Selected Poems

by Constantinos P. Cavafy, David Connolly (Translator)

A selection of poems by C.P. Cavafy, translated by David Connolly. "Translations of Cavafy's poetry are the best possible counter to the often quoted platitude that poetry is what is lost in translation."

Genres: Poetry, Classics, Greece, LGBT, Queer, Literature, Fiction

112 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1972

About the author

Constantine 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.

Reviews

[Kiran Dellimore · Rating 4 out of 5]

A delightful, thought-provoking collection of poems from one of the most acclaimed Greek poets. I found myself savouring several of Cavafy's poems, rereading them over and over, to truly let them sink in. Among my favorites poems from in this anthology: are Ithaca, As Far As You Can, Return, Remember, Body..., and I Brought to Art. Amazingly Cavafy's lyrical prose translates masterfully from Greek into English.

[Raul · Rating 4 out of 5]

Candles

The days of the future stand before
us
like a line of burning candles -
golden candles, warm with life.

Behind them stand the days of our past,
a pitiful row of candles extinguished,
the nearest still sending up their smoke:
cold and melted, withered sticks.

I don't want to look; their image
makes me sad,
it saddens me to recall their kindling.
I look ahead at the ones still burning.

I don't want to turn and see, with
horror,
how quickly the line of shadow
lengthens,
how quickly the number of snuffed candles grows.

I discovered Cavafy through Marguerite Yourcenar's brilliant essay of his work, and he has become my greatest discovery of the year. Take the poem Candles above, how those few lines have marvelously captured regret for the past and hopefulness for the future. The poetry collected here, particularly the first part, were just as marvelous.

The poems here are historical, philosophical, recollective, and erotic. I was surprised at how blatantly gay some of these poems were. Especially considering the times they were written and published, the early twentieth century for most, some even earlier. It was a nice surprise that there's no guilt in those poems, even the fleeting moments the subjects have of regret or shame for their desire is swept away immediately they encounter their lovers.

Cavafy spent lots of time rewriting his poems for years, dedicated to his craft, receiving less acclaim for them than he deserved during his lifetime. But what an oeuvre he left behind. Not sure if there's still a problem posting links on this site, but I highly recommend Sean Connery's recitation of the poem "Ithaca" which can be found on YouTube.

[Bloodorange · Rating 4 out of 5]

Cavafy's writing was shaped by a sense of fatalism and loss - he lost his father and a family fortune in his childhood; as an adult he lost ten people he was really close to in twenty years; he found it difficult to adapt to parochialism in Alexandria, the necessity of working for a living (he worked in a ministry, but supplemented his income with gambling and playing the stock market); he had to hide his homosexuality.

Fascinated by history and literature of ancient Greece and Byzantium, in his poetry he built a cyclic, endless vision of history happening here and now. He distributed his poems to friends (telling them every now and them to return them, so that he could make the necessary corrections); he published rarely and reluctantly, dividing his poems into the canon, the repudiated and the hidden. A poets' poet.

The City

You said: 'I will go to another land; I will try another sea.
Another city will turn up, better than this one.
Here everything I do is condemned in advance
and my heart - like a dead man's - lies buried.
How long can my mind remain in this swamp?
Wherever I turn, wherever I look, I gaze
on the ruins of my life here, where I’ve spent
and botched and wasted so many years.'

You will find no new land; you will find no other seas.
This city will follow you. You will wander the same
streets and grow old in the same neighborhoods;
your hair will turn white in the same houses.
And you will always arrive in this city. Abandon any hope
of finding another place. No ship, no road can take you there.
For just as you’ve ruined your life here
in this backwater, you’ve destroyed it everywhere on earth.

before 1911 (1910)
translated by Avi Sharon

Cavafy often uses the form of dialogue or dramatic monologue; what strikes me the most in this poem is how it changed between its first version ("In the Same City"), and the final one above - the speaker's personal plea of the earlier version ("I hate the people here and they hate me, / here where I've lived half my life") changes into a universal reflection on human fate, and the fact that many of us carry a secret which, in our view, makes it impossible for us to find fulfillment.

The Afternoon Sun

This room, how well I know it.
Now they’re renting it and the one next door
as commercial space. The whole house is now
offices for brokers, salesmen, entire firms.

Ah, this room, how familiar it is!

Here, near the door, stood the sofa,
a Turkish carpet just before it;
nearby was a shelf with two yellow vases;
on the right—no, facing it — was an armoire with a mirror.
The desk where he wrote stood in the middle,
along with three large, wicker chairs.
Beside the window lay the bed
where we made love so many times.

All of these poor old furnishings must still exist somewhere.

Beside the window lay the bed;
the afternoon sunlight reached only half way across it...

That afternoon, at four o’clock, we parted,
just for a week... alas,
that week became forever.

1919
translated by Avi Sharon

Around 1919 Cavafy's erotic poems gained a decidedly homoerotic character – before that, he would often write obscuring the lover's sex. However convinced he was that his sexual orientation was absolutely normal, and however strongly he believed that "Later, in a more perfect society,/ someone else made just like me/ is certain to appear and act freely", he still felt that his society was not ready to accept him as he was.

As Much As You Can

If you cannot fashion your life as you would like,
endeavour to do this at least,
as much as you can: do not trivialize it
through too much contact with the world,
through too much activity and chatter.

Do not trivialize your life by parading it,
running around displaying it
in the daily stupidity
of cliques and gatherings,
until it becomes like a tiresome guest.

1911
translated by Avi Sharon

Pathologically (according to his friends) shy and withdrawn, Cavafy proposes to his readers life far from the frenzied crowd, by their own rules, untrivialized, in the vein of the French proverb „pour vivre heureux, vivons cachés”.

The God Abandoning Antony

Suddenly, around midnight, when you hear
an invisible troupe of players pass
with exquisite music and solemn voices -
do not lament in vain your vanishing luck, the many deeds
undone, all of your life plans
gone astray: no, do not lament.
Emboldened now, and as one long prepared,
make your farewell to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.
Above all, do not fool yourself, do not say
it was just a dream, or that your ears deceived you;
do not stoop to such empty hopes.
Emboldened now, and as one long prepared,
as is fitting for someone like you, worthy of such a city,
approach the window steadily
and listen, stirred, but not to the point
of whining or complaining as cowards do.
Let that music be your final joy,
the exquisite instruments of that mysterious troupe,
and make your farewell to her, the Alexandria you are losing.

1911
translated by Avi Sharon

This poem is based on a story related by Plutarch - the night before Alexandria was conquered by Octavian, Julius Caesar's son, Mark Antony heard the voices of a spectral procession praising Dionysus, his protective deity, leaving the city, and interpreted it as a sign that the god was withdrawing his blessing and support. One of the many poems by Cavafy on the importance of losing beautifully and sticking to one's rules also when we know we are about to lose ("Thermopylae”). Fun fact: Mark Antony commited suicide that very night.

It took me a while to fully appreciate Cavafy, and it was only this year when I understood his melancholic charm. I find it interesting that though he does not seem to be taught much at a secondary school level, my students really seemed to like him, and did not find him too depressing.

Note on the translation: I mostly prefer the Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard translation, but Avi Sharon's translations of some of the poems are more pleasing ("Waiting for the Barbarians", "The Afternoon Sun"). The introduction is nothing to write home about, but the historical notes were really useful.

Title image: “Desiderium” by Edward Burne-Jones, 1873. The portrait of Maria Zambaco (1843–1914), C.P. Cavafy’s cousin, the artist and model of the Pre-Raphaelites, via C. P. Cavafy twitter: https://twitter.com/ccavafy/status/11...

[Edita · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ithaca

As you set out bound for Ithaca
hope that the journey is a long one,
full of adventures, full of learning.
Of the Laestrygonians and Cyclopes,
of wrathful Poseidon have no fear,
you'll never meet suchlike on your journey,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if noble
sentiment grips your body and spirit.
You'll never encounter raging Poseidon,
Laestrygonians and Cyclopes,
unless you bear them in your soul,
unless your soul sets them before you.

Hope that the journey is along one.
That the summer morns be many
when with what delight, what joy
you enter harbours hitherto unseen;
that you stop at Phoenician markets,
and acquire fine merchandise,
nacre and coral, amber and ebony,
and all kinds of heady perfumes,
as many heady perfumes as you can;
that you visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from the erudite.

Always keep Ithaca in mind.
To arrive there is your destination.
But in no way rush the voyage.
Better for it to last many years;
and for you to berth on the isle an old man,
rich with all you gained on the journey,
without expecting Ithaca to give you riches.

Ithaca gave you the wonderful voyage.
Without her you would not have set out on your way.
Ye she has nothing more to give you.

And though you may find her wanting, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you've become, with so much experience,
already you'll have understood what these Ithacas mean.

[Eadweard · Rating 4 out of 5]

Great poems! A few that I liked a lot.



"Voices

Ideal voices, the beloved voices
of those who have died or of those who are
lost to us as if they were dead.

Sometimes they speak to us in dreams;
sometimes, in thought, the mind hears them.

And with their sounds for a moment return
sounds from our life’s first poetry –
like music at night, far off, fading out."
----



"Candles

The days of the future stand before us
like a line of burning candles –
golden candles, warm with life.

Behind them stand the days of our past,
a pitiful row of candles extinguished,
the nearest still sending up their smoke:
cold and melted, withered sticks.

I don’t want to look; their image makes me sad,
it saddens me to recall their kindling.
I look ahead at the ones still burning.

I don’t want to turn and see, with horror,
how quickly the line of shadow lengthens,
how quickly the number of snuffed candles grows."
----



"Prayer

The sea’s taken a sailor to her depths below –
his mother, still unaware, rushes to go

light a narrow candle before the Virgin’s shrine,
for his swift return, good weather, or a sign

that she struggles against the wind to hear.
But as she bows and reiterates her prayer,

the icon listens, sorrowful and glum,
quite sure that her son will never come."
----



"The Year 31 BC in Alexandria

From his small village on the city’s outskirts,
powdered in dust from the journey,

the peddler arrived. ‘Frankincense’ and ‘gum’,
‘the finest oil’ and ‘perfumes for your hair’

he cries through the streets. But amid the tumult,
the bands playing and the parades, he can’t be heard.

He is bumped, jostled by the crowds until,
totally confused, he asks, ‘What is this madness?’

Then someone tosses him the palace’s gigantic lie –
that Antony is victorious in Greece."
----



"Of Coloured Glass

I am quite touched by one detail
in the coronation, at Blachernai, of John Cantacuzenus
and Irene, daughter of Andronicus Asan.
Because they had only a few precious stones
(the poverty of our wretched kingdom being so great)
they wore artificial gems: hundreds of pieces made of glass,
red, green and blue. There is nothing
base or undignified, in my view,
about these little bits
of coloured glass. On the contrary, they seem
like a sorrowful protest
against the undeserved misfortunes of the crown.
They are the symbols of what should have been worn,
of what, assuredly, ought to have been worn
at the coronation of Lord John Cantacuzenus
and his Lady Irene, daughter of Andronicus Asan."
----



"Anna Comnena

In the prologue of her Alexiad
Anna Comnena laments her widowhood.

Her soul is awhirl. ‘And with rivers of tears,’ she tells us,
‘I bathe my eyes… in sorrow for the tempests’ of her life,
‘sorrow for the insurrections’ she faced. The grief burns
‘in the very marrow of my bone, in the rending of my soul’.

But the truth is there was but one grief
that this ambitious lady ever knew;
only one profound regret did she feel,
this haughty Greek lady (even though she will not admit it):
she never managed, for all her cunning,
to take possession of the empire. She watched as it was taken,
snatched from her very hands, by the insolent John."
----



"Nero’s Deadline

Nero was not particularly concerned when he heard
the Delphic oracle’s prophecy:
‘Years seventy and three beware.’
He still had plenty of time to enjoy himself.
He is only thirty. The deadline appointed
by the god seems far enough away
to take precautions about any future dangers.

He will return to Rome now a bit fatigued,
but fatigued in a delicious way from this journey
where every day provided some new delight –
in the Greek theatres, the gardens and gymnasia…
the evenings spent in the towns of Achaea…
and yes, above all, the joy of those naked bodies…

So much for Nero. Meanwhile, in Spain, Galba
secretly recruits and trains his forces,
an old man, aged seventy-three."
----



"The Footsteps

On an ebony bedstead
adorned with eagles made of coral,
Nero lies deep in sleep – quiet, unconscious, happy:
in the prime of his body’s vigour;
in the beautiful ardour of his youth.

But in the alabaster hall
that holds the ancient shrine of the Ahenobarbi,
the Lares of his house are anxious.
These minor household gods are trembling,
trying to conceal their already negligible bodies.
For they heard a terrible noise,
a deadly sound spiralling up the staircase,
iron-soled footsteps shaking the steps.
The miserable Lares, near-fainting now,
huddle in the corner of the shrine,
jostling and stumbling over each other,
one little god falling over the next,
for they knew what sort of noise it was;
they recognize, by now, the footsteps of the Furies."

[Χαρά Ζ. · Rating 5 out of 5]

I love Cavafy and his totally free way of writing poetry. This edition has both Greek and English poems. The translation is pretty solid, well made and the feeling is the same which is extrordinary. His style has a lot to do with it and i would recommend it to people who are not familiar with poetry. Amazing edition <3

[Sebastian Porta · Rating 5 out of 5]

ITHAKA

As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, 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, 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 your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you’re seeing 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 learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn't 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’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

[Rhys · Rating 5 out of 5]

Utterly brilliant book of poems. One of the best I have ever read. Perhaps the best. Many of the poems spoke to me directly, especially during the time when I was reading them (lockdown because of the coronavirus). The themes of isolation, nostalgia, yearning, hit me with great force.

One early poem in this volume, ‘The City’, is perhaps my favourite poem by any poet. It is one of the few poems I’ve read that made me shiver on first reading. Aspirations are often or usually chained to doubts. This particular poem is so close to the aspirations and doubts of my own heart that it is exactly adjacent to them. “I will go to a new land, I will try another sea.” The rubric of escape and betterment, of happiness elsewhere, is the equation that has controlled my entire life. In this poem the equation turns out to be erroneous, self defeating. “You will find no new land, you will find no other seas.” The unsatisfactory city is one we must inevitably take with us. Yet I prefer to regard this poem as a warning and a prompting rather than a prediction or imprecation.

[Raquel · Rating 5 out of 5]

Uma poesia cheia de coisas fugidias. Todas elas espantosas. Sensualidade com sabor ao mediterrâneo, luminosas casas brancas de portadas azuis. Um livro muito precioso, uma perfeita leitura nocturna.


~

"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."

You will find no new lands, you will find no other seas.
The city will follow you. You will roam the same
streets. And you will age in the same neighborhoods;
and you will grow gray in these same houses.
Always you will arrive in this city. Do not hope for any other --
There is no ship for you, there is no road.
As you have destroyed your life here
in this little corner, you have ruinded it in the entire world."

[Poupeh · Rating 4 out of 5]

Part of "The City", so far my most favorite poem in the book:

You will find no new land; you will find no new seas.
This city will follow you. You will wander the same
streets and grow old in the same neighborhoods;
your hair will turn white in the same houses.
And you will always arrive in this city. Abandon any hope
of finding another place. No ship, no road can take you there.
For just as you've ruined your life here
in this backwater, you've destroyed it everywhere on earth.


I rejoiced in poems in which he recollects memories of previous lovers, filled with explicitness, with passion and desire and regret and longing and secrecy, with admiration for beauty, both physical and emotional...
no wonder i enjoyed so many of his works (not the ones that are solely historical, either because i found them cold or for my lack of knowledge), as they mix reality and imagination and memory, a city on decline and people living in this city and himself observing and mingling with these people ...

[Denis · Rating 5 out of 5]

It always amazes how, sometimes, one finds a book completely by chance, and this book happens to be exactly what one needed at that very moment. Those selected poems by Cavafy are such a book. I knew the name, but nothing else. The cover caught my eyes. I bought it. And I immediately fell under the charm of those unusual poems which are like exquisite miniatures, minuscule short stories that enthrall and evoke old, faraway worlds. Some poems take the reader back to the Greece of Antiquity, and they're so vivid, so full of life, that they beautifully recreate the spirit, atmosphere, sense of life of those times. Other poems are melancholic odes to the beauty of young men, to forbidden desires, to loves long gone, to the allure of youth: those are quite poignant and heartbreaking, and their explicitly gay content remains stunningly powerful and contemporary. Cavafy's writing isn't necessarily what one may expect from a traditional poet - it's much more than that.

[Steven Godin · Rating 3 out of 5]

At midnight, when suddenly you hear
an invisible procession going past
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 though long prepared, and full of courage,
say goodbye to her, to Alexandria who is leaving.
Above all, don't fool yourself, don't say
it was a dream, that your ears deceived you:
don't degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As though long prepared, and full of courage,
as though natural in you who've been given this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with emotion,
but not with regret, the whining of a coward,
listen—your final pleasure—to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.

[Ambar Sahil Chatterjee · Rating 5 out of 5]

‘Return often and take me at night,
when lips and skin remember...’

I used to wish I had discovered Cavafy and his poetry much earlier—I first heard of him in my early twenties, and it was over a decade before I actually got around to reading his poetry. But now, as I careen towards forty, I think it’s just as well I encountered Cavafy’s work when I did: for who knows if the callow twenty-something would have had the patience or the humility to appreciate the hard-won wisdom of Cavafy’s sublime verses?

Cavafy’s observations on male desire and homosexual longing ring true over a century later. But equally resonant are his pithy musings on memory, regret and the relentless march of time.

That these poems are miniature miracles is, for me, now beyond doubt. How does Cavafy conjure such pathos while stripping it of superficial melodrama? How does he delicately balance deep empathy with piquant irony? How does he confess to such intense longing without dissolving into silly schmaltz? His poems are perhaps the only apt responses to these endless questions.

[Abeer Abdullah · Rating 3 out of 5]

Cavafy never published a volume of poetry in his lifetime, instead he chose to publish each poem separately in magazines or small self published pamphlets given to anyone who's interested. I think he did that on purpose considering the fact that he was famous enough to publish a full volume.
having to read these poems consecutively slowly becomes tiresome and boring. since cavafy follows the exact same themes of greek history and homoeroticism, poems that, individually, are quite wonderful and moving, but after a while, start all being predictable and all sounding the same.
non the less through these poems you could tell what kind of person cavafy was and what kind of poet and I definitely liked what I saw, he wrote poetry for his own pleasure and happiness, he was a rebel and a non conformist, although slightly in denial of it, despite his very reclusive lifestyle.
another wonderful thing about his poetry is, unlike a lot of greek history themed poetry, you dont really have to know the facts to follow the ideas. and, his style of poetry, although revolving around the greek culture was, apparently (since I've never read greek poetry) very Non greek, and I could see that, he was obviously a modern poet.
and lastly, his attitude towards homosexuality, he was born in 1863 and died in 1933 and, as you may know, thats not the funnest time to have gay sex. but he realized what people thought of it, what Christianity said of it, but just simply dismissed it as bogus, published slightly vague poetry about it, and just lived on with grace, thats pretty amazing.
I do however think his eroticism was a little too objectifying and did not deal with the emotional aspects and so it lacked the beauty it could have had.

but, again, it just got really boring to hear the same beautiful thoughts repeated over and over and over. but every now and then an unexpected and beautifully written idea pops up.

here are some of my favorite poems that you could just read online:
-Voices
-Prayer
-The Horses of Achilles
-Done
-The God Abandoning Antony
-Insight
-Darius
-A Young Writer-In His Twenty Fourth Year
-In The Same Space (personal favorite)

(I've also just read that the beauty of his poetry is almost completely lost in translation, and thats super sad to hear)

[Liván · Rating 4 out of 5]

Cavafy es un poeta fuera de tiempo. Es fascinante leer su obra y encontrarse con algo que se siente a la vez tan antiguo como moderno, además de vivo y relevante para nuestra época. Había intentado leer su poesía hace tiempo sin mucho éxito, pero esta vez quedé fascinado. Es una poesía dulce, meditativa y precisa, donde el lenguaje no busca retorcerse, sino enmarcar experiencias en su crudo color; experiencias pasionales y cotidianas de guerra, política, homoerotismo y amistad, entre muchas cosas. Entiendo por qué es uno de los grandes de la poesía universal 🏺

[Mouli · Rating 5 out of 5]

For my first book of 2022, a poet I have always wanted to immerse myself in the poetry of. A few iconic ones like Ithaca have been on the top of my list of favourite poems since long. Devoured this collection in a day. Canon for a (many many) reason(s), obviously.

[Eva · Rating 5 out of 5]

Kavafis (1863-1933), grekiskspråkig diktare som levde huvudsakligen i Alexandria (Egypten), skrev 154 dikter under sin levnad, men de utgavs inte i bokform under hans levnad. Dikterna delades med vänner och bekanta. Och kom att med rätta uppmärksammas, men inte förrän postumt.

Kavafis är en ny upplevelse för mig, och en mycket positiv läsupplevelse. Dikterna har en mycket direkt stil, personlig närvaro, ofta i presens, utan svåra ord och vändning. Mycket lätt att ta till sig, och känna in sig i. Boken har dubbeluppslag grekiska-svenska. Och det skönt enkla språket gör att jag som är nästan nybörjare på grekiska, trots allt förstår en hel del även av originaltexten. Även engelsk översättning till flertalet av dikterna finns i slutet av boken.

Till boken finns även en DVD med uppläsare på olika språk från olika hörn av Medelhavet, där Kavafis är levande litteratur fortfarande 100 år efter dikternas tillkomst.

[Dionysius the Areopagite · Rating 4 out of 5]

Doth thou seeketh epigraphs?

[Ana-Maria Bivol · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ithaka

As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, 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, 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 your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you’re seeing 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 learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn't 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’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

[robyn · Rating 3 out of 5]

i picked this up because mark doty references or quotes cavafy in his non-fiction enough to intrigue me but taken on their own/without the benefit of someone else’s illumination most of these poems didn’t really do it for me, i suspect largely because i don’t share the classical frame of reference required to properly make sense of them, and the language alone was rarely lovely or biting or (for want of a less c*nty word) ‘remarkable’ enough to make up for it (or enough to make me want to cross-reference the poems with the translator’s notes to figure out what i was missing contextually). there were things about it i liked - i enjoyed the roughly chronological arrangement of the collection for how it highlighted cavafy’s increasing boldness wrt overt homoeroticism over the course of his life, its progression from something sly and implicit to something thrilling and erotic and delightful! and also the way his poems give voice to characters/relate stories or anecdotes from ancient history with a certain lightheartedness and modernity and generosity of spirit - it reminded me of u.a. fanthorpe (my queen!!!) and at its best this tendency succeeded in imbuing those poems with a tender sort of poignancy & warmth that i did find quite moving. tldr on the whole not my favourite collection ever but admittedly i am very hard to please when it comes to poetry

[E. · Rating 5 out of 5]

"I have gazed so much on beauty
that my eyes overflow with it."

I enjoyed Cavafy far more than I anticipated, and I expected to like him.

This book is organized chronologically, and I admired the early poems the best. Almost every one of the early ones I marked or annotated in some way for a great phrase, image, or impactful totality.

All of the poems are well-executed and fall along a couple of themes--glorying in the long, rich history of the Greeks and celebrating male beauty. Of course I delighted in the latter poems. Sub-themes include aging and memory and the contrast between Christian and pagan in Greek culture.

I believe this is a volume I will return to and cherish.

[Andrada · Rating 4 out of 5]

I came across a quote from one of Cavafy's poems while visiting an exhibition in Athens and I was intrigued enough to buy this small selection of his poems from the museum gift shop. His directness and often melancholic style appealed to me as did the inspiration he drew from ancient history.

My favourites were, for obvious reasons, the historical ones: Ithaca, The God Abandons Anthony and Ionic, but also the City. I felt like his poems often echoed my own feelings about belonging and exploration and I see why he strikes a chord with so many people. I definitely intend to give his entire 154 poetries a read!

[Mitchell · Rating 5 out of 5]

Cavafy knows how to write about life and beauty

Favorites:

*Ithaca*
Voices
The Mirror in the Entrance Hall
He Asked About the Quality
The First Step
The Melancholy of Jason Cleander, Poet in Commagene, AD 595
Morning Sea
In an Old Book
The Cafe Entrance
One Night
Far Away
On the Ship
I Left
Caesarion
Pleasure
I Have Gazed So Much
In the Evening
The Afternoon Sun
I Have Brought to Art
Lovely Flowers, White Ones, That Matched So Well
In the Same Space

[salva · Rating 4 out of 5]

You won’t find new parts, won’t find other seas.
The city will follow you.

Cavafy arrives at a remarkable sparseness of expression in his poetry, riddled with aphorisms, that constantly looks back to look forward. His words are almost unpoetic but carry a definite weight to them, exploring a vast range of human experience.

[Stavros Kosmas · Rating 4 out of 5]

Cavafy is undoubtedly one of the most influential writers in Greek literature. For good reason. This collection is packed with beautiful words like a bouquet.
K.P. showcases a talent here which allows him to vividly express themes of longing, desperation, self worth, reflection and waste of potential. The prose seems deeply personal, but throughout the work there is a cardinal urge for the reader to relate to it themselves. Simple and bare yet striking, some of the poems in this gave me goosebumps and slowed down the reality around me for some moments.
I liked this book, which I bought in Paris a year ago, because it includes both the original and a translated version of the poem, so if there was something I didn’t understand in one language, I could look to the other one for confirmation 😅

[Marcus · Rating 3 out of 5]

Quite lovely poems of queer longing, interspersed with tedious and flat retellings of specific events in Alexandrian history. The translator admits in the foreword that a fairly comprehensive knowledge of Greek funerary inscription is required for a full appreciation of Cavafy, which is not quite where I’m at. But I will definitely work on my Greek and attempt to read these in the original at some point.

[Therese · Rating 4 out of 5]

loved this so much, it’s incredible how cavafy can put thoughts and feelings on events that happened thousands of years ago. it was so fascinating to read the poem, and then read the short biography/explanation of events in the notes. the only thing that’s stopping me from giving this five stars is that there is only so many poems about beautiful young men in their twenties i can read. a lot of those poems were amazing too, but there were a few that just felt like a repear of some key words in just another order (young, sensual, lips, beautiful, lost, twenty-four, etc.)

[Catherine · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm not a huge poetry reader despite that some poems in this collection really hit me hard. Especially: The City, The Satrapy, Ithaca, Candles, Waiting for The Barbarians, and He Asked About the Quality.

[Guus van der Peet · Rating 5 out of 5]

Vrijwel alle gedichten van de Grieks-Egyptische Konstantínos Kaváfis’ zijn evocaties van het verleden. In sommige gevallen roept hij dit heel letterlijk op, in de vorm van een hervertelling van een Griekse mythe of Romeins geschiedverhaal. In andere gevallen gaat het om een recenter, persoonlijker verleden: wanneer hij terugdenkt aan de mannelijke liefdes die hij in zijn jongere jaren heeft gekend. Deze bundel ga ik de komende maanden nog wel een paar keer openslaan.

[Xristina Karvouni · Rating 3 out of 5]

Αγαπημένος ποιητής και έχουν διασωθεί και ραδιοφωνικά προγράμματα από γνωστούς ηθοποιούς που απαγγέλουν ποιήματά του, όπως είναι η Έλλη Λαμπέτη.