
From “Days of 1908”
His clothes were in a dreadful state.
There was one suit that he would always wear,
a suit of a very faded cinnamon hue.
O days of the summer of nineteen-hundred eight,
your vision, quite exquisitely, was spared
that very faded cinnamon-colored suit.
Your vision preserved him
as he was when he undressed, when he flung off
the unworthy clothes, and the mended underwear.
And he’d be left completely nude; flawlessly beautiful; a thing of wonder.
His hair uncombed, springing back;
his limbs a little colored by the sun
from his nakedness in the morning at the baths, and at the seashore.
* * *
Male nude reclining on a bed, by Yiannis Tsarouchis.
Longing and loneliness, fate and loss, memory and identity—they’re by far my favorite themes in books and in films, and here softly draped in gay male intimacy. This is a book I’d find in dreams. (If I did find books in dreams. I’m not that far gone. Yet…) Of course, I didn’t like every poem in this collection—largely because this is a collection of everything Cavafy ever wrote, but also because his poems fall into three major categories: historical, philosophical, and erotic, and I found the historical ones utterly incomprehensible, with their pageant of emperors and kings unfamiliar even to most scholars of Classical antiquity. I had to resist the temptation to skip over them to the poems that turned me on.
And the poems I did like, I didn’t like right away. Curiously for a poet so preoccupied with sexual pleasure, Cavafy’s language is so simple and unadorned as to appear artless, devoid of the figurative language most other poets use. The reader gets no sense whatsoever of what the Adonises in so many of his poems look like. I understand what makes his poems work in Greek is their mixture of literary and colloquial styles. In translation, his poetry often feels like “stacked prose”—but even that can accommodate a scene emerging from the mist; perhaps a one-night stand in a cheap hotel room, inscribed forever in the flesh…
In Cavafy, the memory of the past isn’t just a theme; it’s the silken thread that runs through the pearl-chain of his historical, his philosophical, and even his most erotic poems. When he celebrates sexual pleasure, he’s really celebrating its memory. In Cavafy, as in Proust, past experience isn’t merely remembered, but resuscitated—lived through again, and even more vividly than it was the first time, because now it’s been fused with the vivid present. And soon, you’re also reliving a moment when you ran your hand across his chest through the folds of his open shirt, or undid his belt and zipper and slipped your hand into the envelope of cloth—a moment the experience of which, like all others, isn’t complete until it becomes a memory.
* * *
Come Back
Come back often and take hold of me,
beloved feeling come back and take hold of me,
when the memory of the body reawakens,
and old longing once more passes through the blood;
when the lips and skin remember,
and the hands feel like they’re touching once again.
Come back often and take hold of me at night,
when the lips and skin remember …
Far Off
I’d like to talk about that memory …
But by now it’s long died out … as if there’s nothing left:
because it lies far off, in the years of my first youth.
Skin, as if it had been made of jasmine …
That August—was it August?—evening …
I can just recall the eyes: they were, I daresay, blue …
Ah yes, blue: a deep blue, sapphirine.
The room was threadbare and tawdry,
hidden above that suspect restaurant.
From the window you could see the alley,
which was filthy and narrow. From below
came the voices of some laborers
who were playing cards and having a carouse.
And there, in that common, vulgar bed
I had the body of love, I had the lips,
sensuous and rose-colored, of drunkenness—
the rose of such a drunkenness, that even now
as I write, after so many years have passed!,
in my solitary house, I am drunk again.
From “Days of 1908”
His clothes were in a dreadful state.
There was one suit that he would always wear,
a suit of a very faded cinnamon hue.
O days of the summer of nineteen-hundred eight,
your vision, quite exquisitely, was spared
that very faded cinnamon-colored suit.
Your vision preserved him
as he was when he undressed, when he flung off
the unworthy clothes, and the mended underwear.
And he’d be left completely nude; flawlessly beautiful; a thing of wonder.
His hair uncombed, springing back;
his limbs a little colored by the sun
from his nakedness in the morning at the baths, and at the seashore.
* * *
Male nude reclining on a bed, by Yiannis Tsarouchis.
Longing and loneliness, fate and loss, memory and identity—they’re by far my favorite themes in books and in films, and here softly draped in gay male intimacy. This is a book I’d find in dreams. (If I did find books in dreams. I’m not that far gone. Yet…) Of course, I didn’t like every poem in this collection—largely because this is a collection of everything Cavafy ever wrote, but also because his poems fall into three major categories: historical, philosophical, and erotic, and I found the historical ones utterly incomprehensible, with their pageant of emperors and kings unfamiliar even to most scholars of Classical antiquity. I had to resist the temptation to skip over them to the poems that turned me on.
And the poems I did like, I didn’t like right away. Curiously for a poet so preoccupied with sexual pleasure, Cavafy’s language is so simple and unadorned as to appear artless, devoid of the figurative language most other poets use. The reader gets no sense whatsoever of what the Adonises in so many of his poems look like. I understand what makes his poems work in Greek is their mixture of literary and colloquial styles. In translation, his poetry often feels like “stacked prose”—but even that can accommodate a scene emerging from the mist; perhaps a one-night stand in a cheap hotel room, inscribed forever in the flesh…
In Cavafy, the memory of the past isn’t just a theme; it’s the silken thread that runs through the pearl-chain of his historical, his philosophical, and even his most erotic poems. When he celebrates sexual pleasure, he’s really celebrating its memory. In Cavafy, as in Proust, past experience isn’t merely remembered, but resuscitated—lived through again, and even more vividly than it was the first time, because now it’s been fused with the vivid present. And soon, you’re also reliving a moment when you ran your hand across his chest through the folds of his open shirt, or undid his belt and zipper and slipped your hand into the envelope of cloth—a moment the experience of which, like all others, isn’t complete until it becomes a memory.
* * *
Come Back
Come back often and take hold of me,
beloved feeling come back and take hold of me,
when the memory of the body reawakens,
and old longing once more passes through the blood;
when the lips and skin remember,
and the hands feel like they’re touching once again.
Come back often and take hold of me at night,
when the lips and skin remember …
Far Off
I’d like to talk about that memory …
But by now it’s long died out … as if there’s nothing left:
because it lies far off, in the years of my first youth.
Skin, as if it had been made of jasmine …
That August—was it August?—evening …
I can just recall the eyes: they were, I daresay, blue …
Ah yes, blue: a deep blue, sapphirine.
July 17, 2019
Πως μπορούμε εμείς οι μικροί να σχολιάσουμε τους τεράστιους δασκάλους μας?
Μόνο ταπεινά και με σεβασμό μέσα από τα λόγια τους μπορούμε να αναφερθούμε σε αυτούς.
"Την εμορφιά έτσι πολύ ατένισα,
που πλήρης είναι αυτής η όρασίς μου."
Μόνο ταπεινά και με σεβασμό μέσα από τα λόγια τους μπορούμε να αναφερθούμε σε αυτούς.
"Την εμορφιά έτσι πολύ ατένισα,
που πλήρης είναι αυτής η όρασίς μου."
July 5, 2015
Come back and take hold of me,
beloved feeling come back and take hold of me,
when the memory of the body reawakens,
and old longing once more passes through the blood;
when the lips and skin remember,
and the hands feel like they’re touching once again.
Come back often and take hold of me at night,
when the lips and skin remember ….
The translator, Daniel Mendelsohn, has done a sterling job of bringing the works of this mesmerizing poet to life. The introduction is excellent as are the notes which give you an insight into the life of this remarkable individual. Interesting is the fact that he was considered an ordinary individual. In fact his fellow poet, George Seferis, considered that “outside his poetry Cavafy does not exist”. It sounds harsh but perhaps correct.
Mendelsohn has provided the most invaluable introduction on the life of Cavafy and thanks to him he has given an insight into all of Cavafy's wonderful and uplifting poems.
E. M. Forster, who was in Alexandria during World War I and who was an early admirer and promoter of Cavafy's poetry, described Cavafy as a fixture in the city.
Just one of his reviewers states the follow”
His verses have been translated into nearly seventy-five languages. W.H. Auden, among others, claimed him as an influence on his own work. Few modern poets have made such a claim on the 20th century as Constantine Cavafy (1863-1933). His writings insistently confront the collisions of time, history and the fallibility of memory. Perhaps that is why our era has canonized him: As we face the perishing of our own worlds, we better appreciate his anguish and acceptance, his utter lack of self-deceiving sentimentality or conventional emotion as he observes the evanescence of life, pleasure, love.
The beauty of the internet is that one can come across comments such as that made by Henry Miller.
The innocent comment was that there were perhaps references to Cavafy in the Alexandria Quartet. What she couldn’t have known is that once I discovered Cavafy, it struck me that in the Quartet, the city of Alexandria is possibly the canvas on which Durrell paints Cavafy, a city which has haunted me and drawn me in all these years. She didn’t know that I was in panic of reopening the book and never be able to come back up for air again, lost in my increasingly isolated bouts with an excess of beauty. And paint Cavafy he does, most notably at the very end of Justine, where he offers his own translation (he calls it a “transplant”) of The City:”I have tried to transplant rather than translate — with what success I cannot say.
Whatever your feelings about poetry, the reader will find here works that are so exquisite/sublime that they can never be forgotten and the eras portrayed are excellent.
There is lambent wit throughout Cavafy’s poetry. It resonates, well especially with me and I’m normally not a poetry lover.
A beautiful spellbinding work that I will constantly refer to. How wonderful to know that one can pick up a book at whatever page and find sheer beauty! My…The lap of the Gods is indeed looking down…
I love it!
beloved feeling come back and take hold of me,
when the memory of the body reawakens,
and old longing once more passes through the blood;
when the lips and skin remember,
and the hands feel like they’re touching once again.
Come back often and take hold of me at night,
when the lips and skin remember ….
The translator, Daniel Mendelsohn, has done a sterling job of bringing the works of this mesmerizing poet to life. The introduction is excellent as are the notes which give you an insight into the life of this remarkable individual. Interesting is the fact that he was considered an ordinary individual. In fact his fellow poet, George Seferis, considered that “outside his poetry Cavafy does not exist”. It sounds harsh but perhaps correct.
Mendelsohn has provided the most invaluable introduction on the life of Cavafy and thanks to him he has given an insight into all of Cavafy's wonderful and uplifting poems.
E. M. Forster, who was in Alexandria during World War I and who was an early admirer and promoter of Cavafy's poetry, described Cavafy as a fixture in the city.
Just one of his reviewers states the follow”
His verses have been translated into nearly seventy-five languages. W.H. Auden, among others, claimed him as an influence on his own work. Few modern poets have made such a claim on the 20th century as Constantine Cavafy (1863-1933). His writings insistently confront the collisions of time, history and the fallibility of memory. Perhaps that is why our era has canonized him: As we face the perishing of our own worlds, we better appreciate his anguish and acceptance, his utter lack of self-deceiving sentimentality or conventional emotion as he observes the evanescence of life, pleasure, love.
The beauty of the internet is that one can come across comments such as that made by Henry Miller.
The innocent comment was that there were perhaps references to Cavafy in the Alexandria Quartet. What she couldn’t have known is that once I discovered Cavafy, it struck me that in the Quartet, the city of Alexandria is possibly the canvas on which Durrell paints Cavafy, a city which has haunted me and drawn me in all these years. She didn’t know that I was in panic of reopening the book and never be able to come back up for air again, lost in my increasingly isolated bouts with an excess of beauty. And paint Cavafy he does, most notably at the very end of Justine, where he offers his own translation (he calls it a “transplant”) of The City:”I have tried to transplant rather than translate — with what success I cannot say.
Whatever your feelings about poetry, the reader will find here works that are so exquisite/sublime that they can never be forgotten and the eras portrayed are excellent.
There is lambent wit throughout Cavafy’s poetry. It resonates, well especially with me and I’m normally not a poetry lover.
A beautiful spellbinding work that I will constantly refer to. How wonderful to know that one can pick up a book at whatever page and find sheer beauty! My…The lap of the Gods is indeed looking down…
I love it!
July 23, 2012
من أجمل ما قرأت هذا العام
هذه الترجمة الجميلة للأعمال الكاملة للشاعر اليوناني السكندري قسطنطين كفافيس أعتبرها ضمن الكتب الأساسية أو المرجعية التي أضعها في متناول اليد للرجوع إليها كل حين, على اعتبار أن الإنسان لن ينتهي أبدا من قراءتها, مثلها في ذلك مثل كتب الملاحم والأساطير والكتب المقدسة, ومثل أعمال شكسبير وهوميروس ونجيب محفوظ وفرناندو بيسوا وكل شعراء وأدباء الإنسانية العظام
شعر كفافيس يمكن أن يوصف بالوصف الشائع "السهل الممتنع" وذلك لسهولة فهم شعره وطريقته المباشرة - بل وأحيانا التي تبدو "تعليمية" - في التعبير عما يريد أن يقوله. وكفافيس له مقدرة عجيبة على استحضار زمن وعصر تاريخي كامل - سواء قديم أو حديث - بكلمات وإشارات قليلة موحية. ونفس الشىء بالنسبة لوصفه للشخصيات : لمحات قليلة كأنها ضربات فرشاة قليلة وسريعة لفنان حديث تنقل لنا إنسانا بكل مشاعره في لحظة معينة, وذلك بدون مبالغة أو ألوان زاعقة
شعر كفافي - سواء كان في ظاهره يتحدث عن التاريخ أو العشق أو الفلسفة أو الشعر- يعود بنا إلى عدة عصور وأماكن محددة تتكرر كثيرا. الإسكندرية في أوائل القرن العشرين - اليونان القديمة - بيزنطة في العصور الوسطى. وهناك شخصيات تاريخية تتكرر كثيرا في أشعاره, مثلا الإمبراطور الروماني جوليان أو يوليانوس الذي عرف بلقب "الجاحد أو المرتد" لعودته للوثنية بعد أن كان مسيحيا.
وهناك الكثير من الأشعار الشبقية التي لا يخفي فيها كفافيس ميوله الجنسية المثلية, ولكن هذه الأشعار تركز على الجانب الإنساني والوجودي لهذه العلاقات : تأثير الظروف ورفض المجتمع لهذه العلاقات والفقر والزمن والموت. ونجد في الكثير منها إهتمام بالمكان والكثير من التفاصيل الدقيقة : الألوان والملابس والروائح والأثاث وكأن الشاعر يخشى على هذه الذكريات من تأثير الزمن المدمر. لكنه أيضا يرى أن الزمن القاسي يلعب أحيانا دورا مشابها لدور الفن : فالإنفصال المبكر عن الحبيب - على قسوته- يبقيه في الذاكرة كما كان في سن الشباب والحيوية والجمال. كأن هذه القسوة من الزمن تعمل عمل الفنان الذي يقيم تمثالا خالدا لا يفنى
نلاحظ في كثير من أشعار كفافيس حس درامي قوي, حوار بين شخصين , أو حوار داخلي ينتج عنه في نهاية القصيدة قرار معين أو تصحيح لفكرة أو تأكيد للذات حول قضية معينة. ونجد في أحيان كثيرة ما يشبه فن القصة القصيرة: موقف إنساني أو لحظة ضعف أو لحظة فارقة وأحيانا لحظة تنوير أو حسم في النهاية
أكثر ما أحببته في شعر كفافيس هو حسه الإنساني القوي, تعاطفه الشديد مع الإنسان وتمجيده لإنسانيته وسخريته من قولبة هذا الإنسان أو تنميطه عن طريق المجتمع أو التقاليد أو الوظيفة أو التدين الكاذب أو المظاهر الخداعة.
هناك أيضا قصائد موضوعها الشعر والفن ويتجلى فيها بوضوح نظرة كفافيس التي يمكن أن نطلق عليها"طبقية" للفنان أو الشاعر الذي يراه كائنا أعلى وأسمى من البشر العاديين بفضل موهبته الشعرية. وهذا الجانب من شعر كفافيس - نظرته للفن وللشعر وللشاعر - تناوله أحد النقاد في كتاب كامل مترجم إلى العربية
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15...
وهناك فكرة تتكرر كثيرا بأشكال لا نهاية لها : أن الفن والشعر والثقافة هي الآثار الأكثر أهمية التي يمكن أن يتركها الإنسان للأجيال القادمة, أهم من السلطة والعظمة والمجد والثروة
هذه الترجمة الجميلة للأعمال الكاملة للشاعر اليوناني السكندري قسطنطين كفافيس أعتبرها ضمن الكتب الأساسية أو المرجعية التي أضعها في متناول اليد للرجوع إليها كل حين, على اعتبار أن الإنسان لن ينتهي أبدا من قراءتها, مثلها في ذلك مثل كتب الملاحم والأساطير والكتب المقدسة, ومثل أعمال شكسبير وهوميروس ونجيب محفوظ وفرناندو بيسوا وكل شعراء وأدباء الإنسانية العظام
شعر كفافيس يمكن أن يوصف بالوصف الشائع "السهل الممتنع" وذلك لسهولة فهم شعره وطريقته المباشرة - بل وأحيانا التي تبدو "تعليمية" - في التعبير عما يريد أن يقوله. وكفافيس له مقدرة عجيبة على استحضار زمن وعصر تاريخي كامل - سواء قديم أو حديث - بكلمات وإشارات قليلة موحية. ونفس الشىء بالنسبة لوصفه للشخصيات : لمحات قليلة كأنها ضربات فرشاة قليلة وسريعة لفنان حديث تنقل لنا إنسانا بكل مشاعره في لحظة معينة, وذلك بدون مبالغة أو ألوان زاعقة
شعر كفافي - سواء كان في ظاهره يتحدث عن التاريخ أو العشق أو الفلسفة أو الشعر- يعود بنا إلى عدة عصور وأماكن محددة تتكرر كثيرا. الإسكندرية في أوائل القرن العشرين - اليونان القديمة - بيزنطة في العصور الوسطى. وهناك شخصيات تاريخية تتكرر كثيرا في أشعاره, مثلا الإمبراطور الروماني جوليان أو يوليانوس الذي عرف بلقب "الجاحد أو المرتد" لعودته للوثنية بعد أن كان مسيحيا.
وهناك الكثير من الأشعار الشبقية التي لا يخفي فيها كفافيس ميوله الجنسية المثلية, ولكن هذه الأشعار تركز على الجانب الإنساني والوجودي لهذه العلاقات : تأثير الظروف ورفض المجتمع لهذه العلاقات والفقر والزمن والموت. ونجد في الكثير منها إهتمام بالمكان والكثير من التفاصيل الدقيقة : الألوان والملابس والروائح والأثاث وكأن الشاعر يخشى على هذه الذكريات من تأثير الزمن المدمر. لكنه أيضا يرى أن الزمن القاسي يلعب أحيانا دورا مشابها لدور الفن : فالإنفصال المبكر عن الحبيب - على قسوته- يبقيه في الذاكرة كما كان في سن الشباب والحيوية والجمال. كأن هذه القسوة من الزمن تعمل عمل الفنان الذي يقيم تمثالا خالدا لا يفنى
نلاحظ في كثير من أشعار كفافيس حس درامي قوي, حوار بين شخصين , أو حوار داخلي ينتج عنه في نهاية القصيدة قرار معين أو تصحيح لفكرة أو تأكيد للذات حول قضية معينة. ونجد في أحيان كثيرة ما يشبه فن القصة القصيرة: موقف إنساني أو لحظة ضعف أو لحظة فارقة وأحيانا لحظة تنوير أو حسم في النهاية
أكثر ما أحببته في شعر كفافيس هو حسه الإنساني القوي, تعاطفه الشديد مع الإنسان وتمجيده لإنسانيته وسخريته من قولبة هذا الإنسان أو تنميطه عن طريق المجتمع أو التقاليد أو الوظيفة أو التدين الكاذب أو المظاهر الخداعة.
هناك أيضا قصائد موضوعها الشعر والفن ويتجلى فيها بوضوح نظرة كفافيس التي يمكن أن نطلق عليها"طبقية" للفنان أو الشاعر الذي يراه كائنا أعلى وأسمى من البشر العاديين بفضل موهبته الشعرية. وهذا الجانب من شعر كفافيس - نظرته للفن وللشعر وللشاعر - تناوله أحد النقاد في كتاب كامل مترجم إلى العربية
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15...
وهناك فكرة تتكرر كثيرا بأشكال لا نهاية لها : أن الفن والشعر والثقافة هي الآثار الأكثر أهمية التي يمكن أن يتركها الإنسان للأجيال القادمة, أهم من السلطة والعظمة والمجد والثروة
April 4, 2021
Erudite, sensual and bringing a lost Hellenistic world, or a pagan world transitioning to Christianity back
For though his poems are not syntactically difficult or outwardly cryptic, thought they are therefore “available” to the average reader who comes to them without a panoply of scholarship, part of Cafavy’s modernity is that he does require this scholarship; perhaps it is simply his astonishing egocentricity, but he is saying in effect, my poems are me, and if you wish to read them the way they should be read, you will have to know all about me, and that means knowing all about my life in Alexandria, and about my aristocratic ancestors, and my city’s glory and decline, and about other things that interest me.
More thoughts to follow
For though his poems are not syntactically difficult or outwardly cryptic, thought they are therefore “available” to the average reader who comes to them without a panoply of scholarship, part of Cafavy’s modernity is that he does require this scholarship; perhaps it is simply his astonishing egocentricity, but he is saying in effect, my poems are me, and if you wish to read them the way they should be read, you will have to know all about me, and that means knowing all about my life in Alexandria, and about my aristocratic ancestors, and my city’s glory and decline, and about other things that interest me.
More thoughts to follow
August 18, 2025
Not much time for my love of reading this year, but I’ve still kept in a great company - Cavafy and Proust! And while their genres (poetry/prose), styles (shorter poems/long narrative), and culture (Hellenic/French) separates them, there is a striking similarity in their focal point on memory, the esthetic pleasures of art, and love (though it must be said that Cavafy is more overt in expressing his homoerotic desires - quite daring for his time, Proust rather veiled).
Konstantinos Petrou Kavafis, a great Greek poet known to us through his self-anglicized name Cavafy, described himself as a ‘poet-historian’ (poietes historikos), but historian of what? In my own reading of his poetry in several English translations, he is not simply revisiting history, but rather takes a mythological or historical figure (including the imaginary ones) or an ancient historical moment - be it Hellenic, Byzantine or Roman from the beautiful Mediterranean world - to conjure up his unique poetic reflections on life, with all its loneliness, sorrows and as well wisdom and bliss. For he is not only a poetic historian of the collective memories, but also of his (and universally human) personal pasts.
No collection of his poetry was published during his lifetime (except for a few poems). Cavafy instead circulated his poems in pamphlets to his friends, and periodically assembled and privately printed them in several collections. He classified 90 poems written from 1897 through 1918 into ‘historical’, ‘reflective’ (‘philosophical’ in a sense of life reflections), and ‘sensual’ (‘hedonic’), but abandoned these categories for the rest of the 64 poems from 1919-1933, which he ordered chronologically for the last collection.
These collections were posthumously published thanks to the Greek archivist George Savidis, who painstakingly recovered them in the arrangements faithful to Cavafy’s intentions. Altogether, these 154 poems form what’s known as Cavafy’s ‘Canon’. They don’t constitute his entire oeuvre as a number of poems were uncovered in his private possessions and subsequently published and translated regardless of whether he privately retained or repudiated them (I chose not to read the ‘repudiated’ ones, it would be sacrilegious to the poet’s wishes).
Back to his three-fold thematic classification of the 1897-1918 poems, I found myself particularly drawn to the ‘reflective’ ones, but then noticed a good degree of cross-over between these groups with many ‘historical’ poems enlightening the reader about the loss, regrets, or standing for one’s own value (to name only some in his epigrammatic verses), and a few others clearly used as a frame for revealing homosexuality. There goes the habit of modern translators to relabel the ‘sensual’ group as ‘erotic’ into the dustbin! And also because they are not necessarily sensual in an erotic sense, though many of them certainly are, but literally in the sense as Cavafy labels them - as ‘sensations’, including simply aesthetic: there is a captivating poem “In Church” which Cavafy categorized as ‘sensual’ and it personally evoked in me the memories of magnificent sensory experiences (aural with heavenly choral voices, visual with icons, frescos, stained glass around me, …) whenever I chanced to attend liturgical ceremonies.
A few words about the translations: As I don’t know Greek, my choice of translations depends on how they sound to me in English, which can be very different from another reader. With that caveat in mind, I found the standard Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard, revised edition to be largely surpassed by Stratis Haviaras and Daniel Mendelsohn (whose erudite and detailed notes are indispensable for contextualizing most poems, especially invaluable for the ‘historical’ ones). During Cavafy’s lifetime, George Valassopoulo translated, under the poet’s supervision, close to 50 poems, all of which can be found in the appendix in The Forster-Cavafy Letters: Friends at a Slight Angle and many times I found these versions to be the best. It’s a pity that he was apparently hesitant to translate the more personal, ‘hedonic’ poetry of his friend, but above all it’s regrettable that Cavafy himself, who grew up in England and was bilingual in Greek and English, never did his own translations. Still, Valassopoulo, Mendelsohn, and Haviaras serve his readers in English quite well, although occasionally unevenly.
It’s so difficult to narrow down the selection to only a few poems… I’ll start with one of his recurring themes, the old age, and Cavafy was very fond of this early one:
Konstantinos Petrou Kavafis, a great Greek poet known to us through his self-anglicized name Cavafy, described himself as a ‘poet-historian’ (poietes historikos), but historian of what? In my own reading of his poetry in several English translations, he is not simply revisiting history, but rather takes a mythological or historical figure (including the imaginary ones) or an ancient historical moment - be it Hellenic, Byzantine or Roman from the beautiful Mediterranean world - to conjure up his unique poetic reflections on life, with all its loneliness, sorrows and as well wisdom and bliss. For he is not only a poetic historian of the collective memories, but also of his (and universally human) personal pasts.
No collection of his poetry was published during his lifetime (except for a few poems). Cavafy instead circulated his poems in pamphlets to his friends, and periodically assembled and privately printed them in several collections. He classified 90 poems written from 1897 through 1918 into ‘historical’, ‘reflective’ (‘philosophical’ in a sense of life reflections), and ‘sensual’ (‘hedonic’), but abandoned these categories for the rest of the 64 poems from 1919-1933, which he ordered chronologically for the last collection.
These collections were posthumously published thanks to the Greek archivist George Savidis, who painstakingly recovered them in the arrangements faithful to Cavafy’s intentions. Altogether, these 154 poems form what’s known as Cavafy’s ‘Canon’. They don’t constitute his entire oeuvre as a number of poems were uncovered in his private possessions and subsequently published and translated regardless of whether he privately retained or repudiated them (I chose not to read the ‘repudiated’ ones, it would be sacrilegious to the poet’s wishes).
Back to his three-fold thematic classification of the 1897-1918 poems, I found myself particularly drawn to the ‘reflective’ ones, but then noticed a good degree of cross-over between these groups with many ‘historical’ poems enlightening the reader about the loss, regrets, or standing for one’s own value (to name only some in his epigrammatic verses), and a few others clearly used as a frame for revealing homosexuality. There goes the habit of modern translators to relabel the ‘sensual’ group as ‘erotic’ into the dustbin! And also because they are not necessarily sensual in an erotic sense, though many of them certainly are, but literally in the sense as Cavafy labels them - as ‘sensations’, including simply aesthetic: there is a captivating poem “In Church” which Cavafy categorized as ‘sensual’ and it personally evoked in me the memories of magnificent sensory experiences (aural with heavenly choral voices, visual with icons, frescos, stained glass around me, …) whenever I chanced to attend liturgical ceremonies.
A few words about the translations: As I don’t know Greek, my choice of translations depends on how they sound to me in English, which can be very different from another reader. With that caveat in mind, I found the standard Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard, revised edition to be largely surpassed by Stratis Haviaras and Daniel Mendelsohn (whose erudite and detailed notes are indispensable for contextualizing most poems, especially invaluable for the ‘historical’ ones). During Cavafy’s lifetime, George Valassopoulo translated, under the poet’s supervision, close to 50 poems, all of which can be found in the appendix in The Forster-Cavafy Letters: Friends at a Slight Angle and many times I found these versions to be the best. It’s a pity that he was apparently hesitant to translate the more personal, ‘hedonic’ poetry of his friend, but above all it’s regrettable that Cavafy himself, who grew up in England and was bilingual in Greek and English, never did his own translations. Still, Valassopoulo, Mendelsohn, and Haviaras serve his readers in English quite well, although occasionally unevenly.
It’s so difficult to narrow down the selection to only a few poems… I’ll start with one of his recurring themes, the old age, and Cavafy was very fond of this early one:
CandlesWalls is another poem from Cavafy’s early period when he often used the rhyme. Only Haviaras and Mendelsohn attempted to rhyme it in translation, following the same ab ab cd cd scheme as in the original. The rhymes were homophonous in Greek and, as Mendelsohn notes, “in the case of each set of rhymes but one, the first rhymed word is katharevousa, while the second is demotic, or is at least neutral.” These two elements of Cavafy’s poetic genius was of course impossible to render in English, but I thought that their attempts at least to follow the same rhyming pattern without feeling stilted -a frequent issue with translations in rhymes- came out quite well.
Days yet to come stretch out before us
like a row of candles, burning brightly —
vivacious candles, golden and warm.
The days that have passed fall behind us,
burned-out candles in a dismal row:
those closest at hand still smoking;
cold candles, melted and deformed.
I don’t want to look; their state saddens me;
it saddens me to remember their initial glow.
I look ahead, instead, to my lighted candles.
I don’t want to turn back to see, with horror,
how quickly the dark row of candles has lengthened,
how rapidly the number of dead candles has grown.
1893 (tr. Stratis Haviaras)
WallsI love just about all poems that he categorized as ‘reflective’, sometimes infused with the melancholy of remembering the loved ones (dead or still alive) from our past:
Cruelly, neither pitying nor caring,
they’ve raised around me walls both high and wide.
And so I sit here hopelessly despairing
with just one thought: this fate gnaws deep inside;
so much in life I needed to attend.
How was it that their work I didn’t see?
I never heard the builders, in the end.
Now from the world they’ve separated me.
(tr. Stratis Haviaras)
Without pity, without shame, without consideration
they’ve built around me enormous, towering walls.
And I sit here now in growing desperation.
This fate consumes my mind, I think of nothing else:
because I had so many things to do out there.
O while they built the walls, why did I not look out?
But no noise, no sound from the builders did I hear.
Imperceptibly they shut me off from the world without.
1896 (tr. Daniel Mendelsohn)
Voices… or the futility in running away from the wasteland of our own undoing:
Voices ideal and beloved,
of those who are dead, or of those who,
for us, have disappeared like unto the dead.
Sometimes they speak in our dreams;
sometimes the mind hears them in our thoughts.
And they return for one moment with their sound
—the sound of poetry of our radiant years—
like distant music which fades away in the night.
1904 (tr. George Valassopoulo)
The City… but also the beauty in our life journey when fully lived, savoring every moment of it, staying the course no matter what Laistrygonians, Cyclops, and Poseidons stand our way:
You said, “I will go to another place, to another shore.
Another city can be found that’s better than this.
All that I struggle for is doomed, condemned to failure;
and my heart is like a corpse interred.
How long will my mind stagger under this misery?
Wherever I turn, wherever I look
I see the blackened ruins of my life,
which for years on end I squandered and wrecked and ravaged”.
You will find no other place, no other shores.
This city will possess you, and you’ll wander the same
streets. In these same neighborhoods you'll grow old;
in these same houses you'll turn gray.
Always you'll return to this city. Don’t even hope for another.
There’s no boat for you, there’s no other way out.
In the way you’ve destroyed your life here,
in this little corner, you’ve destroyed it everywhere else.
- Cavafy worked on this poem for 15 years, this is the final version from 1910 (tr. Stratis Haviaras)
I can only imagine how the sound of the abbccdda rhyme in each stanza must add to its poignant resonance to a Greek reader, but wisely avoided by all translators - it’s impossible to be another Cavafy.
IthakaThe way in which Cavafy expressed his nostalgic yearnings for the love long gone always takes my breath away, as for example here:
As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.
- another poem he kept revising for many years since 1894 with this final version privately published in 1911; it’s difficult to choose among several translations, I opted for Keeley and Sherrard’s revised translation (and possibly with some input from Savidis), probably the best known version often recited at graduation ceremonies when embarking on life after college; should be read throughout life, I know it by heart…
So That They Come ...And to conclude with the poem that beautifully unites Cavafy and Proust (read slooowly):
One candle is enough. Its faint light
is better suited, it will have more charm
when the Shadows come, the Shadows of Love.
One candle is enough. The room tonight
should not have too much light. As in a dream
and in a trance, and in the faint light—
as in a dream I shall be rapt in contemplation
so that the Shadows come, the Shadows of Love.
1920 (tr. George Valassopoulo)
I’ve Brought to ArtNote: each line in the last two poems is broken into 2 lines with a space between them ("I sit here, yielding to reverie.[space] I’ve brought to Art") but the GR formatting doesn't allow for it. It also doesn't allow to list different translations under the same book, instead lumping them together as if they are exactly the same.
I sit here, yielding to reverie. I’ve brought to Art
desires and notions: certain things half-seen —
countenances or figures; certain vague recollections
of loves unfinished. Allow me to lean on Art;
Art knows how to fashion an Image of Beauty,
doing so subtly, completing life
by blending impressions, mingling together the days.
1921 (tr. Stratis Haviaras)
January 7, 2013
Βαθιά τραγική ποίηση με φιλοσοφικές προεκτάσεις, σκηνικό θεατρικό, λανθάνουσα ειρωνεία, υποβλητική ατμόσφαιρα, αυτοσαρκασμός, αίσθηση τραγικότητας και αδιεξόδου! Η Καβαφική ποίηση είναι επίκαιρη και διαχρονική - το καταφύγιο του σύγχρονου δοκιμαζόμενου ανθρώπου τόσο από τις εξωτερικές καταστάσεις όσο και από τα εσωτερικά εμπόδια που στήνουν "τείχη" και απομακρύνουν από την Ιθάκη...
August 9, 2023
This collection oscillates between varieties. Most are heavy with Greek names/references. But maybe 1/5 have references to a man seeking another man. These gay references were usually about a love denied, with strong closeted feelings. Just longing for someone from a distance, or maybe a brief touch in a market.
My second reading focused on the pages/poems I highlighted below. Beautiful heartaches here.
Listen to this closeted feeling in "September 1903"
At least let me now beguile myself with false hopes;
and so not notice my empty life.
And so many times I was so close.
And how I froze, how I recoiled, afraid;
why stop, with my lips closed;
and have my empty life weep inside me,
and my longing put on mourning black?
To be close so many times
to the erotic eyes, the lips,
to the dreamsought, the beloved body.
To be close so many times.
Talking about the 'view' of one man toward another...:
Last stanza from "Days of 1908"
Your view has kept him what he was
when he took them off, when he cast them from him,
those unworthy clothes, that underwear in patches.
He stood then naked everywhere;
flawless in beauty; a miracle.
His uncombed hair upswept; his limbs touched sun-dark
from his morning naked at the baths and on the beach.
Most of these speak of the object of admiration being from a simple life, with simple clothes, in their mid to late 20's, simply being quietly beautiful by existing.
Here is the book namesake:
"Before Time Could Change Them"
Great sorrow and regret overcame them on their separation.
It wasn't their desire; it was circumstances.
The need one had to earn his living
made him go far away - New York or Canada.
Their love, of course, was not the love they'd started with;
the attraction holding them by slow degrees had waned,
the attraction had waned to a great degree.
But that they should separate, that wasn't their desire.
It was circumstances. - Or perhaps Fortune
came on the scene as artiest, separating them now,
before their feeling could vanish before Time could change them;
the one will seem eternally what he was to the other -
a twenty-four year old; a young, a handsome man.
Damn! Heartache here that can take an entire book to tell!
I liked this laid-back discreet tone of these early 20th century poems. I would like these in their own collection, since the other poems in this book with their high number of Greek name references went way over my head.
My 5* gay collection would include:
page - poem
13 - As Long as You Can
50 - Understanding
84 - An Old Man
103 - The Afternoon Sun
104 - To Abide
106 - Imenos
107 - From the ship
126 - Craftsman of Winebowls
129 - In an Old Book
130 - Desperation
135 - Before Time Could Change Them
136 - He Came to Read
141 - The 25th year of his Life
143 - In the Dull and Gloomy Village
148 - In the Wineshops
150 Sophist Departing from Syria
153 - Days of 1896
154 - Two Young Men, 23 to 24 Years Old
157 - Days of 1901
159 - A Young Man, a Writer - in His 24th Year
161 - Picture of a Young Man, Twenty-three, Done by His Friend of the Same Age, an Amateur
165 - Kimon, Son of Learchos, Age 22, Student of Greek Literature (in Kyini)
167 - Days of 1909, '10, and '11
168 - Myris: Alexandria, 340 AD
172 - Flowers White and Beautiful, as Were Most Becoming
175 - The Mirror in the Vestibule
176 - He Asked about the Quality
180 - Following the Formulas of Ancient Greco-Syrian Magicians
183 - Days of 1908
197 - Stephanos Skilitsis
251 - September 1903
252 - December 1903
253 - January 1904
254 - On the Stairs
255 - At the Theater
258 - 27 June 1906, 2 pm
259 - Hidden Things
362 - So
267 - Half an Hour
271 - The Bandaged Shoulder
274 - From the Drawer
This is a solid 5* collection for me. I'm glad I found this used book to buy so I can circle these pages and stick exclusively to this collection when I pull this from my shelf in the future.
My second reading focused on the pages/poems I highlighted below. Beautiful heartaches here.
Listen to this closeted feeling in "September 1903"
At least let me now beguile myself with false hopes;
and so not notice my empty life.
And so many times I was so close.
And how I froze, how I recoiled, afraid;
why stop, with my lips closed;
and have my empty life weep inside me,
and my longing put on mourning black?
To be close so many times
to the erotic eyes, the lips,
to the dreamsought, the beloved body.
To be close so many times.
Talking about the 'view' of one man toward another...:
Last stanza from "Days of 1908"
Your view has kept him what he was
when he took them off, when he cast them from him,
those unworthy clothes, that underwear in patches.
He stood then naked everywhere;
flawless in beauty; a miracle.
His uncombed hair upswept; his limbs touched sun-dark
from his morning naked at the baths and on the beach.
Most of these speak of the object of admiration being from a simple life, with simple clothes, in their mid to late 20's, simply being quietly beautiful by existing.
Here is the book namesake:
"Before Time Could Change Them"
Great sorrow and regret overcame them on their separation.
It wasn't their desire; it was circumstances.
The need one had to earn his living
made him go far away - New York or Canada.
Their love, of course, was not the love they'd started with;
the attraction holding them by slow degrees had waned,
the attraction had waned to a great degree.
But that they should separate, that wasn't their desire.
It was circumstances. - Or perhaps Fortune
came on the scene as artiest, separating them now,
before their feeling could vanish before Time could change them;
the one will seem eternally what he was to the other -
a twenty-four year old; a young, a handsome man.
Damn! Heartache here that can take an entire book to tell!
I liked this laid-back discreet tone of these early 20th century poems. I would like these in their own collection, since the other poems in this book with their high number of Greek name references went way over my head.
My 5* gay collection would include:
page - poem
13 - As Long as You Can
50 - Understanding
84 - An Old Man
103 - The Afternoon Sun
104 - To Abide
106 - Imenos
107 - From the ship
126 - Craftsman of Winebowls
129 - In an Old Book
130 - Desperation
135 - Before Time Could Change Them
136 - He Came to Read
141 - The 25th year of his Life
143 - In the Dull and Gloomy Village
148 - In the Wineshops
150 Sophist Departing from Syria
153 - Days of 1896
154 - Two Young Men, 23 to 24 Years Old
157 - Days of 1901
159 - A Young Man, a Writer - in His 24th Year
161 - Picture of a Young Man, Twenty-three, Done by His Friend of the Same Age, an Amateur
165 - Kimon, Son of Learchos, Age 22, Student of Greek Literature (in Kyini)
167 - Days of 1909, '10, and '11
168 - Myris: Alexandria, 340 AD
172 - Flowers White and Beautiful, as Were Most Becoming
175 - The Mirror in the Vestibule
176 - He Asked about the Quality
180 - Following the Formulas of Ancient Greco-Syrian Magicians
183 - Days of 1908
197 - Stephanos Skilitsis
251 - September 1903
252 - December 1903
253 - January 1904
254 - On the Stairs
255 - At the Theater
258 - 27 June 1906, 2 pm
259 - Hidden Things
362 - So
267 - Half an Hour
271 - The Bandaged Shoulder
274 - From the Drawer
This is a solid 5* collection for me. I'm glad I found this used book to buy so I can circle these pages and stick exclusively to this collection when I pull this from my shelf in the future.
April 20, 2013
Η χρονιά που διανύουμε είναι αφιερωμένη στο μεγάλο ποιητής της Αλεξάνδρειας που κατάφερε να διακριθεί με το λιτό, απέριττο και ειρωνικό ποιητικό του λόγο αγγίζοντας διαχρονικά θέματα όπως η ήττα, ο θάνατος και τα γηρατειά.
November 10, 2017
وإن لم تستطع تشكيل حياتك كما تريد
فحاول - على الأقل - بقدر ما تستطيع ألا تبتذلها
/
تحية كبيرة لترجمة رفعت سلام
فحاول - على الأقل - بقدر ما تستطيع ألا تبتذلها
/
تحية كبيرة لترجمة رفعت سلام
January 30, 2023
Ο Αλεξανδρινός ποιητής είναι αναμφίβολα ένας από τους μεγαλύτερους Έλληνες ποιητές.
Παραθέτω ένα από τα πιο αγαπημένα μου ποιήματα.
{Τα παράθυρα}
Σ’ αυτές τες σκοτεινές κάμαρες, που περνώ
μέρες βαριές, επάνω κάτω τριγυρνώ
για νά βρω τα παράθυρα.
Όταν ανοίξει
ένα παράθυρο θα ’ναι παρηγορία.
Μα τα παράθυρα δεν βρίσκονται, ή δεν μπορώ να τά βρω.
Και καλύτερα ίσως να μην τα βρω.
Ίσως το φως θα ’ναι μια νέα τυραννία.
Ποιός ξέρει τί καινούρια πράγματα θα δείξει.
@----)---------
Παραθέτω ένα από τα πιο αγαπημένα μου ποιήματα.
{Τα παράθυρα}
Σ’ αυτές τες σκοτεινές κάμαρες, που περνώ
μέρες βαριές, επάνω κάτω τριγυρνώ
για νά βρω τα παράθυρα.
Όταν ανοίξει
ένα παράθυρο θα ’ναι παρηγορία.
Μα τα παράθυρα δεν βρίσκονται, ή δεν μπορώ να τά βρω.
Και καλύτερα ίσως να μην τα βρω.
Ίσως το φως θα ’ναι μια νέα τυραννία.
Ποιός ξέρει τί καινούρια πράγματα θα δείξει.
@----)---------
June 26, 2016
Κάθομαι και ρεμβάζω. Επιθυμίες κ’ αισθήσεις
εκόμισα εις την Τέχνην— κάτι μισοειδωμένα,
πρόσωπα ή γραμμές· ερώτων ατελών
κάτι αβέβαιες μνήμες. Aς αφεθώ σ’ αυτήν.
Ξέρει να σχηματίσει Μορφήν της Καλλονής·
σχεδόν ανεπαισθήτως τον βίον συμπληρούσα,
συνδυάζουσα εντυπώσεις, συνδυάζουσα τες μέρες.
-Κ. Π. Καβάφης, Εκόμισα εις την Τέχνη
Διασπορικό υποκείμενο και ποιητής παγκόσμιας λογοτεχνίας, δεν περιορίζεται στην ελληνική παράδοση, ο Καβάφης πολεμήθηκε εξίσου από την παλαμική/σεφερική γενιά αλλά και από τον σοσιαλισμό, λόγω της απαισιοδοξίας του, της παρακμιακής νότας των ποιημάτων του, επειδή σκοπός του δεν ήταν να προτείνει το ιδανικό της νέας κοινωνίας.
Ο Παπανικολάου στο κείμενό του "Σαν κ' εμένα καμωμένοι": Ο ομοφυλόφιλος Καβάφης και η ποιητική της σεξουαλικότητας τον χαρακτηρίζει δικαιολογημένα ποιητή του ευάλωτου εαυτού, προσθέτοντας πως το έργο του είναι μια συνεχή προσπάθεια αυτοπροσδιορισμού, αυτοαναίρεσης, όπου αντικατοπτρίζεται ένας εαυτός να αυτοεκτίθεται. Ταυτόχρονα, σύμφωνα με την Alexiou, ο ερωτισμός του Καβάφη δεν είναι μια παρακμιακή διάθεση διαφυγής αλλά μια δύναμη ριζοσπαστική που υπονομεύει την κατεστημένη τάξη πραγμάτων. Συγκεκριμένα, η σεξουαλικότητα του Καβάφη δεν είναι τόσο ένα βαθύ χαρακτηριστικό ενός εσώτερου εαυτού, δεν είναι ποτέ εκφρασμένη ως πόθος εκτός κόσμου, πραγματικότητας, συμφραζομένων, όσο ένα δίχτυ που συμφύρει λόγους, σώματα, εξουσίες.
Εξευτελίσθη πλήρως. Μια ερωτική ροπή του
λίαν απαγορευμένη και περιφρονημένη
(έμφυτη μολοντούτο) υπήρξεν η αιτία:
ήταν η κοινωνία σεμνότυφη πολύ.
-Κ. Π. Καβάφης, Μέρες του 1896
Ο συμφυρμός της μνήμης - μνήμη ιστορική, μνήμη ερωτική, μνήμη ενδοσκοπική - με το ερωτικό αίσθημα, ο στίχος ως απόσταγμα ερωτικής πράξης, το αδιευκρίνιστο, αλλά και προφανές, φύλο των δρώντων προσώπων, η επιθυμία η οποία είναι ταυτόχρονα η ύψιστη κινητήριος δύναμη κι ο απώτερος στόχος. ("Σαν κ' εμένα καμωμένοι": Ο ομοφυλόφιλος Καβάφης και η ποιητική της σεξουαλικότητας)
Σύμφωνα με τον Riddel: Το παρελθόν κείμενο δεν είναι ποτέ το παρόν κείμενο, και το παρόν κείμενο, στο βαθμό που αναφέρεται σε ένα παρελθόν κείμενο, δεν είναι ποτέ εντελώς παρόν. Το στοιχείο της αχρονικότητας, της τόσο μοντερνιστικής, όπου συνεκδηλώνονται το παρελθόν και το παρόν του ποιητή, πρυτανεύει στην ποίηση του Καβάφη, μαζί με την εκμετάλλευση και την ευρεία χρήση της τεχνικής της αναφοράς και του υπαινιγμού. Η διακειμενικότητα του καβαφικού λόγου είναι τόσο άμεση και προφανής, ώστε να δημιουργείται η παραπλανητική εντύπωση της φιλολογικής και ιστορικής ακρίβειας, του έγκυρου υπομνηματισμού, υποσκάπτοντας έτσι την ειρωνεία της (η οποία επιχειρεί την ακύρωση της αισθητικής διάστασης των κειμένων και την επιβολή της σχεδόν μπρεχτικής φιλοσοφίας πως ό,τι παρουσιάζεται στα ποιήματα είναι αντικείμενο κριτικής) όπως συμβαίνει στα έργα Άννα Κομνηνή και Εν τω Μηνί Αθύρ. Ποίηση, όπως τη χαρακτηρίζει ο Δημήτρης Δημηρούλης, απροκάλυπτα παραπεμπτική, γράφει τη δική της ιστορία αναγιγνώσκοντας την ιστορία.
Aπ’ όσα έκαμα κι απ’ όσα είπα
να μη ζητήσουνε να βρουν ποιος ήμουν.
Εμπόδιο στέκονταν και μεταμόρφωνε
τες πράξεις και τον τρόπο της ζωής μου.
Εμπόδιο στέκονταν και σταματούσε με
πολλές φορές που πήγαινα να πω.
Οι πιο απαρατήρητές μου πράξεις
και τα γραψίματά μου τα πιο σκεπασμένα —
από εκεί μονάχα θα με νιώσουν.
Aλλά ίσως δεν αξίζει να καταβληθεί
τόση φροντίς και τόσος κόπος να με μάθουν.
Κατόπι — στην τελειοτέρα κοινωνία —
κανένας άλλος καμωμένος σαν εμένα
βέβαια θα φανεί κ’ ελεύθερα θα κάμει.
-Κ. Π. Καβάφης, Κρυμμένα
July 8, 2018
Translation by Evangelos Sachperoglou. Parallel Greek text (Greek text edited by Anthony Hirst). Introduction by Peter Mackridge.
Poems 1897-1909, 1905-15, 1916-18, 1919-33.
Cavafy was born on 29 April 1863 in Alexandria and died there on his 70th birthday. Most of his life was spent in Alexandria; a life which appears to have been largely uneventful. His poetry is anything but uneventful however, whether based in a distant past or contemporaneous. Almost without exception the poems are sensual, steeped in a Greek heritage of which Cavafy is very proud. Many are homoerotic, homosexuality being to Cavafy the essential spark of the artist’s ongoing creativity. They are not about “healthful love”, to quote Cavafy. They take place outside “the sanctioned bounds” of polite society. They are about “beauty of deviant appeal...created for beds that every day morality labels shameless”.
I found the long introduction to the book extremely useful.
I could quote endlessly from the poems but will confine myself to two:
Perception (from Poems 1916-18)
The years of my youth, my sensuous life-
how clearly I see their meaning now!
What useless, what futile repentances…..
But I couldn't see their meaning then.
Within the wanton life of my youth
my poetic will was being shaped,
the territory of my art was being drawn.
And thus repentances were never steadfast.
And my resolutions to restrain myself, to change,
lasted no more than two weeks, at the most.
Very Seldom (from Poems 1905-1915)
He is an old man. Worn out and stooped,
crippled by the years and by abuses,
walking slowly he crosses the narrow street.
But once he goes inside his home to hide
his wretchedness and his old age, he ponders on
the share of youth which still belongs to him.
Now, young men recite his own verses.
His visions pass before their lively eyes.
Their healthy, sensuous minds,
their elegant, firm bodies,
are stirred by his manifestation of Beauty.
Here for me are indications that this poet’s life may not have been half so dull as it might appear to have been!
Poems 1897-1909, 1905-15, 1916-18, 1919-33.
Cavafy was born on 29 April 1863 in Alexandria and died there on his 70th birthday. Most of his life was spent in Alexandria; a life which appears to have been largely uneventful. His poetry is anything but uneventful however, whether based in a distant past or contemporaneous. Almost without exception the poems are sensual, steeped in a Greek heritage of which Cavafy is very proud. Many are homoerotic, homosexuality being to Cavafy the essential spark of the artist’s ongoing creativity. They are not about “healthful love”, to quote Cavafy. They take place outside “the sanctioned bounds” of polite society. They are about “beauty of deviant appeal...created for beds that every day morality labels shameless”.
I found the long introduction to the book extremely useful.
I could quote endlessly from the poems but will confine myself to two:
Perception (from Poems 1916-18)
The years of my youth, my sensuous life-
how clearly I see their meaning now!
What useless, what futile repentances…..
But I couldn't see their meaning then.
Within the wanton life of my youth
my poetic will was being shaped,
the territory of my art was being drawn.
And thus repentances were never steadfast.
And my resolutions to restrain myself, to change,
lasted no more than two weeks, at the most.
Very Seldom (from Poems 1905-1915)
He is an old man. Worn out and stooped,
crippled by the years and by abuses,
walking slowly he crosses the narrow street.
But once he goes inside his home to hide
his wretchedness and his old age, he ponders on
the share of youth which still belongs to him.
Now, young men recite his own verses.
His visions pass before their lively eyes.
Their healthy, sensuous minds,
their elegant, firm bodies,
are stirred by his manifestation of Beauty.
Here for me are indications that this poet’s life may not have been half so dull as it might appear to have been!
February 4, 2021
Τα ποιήματα με ταξίδεψαν. Με έκαναν να νιώσω τους χαρακτήρες και τον Καβάφη σαν να ήμουν εγώ. Κάποια τα ψιλό κατάλαβα και σκεφτόμουν ποσό ωραία θα ήταν να είχα μαζί μου την παλιά μου καθηγήτρια λογοτεχνίας να τα αναλύσουμε μαζί. Τα αγαπημένα μου ποιήματα ήταν: Κεριά, Η πόλις (classic και το “σφαλιάρα” ποίημα μου), Απολείπειν ο Θεός Αντώνιον και Ιθάκη (ακόμα ένα κλασικ που αντικατοπτρίζει το source).
Αυτά που ξεχώρισαν ακόμη περισσότερο για εμένα:
“Στα βάσανά των σας έμπλεξαν οι άνθρωποι”
“Είπες «Θα πάγω σ’ άλλη γη, θα πάγω σ’ άλλη θάλασσα. Μια πόλις θα βρεθεί καλλίτερη απ’ αυτή... Οπου το μάτι μου γυρίσω, όπου κι αν δω ερείπια μαύρα της ζωής μου βλέπω εδώ, που τόσα χρόνια πέρασα και ρήμαξα και χάλασα»...Καινούργιους τόπους δεν θα βρεις, δε θάβρεις άλλες θάλασσες. Η πόλις θα σε ακολουθεί...”
“Σα βγεις στον πηγαιμό για την Ιθάκη, να εύχεσαι νάναι μακρύς ο δρόμος, γεμάτος περιπέτειες, γεμάτος γνώσεις...Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας, τον άγριο Ποσειδώνα δεν θα συναντήσεις... αν η ψυχή σου δεν τους στήνει εμπρός σου... Πάντα στον νου σου να νάχεις την Ιθάκη. Το φθάσιμον εκεί είν’ ο προορισμός σου...”
“και σκέπτομουν που πια δεν θα τον δω στα ωραία κι άσεμνα ξενύχτια μας να χαίρεται, και να γελά, και ν’ απαγγέλλει στίχους με την τελεία του αίσθησι του ελληνικού ρυθμού”
Αυτά που ξεχώρισαν ακόμη περισσότερο για εμένα:
“Στα βάσανά των σας έμπλεξαν οι άνθρωποι”
“Είπες «Θα πάγω σ’ άλλη γη, θα πάγω σ’ άλλη θάλασσα. Μια πόλις θα βρεθεί καλλίτερη απ’ αυτή... Οπου το μάτι μου γυρίσω, όπου κι αν δω ερείπια μαύρα της ζωής μου βλέπω εδώ, που τόσα χρόνια πέρασα και ρήμαξα και χάλασα»...Καινούργιους τόπους δεν θα βρεις, δε θάβρεις άλλες θάλασσες. Η πόλις θα σε ακολουθεί...”
“Σα βγεις στον πηγαιμό για την Ιθάκη, να εύχεσαι νάναι μακρύς ο δρόμος, γεμάτος περιπέτειες, γεμάτος γνώσεις...Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας, τον άγριο Ποσειδώνα δεν θα συναντήσεις... αν η ψυχή σου δεν τους στήνει εμπρός σου... Πάντα στον νου σου να νάχεις την Ιθάκη. Το φθάσιμον εκεί είν’ ο προορισμός σου...”
“και σκέπτομουν που πια δεν θα τον δω στα ωραία κι άσεμνα ξενύχτια μας να χαίρεται, και να γελά, και ν’ απαγγέλλει στίχους με την τελεία του αίσθησι του ελληνικού ρυθμού”
November 4, 2016
Φοβερή έκδοση, με πολύ εύστοχα σχόλια, που σε οδηγούν να διαπιστώσεις μερικές αστοχίες των επιμελητών (οικογένεια Αποστολίδη). Χρησιμοποιώντας λοιπόν τα ίδια τους τα όπλα καταλήγω να διαφωνώ με τον διαχωρισμό των ποιημάτων σε δυνατά και αδύναμα. Μέσα στα αδύναμα -όπως τα ονομάζει ο Αποστολιδης- (στα οποία δεν περιλαμβάνονται σχολιασμοί όπως κρίνει για τα υπόλοιπα), συναντά κανείς εξαίσια ποιήματα που μπορούν να εμνεύσουν τον αναγνώστη. Κατά τα άλλα οι υπόλοιποι σχολιασμοί φαίνεται να έχουν εκπονηθεί με αρκετή μελέτη επανω σε συνθήκες, καταστάσεις και ιστορικά γεγονότα από όπου εμνεύστηκε ο ποιητής. Επίσης ενδιαφέρουσα η κριτική του επιμελητή σε προηγούμενες σχολιασμένες εκδόσεις.
September 26, 2011
Translation is a difficult task, and I hesitate to rate them harshly. But in this case, there are several better translations already available (contrary to what the goodreads entry says, this edition was not originally published in 1979; the entries for the differing Cavafy translations seem all mixed together) so it strikes me as both pointless and hubristic to produce another at all, much less pronounce it "an extraordinary literary event".
Mendelsohn entirely loses the sensuality that characterizes Cavafy's poetic style. He loses much of the ease of tone as well, producing stiff and somewhat guarded entries. To be just, Mendelsohn is not himself a poet as far as I can determine, but since it was his choice to undertake this endeavor I don't see that as much of an excuse.
Compare, for example, Edmund Keeley's translation of "Body, Remember":
Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds you lay on,
but also those desires that glowed openly
in eyes that looked at you, trembled for you
with Mendelsohn's "Remember, Body":
Body, remember not just how much you were loved,
not just the beds where you have lain,
But also those longings that so openly
glistened for you in eyes
To my mind, the later adds nothing in meaning and is slightly inferior in style. Also, why shift the titles? If there is no debate as to word meaning this serves no purpose and makes it harder to look up poems.
Keeley's is a very competent translation. If you can find it, my recommended translation is the older one by Rae Dalven, The Complete Poems of Cavafy: Expanded Edition, with bonus introduction by Auden. Both Dalven and Auden really seem to "get" Cavafy in a way that Mendelsohn fails to.
Mendelsohn entirely loses the sensuality that characterizes Cavafy's poetic style. He loses much of the ease of tone as well, producing stiff and somewhat guarded entries. To be just, Mendelsohn is not himself a poet as far as I can determine, but since it was his choice to undertake this endeavor I don't see that as much of an excuse.
Compare, for example, Edmund Keeley's translation of "Body, Remember":
Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds you lay on,
but also those desires that glowed openly
in eyes that looked at you, trembled for you
with Mendelsohn's "Remember, Body":
Body, remember not just how much you were loved,
not just the beds where you have lain,
But also those longings that so openly
glistened for you in eyes
To my mind, the later adds nothing in meaning and is slightly inferior in style. Also, why shift the titles? If there is no debate as to word meaning this serves no purpose and makes it harder to look up poems.
Keeley's is a very competent translation. If you can find it, my recommended translation is the older one by Rae Dalven, The Complete Poems of Cavafy: Expanded Edition, with bonus introduction by Auden. Both Dalven and Auden really seem to "get" Cavafy in a way that Mendelsohn fails to.
March 8, 2013
Βαθιά τραγική ποίηση με φιλοσοφικές προεκτάσεις, σκηνικό θεατρικό, λανθάνουσα ειρωνεία, υποβλητική ατμόσφαιρα, αυτοσαρκασμός, αίσθηση τραγικότητας και αδιεξόδου! Η Καβαφική ποίηση είναι επίκαιρη και διαχρονική - το καταφύγιο του σύγχρονου δοκιμαζόμενου ανθρώπου τόσο από τις εξωτερικές καταστάσεις όσο και από τα εσωτερικά εμπόδια που στήνουν "τείχη" και απομακρύνουν από την Ιθάκη
December 25, 2015
The memories and the feelings of our own days weep.
*
And, Memory, bring back to me tonight all that you can,
of this love of mine, all that you can.
*
there are pains that will not stay quiet in the heart.
They thirst to get out and give vent to grieving.
*
And, Memory, bring back to me tonight all that you can,
of this love of mine, all that you can.
*
there are pains that will not stay quiet in the heart.
They thirst to get out and give vent to grieving.
April 11, 2018
You never ever quite finish with a book of poetry. It is always waiting to be dipped into...always.
Like old friends,
a reunion is always on the cards and always a pleasure.
Which is why I have only recorded the Starting Date,
in Athens, almost 40 years ago now,
because as far as I can tell,
I will never be finished with this book,
with these poems,
with Cavafy.
You go to poets or write poetry to get questions answered or to see the questions perfectly put.
Or for some clarification.
Not surprisingly, I was tempted to put the poetry books on the philosophy shelf.
But they do deserve a shelf of their own.
Sadly many people don't feel comfortable around poetry.It makes me frustrated, the way you get with people who won't go and see a doctor. Poets tend you and heal you when you didn't even know you were ailing. They can also needle you, just like a bloody doctor. Provoke you and make you take medicine you'd rather not, but of course it all helps in the long run.
Today poetry is ever-present in the lyrics of songs. The music is like the sugar that helps the medicine go down.
I met Constantine Cavafy close to home...his home, not mine. He was an Alexandrian Greek and I was living in Athens at that time teaching English. One of my students gave me the copy I still treasure. Probably thought I needed it. I did. Here was something I didn't know I needed - a refreshing, open and honest way of writing that I had never experienced with a poet before. Cavafy offered me a piece of himself, as all good friends do, which I used when I finally found a real need to express myself in poetry.
His poems were also on topics that resonated with me - poems about history, resignation, acceptance of life, frustrated passions, loss, the comfort of memory and...love. They were intelligent and lucid and did not hold back, readily confronting pain and Life's realities without sentimentality. They were strong potions. Alone in a foreign land I drank deep.
Often friends find you, as Cavafy came to me, unbidden.
Often you have to cast your net wide, browse, re-meet a few times before you are sure;
sometimes its love at first sight!
Enjoy your poets when you find them!!
FIDDLESTICKS
I prayed to God for aid and answers;
But one day found his ears upon the ground.
I sought counsel from the immutable stars;
But then saw one falling from the sky.
I looked for a plan in the lines of my hand;
But it only increased the lines on my brow.
Then Tarot cards came to hand;
But they only dealt in riddles and rhymes.
I played with the I Ching;
But got distracted playing fiddlesticks.
I turned to poetry in desperation;
And found only all my questions perfectly put.
Now I write poetry.
New Year's Day, 1985.
That's from me...now a gem from Cavafy:
LONG AGO
I'd like to speak of this memory,
but it's so faded now - as
though nothing's left
because it was so long ago, in
my adolescent years.
A skin as though of jasmine...
that August evening - was it
August? -
I can still just recall the eyes:
blue, I think they were...
Ah yes, blue: a sapphire blue.
See what I mean now???
Like old friends,
a reunion is always on the cards and always a pleasure.
Which is why I have only recorded the Starting Date,
in Athens, almost 40 years ago now,
because as far as I can tell,
I will never be finished with this book,
with these poems,
with Cavafy.
You go to poets or write poetry to get questions answered or to see the questions perfectly put.
Or for some clarification.
Not surprisingly, I was tempted to put the poetry books on the philosophy shelf.
But they do deserve a shelf of their own.
Sadly many people don't feel comfortable around poetry.It makes me frustrated, the way you get with people who won't go and see a doctor. Poets tend you and heal you when you didn't even know you were ailing. They can also needle you, just like a bloody doctor. Provoke you and make you take medicine you'd rather not, but of course it all helps in the long run.
Today poetry is ever-present in the lyrics of songs. The music is like the sugar that helps the medicine go down.
I met Constantine Cavafy close to home...his home, not mine. He was an Alexandrian Greek and I was living in Athens at that time teaching English. One of my students gave me the copy I still treasure. Probably thought I needed it. I did. Here was something I didn't know I needed - a refreshing, open and honest way of writing that I had never experienced with a poet before. Cavafy offered me a piece of himself, as all good friends do, which I used when I finally found a real need to express myself in poetry.
His poems were also on topics that resonated with me - poems about history, resignation, acceptance of life, frustrated passions, loss, the comfort of memory and...love. They were intelligent and lucid and did not hold back, readily confronting pain and Life's realities without sentimentality. They were strong potions. Alone in a foreign land I drank deep.
Often friends find you, as Cavafy came to me, unbidden.
Often you have to cast your net wide, browse, re-meet a few times before you are sure;
sometimes its love at first sight!
Enjoy your poets when you find them!!
FIDDLESTICKS
I prayed to God for aid and answers;
But one day found his ears upon the ground.
I sought counsel from the immutable stars;
But then saw one falling from the sky.
I looked for a plan in the lines of my hand;
But it only increased the lines on my brow.
Then Tarot cards came to hand;
But they only dealt in riddles and rhymes.
I played with the I Ching;
But got distracted playing fiddlesticks.
I turned to poetry in desperation;
And found only all my questions perfectly put.
Now I write poetry.
New Year's Day, 1985.
That's from me...now a gem from Cavafy:
LONG AGO
I'd like to speak of this memory,
but it's so faded now - as
though nothing's left
because it was so long ago, in
my adolescent years.
A skin as though of jasmine...
that August evening - was it
August? -
I can still just recall the eyes:
blue, I think they were...
Ah yes, blue: a sapphire blue.
See what I mean now???
July 30, 2019
Bir şiir kitabını "okudum bitirdim" olarak nitelendirmek ne kadar doğru bilmiyorum. Hele hele bir şairin tüm şiirlerinin toplandığı bir kitabı bitirmek mümkün değil bence. Sık sık değil belki; ama zaman zaman geri dönüyor insan kitaba, yeniden okuyor, o satırlar farklı duygulara yol açıyor her seferinde.
Kavafis son zamanlarda o kadar çok çıktı ki karşıma, bu bir mesaj olmalı diye düşündüm. :) Önce bir dersimde Coetzee'nin Barbarları Beklerken kitabı tartışıldı ve kitabı sunan arkadaşım sunumuna Kavafis'in kitapla aynı ismi taşıyan şiirini okuyarak başladı. Bu sunumdan birkaç hafta sonra tek dizim Vatanım Sensin'de "favori çift"imin :) bir sahnesinde geçti Barbarları Beklerken (Sahne için: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ayfsZ...). Yine birkaç hafta sonra Zülfü Livaneli'nin 50. sanat yılı şerefine çıkarılan albümde Melihat Gülses'in seslendirdiği "Çok Uzak" parçasını dinledim tesadüfen. Şarkı da Melihat Gülses de o kadar içine işliyordu ki insanın şarkıyı Google'da arattığımda sözlerinin bir Kavafis şiirinden -Gerilerde- alındığını öğrendim (Şarkı için: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9Q7f...). Bu bana bir işaret diye düşünüp kitabı aldım. İyi ki de almışım. Hep diyorum, yine diyeceğim, şiirle çok aram yok. Buna rağmen bu kitaptaki şiirler -özellikle birkaçı- beni çok çok etkiledi.
İstos yayınları 2013 yılının Kavafis'in doğumun 150. ölümünün ise 80. y��lı olması nedeniyle Kavafis Yılı olarak nitelendirilmesi şerefine Kavafis'in tüm şiirlerini bir kitapta toplamış. Çeviriler Ari Çokona'ya ait. Ari Çokona'dan pek çok tragedya ve komedya okudum ve hepsinden de büyük bir keyif aldım. Şiir çevirmek ne kadar zordur tahmin dahi edemiyorum; ancak şahsi kanaatime göre Çokona şiirleri de oyunlar gibi başarıyla sunmuş okuyucuya.
Okuyunuz efendim!
Kavafis son zamanlarda o kadar çok çıktı ki karşıma, bu bir mesaj olmalı diye düşündüm. :) Önce bir dersimde Coetzee'nin Barbarları Beklerken kitabı tartışıldı ve kitabı sunan arkadaşım sunumuna Kavafis'in kitapla aynı ismi taşıyan şiirini okuyarak başladı. Bu sunumdan birkaç hafta sonra tek dizim Vatanım Sensin'de "favori çift"imin :) bir sahnesinde geçti Barbarları Beklerken (Sahne için: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ayfsZ...). Yine birkaç hafta sonra Zülfü Livaneli'nin 50. sanat yılı şerefine çıkarılan albümde Melihat Gülses'in seslendirdiği "Çok Uzak" parçasını dinledim tesadüfen. Şarkı da Melihat Gülses de o kadar içine işliyordu ki insanın şarkıyı Google'da arattığımda sözlerinin bir Kavafis şiirinden -Gerilerde- alındığını öğrendim (Şarkı için: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9Q7f...). Bu bana bir işaret diye düşünüp kitabı aldım. İyi ki de almışım. Hep diyorum, yine diyeceğim, şiirle çok aram yok. Buna rağmen bu kitaptaki şiirler -özellikle birkaçı- beni çok çok etkiledi.
İstos yayınları 2013 yılının Kavafis'in doğumun 150. ölümünün ise 80. y��lı olması nedeniyle Kavafis Yılı olarak nitelendirilmesi şerefine Kavafis'in tüm şiirlerini bir kitapta toplamış. Çeviriler Ari Çokona'ya ait. Ari Çokona'dan pek çok tragedya ve komedya okudum ve hepsinden de büyük bir keyif aldım. Şiir çevirmek ne kadar zordur tahmin dahi edemiyorum; ancak şahsi kanaatime göre Çokona şiirleri de oyunlar gibi başarıyla sunmuş okuyucuya.
Okuyunuz efendim!
August 6, 2022
Like the beautiful bodies of those who died before they had aged,
sadly shut away in a sumptuous mausoleum,
roses by the head, jasmine at the feet—
so appear the longings that have passed
without being satisfied, not one of them granted
a night of sensual pleasure, or one of its radiant mornings.
sadly shut away in a sumptuous mausoleum,
roses by the head, jasmine at the feet—
so appear the longings that have passed
without being satisfied, not one of them granted
a night of sensual pleasure, or one of its radiant mornings.
March 24, 2014
Cavafy was born into a Greek family living in Alexandria in 1863, a city which he came to love as his own life. For me, he is the poet of memory, both personal and cultural. There are several excellent translated collections of his poems; I have at least four. In all of them you'll find poems musing about ancient Greeks and Romans right next to verses written in late middle age about the fleeting loves of his youth. Here's one of the latter, one of my favorites (from the translation by Rae Dalven):
One Night
The room was poor and squalid,
hidden above the dubious tavern.
From the window you could see the alley
filthy and narrow. From below
came the voices of some workmen
playing cards and carousing.
And there on the much-used lowly bed
I had the body of love, I had the lips,
the voluptuous and rosy lips of ecstasy—
rosy lips of such ecstasy, that even now
as I write, after so many years!
in my solitary house, I am drunk again.
One Night
The room was poor and squalid,
hidden above the dubious tavern.
From the window you could see the alley
filthy and narrow. From below
came the voices of some workmen
playing cards and carousing.
And there on the much-used lowly bed
I had the body of love, I had the lips,
the voluptuous and rosy lips of ecstasy—
rosy lips of such ecstasy, that even now
as I write, after so many years!
in my solitary house, I am drunk again.
March 25, 2019
This is a very well done collection of Cavafy's poetry. His poetry touched my heart deeply! My favorite Greek poet for sure.
February 5, 2011
I was introduced to Greek poet C.P. Cavafy's work by Elizabeth Hand's Waking the Moon. The particular poem published in this book, In the Evening,...I wasn't quite prepared for it to captivate me and drench me into a state of bitter sweet melancholy and nostalgia. A fitting poem for a fascinating book. Determined to find out more about this poet, I then found the canon on the Internet. Such a treasure to discover.
I am confused however by the numerous translations. The versions differ, sometimes subtly altering the ambiance and the meaning of Cavafy's poems. I find myself preferring this translator, only to discover even more magical sentences from another translator. The poem it all began with for me, for example, comes in at least three different versions.
Now which translator did the "best job"? Or is it mostly a matter of personal preference? I might try to compose my own perfect translation by cutting and pasting from the versions available.
Or learn Greek of course.
Translated by Rae Dalven
Anyway, those things would not have lasted long.
The experience of the years shows it to me.
But Destiny arrived in some haste and stopped them.
The beautiful life was brief.
But how potent were the perfumes,
On how splendid a bed we lay,
To what sensual delight we gave our bodies.
An echo of the days of pleasure,
An echo of the days drew near me,
A little of the fire of the youth of both of us,
Again I took in my hands a letter,
And I read and reread till the light was gone.
And melancholy, I came out on the balcony
Came out to change my thoughts at least by looking at
A little of the city that I loved,
A little movement on the street and in the shops.
Translated by John Cavafy
By no means could those things have lasted long.
The experience of the years has shown it me.
Still, it was somewhat hurriedly that fate
stopped them. The enraptured time was quickly gone.
But how the perfumes did inebriate —
What a transcendent bed we lay upon,
what joy voluptuous our bodies knew!
A resonance of the voluptuous days,
a resonance thereof comes close to me,
some glow of the two of us in our young days:
a faded letter I take up anew
and read and read it till the daylight drops.
And I go out upon the balcony
to quit my thoughts — to change them while I gaze
at the dear old town, at the quick life along
the darkening street and by the lighted shops.
Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard
It wouldn’t have lasted long anyway—
the experience of years makes that clear.
Even so, Fate did put an end to it a bit abruptly.
It was soon over, that wonderful life.
Yet how strong the scents were,
what a magnificent bed we lay in,
what pleasure we gave our bodies.
An echo from my days given to sensuality,
an echo from those days came back to me,
something of the fire of the young life we shared:
I picked up a letter again,
and I read it over and over till the light faded away.
Then, sad, I went out on to the balcony,
went out to change my thoughts at least by seeing
something of this city I love,
a little movement in the street and the shops.
I am confused however by the numerous translations. The versions differ, sometimes subtly altering the ambiance and the meaning of Cavafy's poems. I find myself preferring this translator, only to discover even more magical sentences from another translator. The poem it all began with for me, for example, comes in at least three different versions.
Now which translator did the "best job"? Or is it mostly a matter of personal preference? I might try to compose my own perfect translation by cutting and pasting from the versions available.
Or learn Greek of course.
Translated by Rae Dalven
Anyway, those things would not have lasted long.
The experience of the years shows it to me.
But Destiny arrived in some haste and stopped them.
The beautiful life was brief.
But how potent were the perfumes,
On how splendid a bed we lay,
To what sensual delight we gave our bodies.
An echo of the days of pleasure,
An echo of the days drew near me,
A little of the fire of the youth of both of us,
Again I took in my hands a letter,
And I read and reread till the light was gone.
And melancholy, I came out on the balcony
Came out to change my thoughts at least by looking at
A little of the city that I loved,
A little movement on the street and in the shops.
Translated by John Cavafy
By no means could those things have lasted long.
The experience of the years has shown it me.
Still, it was somewhat hurriedly that fate
stopped them. The enraptured time was quickly gone.
But how the perfumes did inebriate —
What a transcendent bed we lay upon,
what joy voluptuous our bodies knew!
A resonance of the voluptuous days,
a resonance thereof comes close to me,
some glow of the two of us in our young days:
a faded letter I take up anew
and read and read it till the daylight drops.
And I go out upon the balcony
to quit my thoughts — to change them while I gaze
at the dear old town, at the quick life along
the darkening street and by the lighted shops.
Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard
It wouldn’t have lasted long anyway—
the experience of years makes that clear.
Even so, Fate did put an end to it a bit abruptly.
It was soon over, that wonderful life.
Yet how strong the scents were,
what a magnificent bed we lay in,
what pleasure we gave our bodies.
An echo from my days given to sensuality,
an echo from those days came back to me,
something of the fire of the young life we shared:
I picked up a letter again,
and I read it over and over till the light faded away.
Then, sad, I went out on to the balcony,
went out to change my thoughts at least by seeing
something of this city I love,
a little movement in the street and the shops.
June 29, 2016
Αγάπησα πολύ την ποίηση του Καβάφη αν και στην αρχή νόμιζα πως θα είναι δυσνόητος (πολλές φορές είναι αλλά όχι τόσο όσο νόμιζα) και πολύ βαρετός. Αυτό το εμπόδιο με βοήθησε να το ξεπεράσω η έκδοση όλων των δημοσιευμένων ποιημάτων του με επιμέλεια του Ρένου, Ήρκου και Στάντη Αποστολίδη η οποία είναι καταπληκτική και δίνει πλήρη σχολιασμό για τα μισά ποιήματα του και για τα υπόλοιπα (τα οποία θεωρεί «Αδύναμα») υπάρχει εκτενής σχολιασμός στο Διαδίκτυο (κυρίως για τα ιστορικά ποιήματα). Βρήκα την ποίηση του εξαιρετική και ρηξικέλευθη για την εποχή που γράφτηκε, καθώς είναι μοντέρνα και έχει ένα δικό της στυλ. Ποίηση που συγκινεί και σε κάνει να την αγαπήσεις. Ο μέγας Αλεξανδρινός δικαιώθηκε και ας προσπάθησαν να χτίσουν τριγύρω του μεγάλα και υψηλά Τείχη...
Αγαπημένα μου ποιήματα: «Νέοι της Σιδώνος (400 μ.Χ)», «Αλεξανδρινοί Βασιλείς», «Μέρες του 1903», «Μύρης· Αλεξάνδρεια του 340 μ.Χ», «Ρωτούσε για την ποιότητα», «Επέστρεφε», «Εκόμισα εις την Τέχνη», «Ιωνικόν», «Η πόλις» και πολλά άλλα...
Αγαπημένα μου ποιήματα: «Νέοι της Σιδώνος (400 μ.Χ)», «Αλεξανδρινοί Βασιλείς», «Μέρες του 1903», «Μύρης· Αλεξάνδρεια του 340 μ.Χ», «Ρωτούσε για την ποιότητα», «Επέστρεφε», «Εκόμισα εις την Τέχνη», «Ιωνικόν», «Η πόλις» και πολλά άλλα...
April 20, 2019
Επάξια ονομάζεται ο μεγαλύτερος Έλληνας ποιητής. Απυθμενος, ερωτικός, ανυπερβλητος.
June 22, 2008
Cavafy's mixture of two primary subjects -- antiquity and and his life as gay man in Alexandria -- can seem an odd one at first, and though I've tried to find a strong thematic link between the two, at best, I hear a similar tone of nostalgia and loss in his treatment of these subjects. This seemingly disparate subjects, however, make for a pleasurably evolving reading experience.
Initially, I found C's famous poems about antiquity the more appealing ones; for a man fascinated with the distant past, C. ended up writing poems that speak just as well to our own historic times today, as to his. One need look no further than perhaps his most famous poem, "Waiting for the Barbarians" (surely Coetzee had this poem in mind when he gave his early novel the same name!)for evidence of this timely relevance. The last two lines say it all:
"And now, what's going to happen to us without barbarians?
They were, those people, a kind of solution."
(Chilling words when one considers our current policies in Iraq.)
Poems such as "The Horses of Achilles" and "The God Abandons Anthony" are equally powerful. I love these poems, and though they do reinforce powerful themes and ideas -- certainly an important criterion of great poetry -- they don't reveal much new upon successive readings.
The love poems, however, to my surprise, offer more reward with repeated readings. At first, I read them quickly, as an afterthought, more out of curiosity than deep interest, just because they were Cavafy. But gradually over time, I have found myself returning to some of these works again and again, and being increasingly moved by them. They have a quietly haunting tone of sadness of lost love that deepens rather than plateau's with successive readings.
My favorite example is "Two Young Men, 23 to 24 Years Old." A young man sits alone in a cafe, drinking up what little money he has while waiting for his lover, thinking he's been abandoned and beginning to "have disturbing thoughts / about the immoral life he was living." Eventually, though, these thoughts vanish when his lover shows up later, flush with winnings from a card game, and "their good looks, their exquisite youthfulness, / the sensitive love they shared/ were refreshed, livened, invigorated / by the sixty pounds from the card table." Unable to use the homes of the "respectable families (where they were no longer wanted anyway)," the men rent a room in a "very special house of debauchery," where they spend of the rest of the night buying expensive drinks before finally, at 4am, "happy, they gave themselves to love."
The mood in this poem takes several sharp turns, from near despair to elation, from illusion of youthful celebration (dependent on money) to (hidden) freedom of wild carousing to blissful lovemaking. But throughout these shifts is also an underlying tone of sadness and desperation. These young men may have their looks and money and each other, but they must hide their love, a love that can be expressed only with an unpredictable profit from gambling, and though the poem appears to end on an tender and optimistic note, Cavafy also seems to suggest that this moment of ecstatic freedom will be a short-lived one that will not survive the light of day, when the men will find themselves once again broke and ostracized from their families. And it seems doubtful that, unlike Anthony in "The God Abandons Anthony," they will be able to face their condition by listening to the "exquisite music of the strange procession,/ and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing." Anthony has to "lose" Alexandria only once, but these two young men, only "23 to 24 years old" must face the rest of their lives losing a part of Alexandria everyday. That's a heart-breaking poem!
In the final analysis, I wouldn't be surprised if Cavafy's love poems prove more enduring than his historical poems.
(As for translations, I've read two -- Keeley and Sherrard, and the recent Barnstone -- and I prefer K/S because the language is a bit livelier, in places, than Barntone's, but you can't go wrong with either.)
PS I would also recommend two fine essays on Cavafy:
* "Pendulums's Song," Joseph Brodsky, from Less Than One
* "Lost Cities," Rachel Cohen, from Best American Essays 2003(actually, Cohen compares Cavafy and Pessoa, so that's an added bonus for Pessoa fans!)
Initially, I found C's famous poems about antiquity the more appealing ones; for a man fascinated with the distant past, C. ended up writing poems that speak just as well to our own historic times today, as to his. One need look no further than perhaps his most famous poem, "Waiting for the Barbarians" (surely Coetzee had this poem in mind when he gave his early novel the same name!)for evidence of this timely relevance. The last two lines say it all:
"And now, what's going to happen to us without barbarians?
They were, those people, a kind of solution."
(Chilling words when one considers our current policies in Iraq.)
Poems such as "The Horses of Achilles" and "The God Abandons Anthony" are equally powerful. I love these poems, and though they do reinforce powerful themes and ideas -- certainly an important criterion of great poetry -- they don't reveal much new upon successive readings.
The love poems, however, to my surprise, offer more reward with repeated readings. At first, I read them quickly, as an afterthought, more out of curiosity than deep interest, just because they were Cavafy. But gradually over time, I have found myself returning to some of these works again and again, and being increasingly moved by them. They have a quietly haunting tone of sadness of lost love that deepens rather than plateau's with successive readings.
My favorite example is "Two Young Men, 23 to 24 Years Old." A young man sits alone in a cafe, drinking up what little money he has while waiting for his lover, thinking he's been abandoned and beginning to "have disturbing thoughts / about the immoral life he was living." Eventually, though, these thoughts vanish when his lover shows up later, flush with winnings from a card game, and "their good looks, their exquisite youthfulness, / the sensitive love they shared/ were refreshed, livened, invigorated / by the sixty pounds from the card table." Unable to use the homes of the "respectable families (where they were no longer wanted anyway)," the men rent a room in a "very special house of debauchery," where they spend of the rest of the night buying expensive drinks before finally, at 4am, "happy, they gave themselves to love."
The mood in this poem takes several sharp turns, from near despair to elation, from illusion of youthful celebration (dependent on money) to (hidden) freedom of wild carousing to blissful lovemaking. But throughout these shifts is also an underlying tone of sadness and desperation. These young men may have their looks and money and each other, but they must hide their love, a love that can be expressed only with an unpredictable profit from gambling, and though the poem appears to end on an tender and optimistic note, Cavafy also seems to suggest that this moment of ecstatic freedom will be a short-lived one that will not survive the light of day, when the men will find themselves once again broke and ostracized from their families. And it seems doubtful that, unlike Anthony in "The God Abandons Anthony," they will be able to face their condition by listening to the "exquisite music of the strange procession,/ and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing." Anthony has to "lose" Alexandria only once, but these two young men, only "23 to 24 years old" must face the rest of their lives losing a part of Alexandria everyday. That's a heart-breaking poem!
In the final analysis, I wouldn't be surprised if Cavafy's love poems prove more enduring than his historical poems.
(As for translations, I've read two -- Keeley and Sherrard, and the recent Barnstone -- and I prefer K/S because the language is a bit livelier, in places, than Barntone's, but you can't go wrong with either.)
PS I would also recommend two fine essays on Cavafy:
* "Pendulums's Song," Joseph Brodsky, from Less Than One
* "Lost Cities," Rachel Cohen, from Best American Essays 2003(actually, Cohen compares Cavafy and Pessoa, so that's an added bonus for Pessoa fans!)
September 11, 2022
"Como cuerpos bellos de muertos que no envejecieron
y los encerraron, con lágrimas, en espléndido mausoleo
—con rosas en la cabeza y en los pies jazmines—,
así parecen los deseos que pasaron
sin cumplirse; sin que ninguno mereciera
una noche de placer, o un alba luminosa".
No sabía qué esperar de Cavafis. Solo conocía los fragmentos más famosos de sus poemas Ítaca y El dios abandona a Antonio. He encontrado un poeta erótico y sensual incluso cuando trata temas históricos. Pero sus mejores poemas son los que ocurren en cafeterías, callejones y burdeles.
"...a una casa de corrupción se fueron y pidieron
un cuarto en que dormir, y bebidas caras, y volvieron a beber.
Y cuando se les acabaron las bebidas caras,
y cuando ya eran cerca de las cuatro,
al amor se entregaron felices".
y los encerraron, con lágrimas, en espléndido mausoleo
—con rosas en la cabeza y en los pies jazmines—,
así parecen los deseos que pasaron
sin cumplirse; sin que ninguno mereciera
una noche de placer, o un alba luminosa".
No sabía qué esperar de Cavafis. Solo conocía los fragmentos más famosos de sus poemas Ítaca y El dios abandona a Antonio. He encontrado un poeta erótico y sensual incluso cuando trata temas históricos. Pero sus mejores poemas son los que ocurren en cafeterías, callejones y burdeles.
"...a una casa de corrupción se fueron y pidieron
un cuarto en que dormir, y bebidas caras, y volvieron a beber.
Y cuando se les acabaron las bebidas caras,
y cuando ya eran cerca de las cuatro,
al amor se entregaron felices".
December 30, 2018
Grāmata, kas saistās ar rindām:
"Ir jau pusviens. Cik ātri pagāja laiks.
Ir jau pusviens. Cik ātri pagāja gadi."
(1918)
"Ir jau pusviens. Cik ātri pagāja laiks.
Ir jau pusviens. Cik ātri pagāja gadi."
(1918)
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