Poems by Constantine P Cavafy

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The God Forsakes Anthony

When suddenly, at midnight, you hear

an invisible procession going by

with exquisite music, voices,

don't mourn your luck that's failing now,

work gone wrong, your plans

all proving deceptive — don't mourn them uselessly.

As one long prepared, and graced with courage,

say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.

Constantine P Cavafy

The City

You said, "I will go to another land, I will go to another sea.

Another city will be found, a better one than this.

Every effort of mine is a condemnation of fate;

and my heart is — like a corpse — buried.

How long will my mind remain in this wasteland.

Wherever I turn my eyes, wherever I may look

I see black ruins of my life here,

where I spent so many years destroying and wasting."

Constantine P Cavafy

The Grave of the Grammarian Lysias

Very close to you, as you enter on the right, in the Beirut

library, we buried the sage Lysias,

the grammarian. The spot is beautifully right.

We placed him near those things of his that he perhaps

remembers even there — scholia, texts, grammars,

scriptures, numerous commentaries

in tomes on hellenisms.This way, his grave will also be seen and honoredby us, when we pass among the books.

Constantine P Cavafy

And now he is seekingon the lips of every new loverthe lips of his beloved; in the embraceof every new lover he seeks to be deludedthat he is the same lad, that it it to him he is yielding.He has lost him completely, as if he had never been at all.For he wanted — so he said — he wanted to be savedfrom the stigmatized, the sick sensual delight;from the stigmatized, sensual delight of shame.There was still time — as he said — to be saved.He has lost him completely, as if he had never been at all.In his imagination, in his delusions,on the lips of others it is his lips he is seeking;he is longing to feel again the love he has known.

Constantine P Cavafy

Their Beginning

Their illicit pleasure has been fulfilled.

They get up and dress quickly, without a word.

They come out of the house separately, furtively;

and as they move off down the street a bit unsettled,

it seems they sense that something about them betrays

what kind of bed they've just been lying on.

But what profit for the life of the artist:

tomorrow, the day after, or years later, he'll give voice

Constantine P Cavafy

Return

Return often and take me,

beloved sensation, return and take me —

when the memory of the body awakens,

and an old desire runs again through the blood;

when the lips and the skin remember,

and the hands feel as if they touch again.

Return often and take me at night,

when the lips and the skin remember…

Constantine P Cavafy

One Night

The room was penurious and common,

Hidden over a disreputable

tavern,

The alley could be seen from the window,

Unclean and narrow. From below

Came the voices of a few workmen

Who were playing cards and having a good time.

There on the vulgar on the humble bed

Constantine P Cavafy

I Went

I was not bound. I let myself go completely; went

To those indulgences, half actual,

And half were turned about in my own brain;

Went into the illuminated night;

And drank strong wines, as when

The champions of pleasure drink strong wine.

Greek Original:

Επήγα

Constantine P Cavafy

On an Italian Shore

Kimos, son of Menedoros, a young Greek-Italia

n,devotes his life to amusing himself,like most young men in Greater Greecebrought up in the lap of luxury.But today, in spite of his nature,he is preoccupied, dejected. Near the shorehe watched, deeply distressed, as they unloadships with booty taken from the Peloponnese.G r e e k l o o t: b o o t y f r o m C o r i n t h.Today certainly it is not right,it is not possible for the young Greek-Italianto want to amuse himself in any way.