Cavafy in English

Constantine P. Cavafy (1896)

It's hard to think of any foreign language writer who's had a greater influence on modern English poetry than the languid Alexandrian C. P. Cavafy.

His friend E. M. Forster described him as ""a Greek gentleman in a straw hat, standing absolutely motionless at a slight angle to the universe", and it's that awkward yet insouciant air, combined with the emotional anguish of his love life - not to mention his ever-present sense of the sheer weight of three thousand turbulent years of Greek history - which fascinate us still.

Leonid Pasternak: Rilke in Moscow (1928)

Who could you compare him with? There's the deracinated Austrian-Czech Rainer Maria Rilke, of course. His famous sonnet about the "Archaic Torso of Apollo" with its self-accusatory conclusion "Du mußt dein Leben ändern" [You must change your life] is probably more familiar to readers now than "The Panther", even - let alone the Duino Elegies (1923). It's hard to imagine twentieth-century poetry without him.

Pessoa sinking a dram (Lisbon, 1929)

Then, of course, there's Fernando Pessoa. Fascinating though I find the man, I'd have to admit that few of his actual poems - that is, if he can be said to have written many without a convenient mask to colour-code their content in advance - interest me as much as the concepts he embodies: above all, the idea of the heteronymn.

Of course there are lots of other twentieth-century modernist poets most of us know by name, at least, if not in detail: Guillaume Apollinaire, Vladimir Mayakovsky, Czesław Miłosz, Eugenio Montale, Pablo Neruda - not to mention my main man Paul Celan.

All of the above have exerted a strong influence on writers in English, but whether that extends very far past the mavens of high culture is debatable. Their respective statuses in their own countries and literatures is another matter entirely: that's far too complex to try to analyse here.

Max Beckmann: Paris Society (1931)

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Penguin Classics: Poets in Translation (1996-2005)

At its inception, some thirty years ago, the idea of the Penguin Poets in Translation series appears to have been that each volume should chart the particular idiosyncratic forms one classic poet's reputation and work have taken over time in English literary culture. Here's the full list:

1. Homer in English. Ed. George Steiner & Aminadav Dykman (1996)
2. Horace in English. Ed. D. S. Carne-Ross & Kenneth Haynes (1996)
3. Martial in English. Ed. John P. Sullivan & Anthony J. Boyle (1996)
4. The Psalms in English. Ed. Donald Davie (1996)
5. Virgil in English. Ed. K. W. Gransden (1996)
6. Baudelaire in English. Ed. Carol Clark & Robert Sykes (1998)
7. Ovid in English. Ed. Christopher Martin (1998)
8. Seneca in English. Ed. Don Share (1998)
9. Catullus in English. Ed. Julia Haig Gaisser (2001)
10. Juvenal in English. Ed. Martin M. Winkler (2001)
11. Dante in English. Ed. Eric Griffiths & Matthew Reynolds (2005)
12. Petrarch in English. Ed. Thomas P. Roche (2005)

A projected thirteenth volume, Rilke in English, to be edited by German-English poet and translator Michael Hofmann, seems never to have appeared.

As you can see, all the poets included - with the partial exception of Baudelaire - have many centuries of interpretation and translation to draw on. Rilke, by contrast, is a comparative newcomer to world poetry. The publishers may have thought it doubtful that enough worthwhile material could be found to compile a volume commensurate with those devoted to, say, Homer or Dante.

Harry Thomas, ed.: Montale in English (2005)

But that doesn't seem to have deterred the editor of Montale in English (2005), whose substantial selection of translations from the Nobel Prize-winning Italian poet - which appeared originally as Eugenio Montale: Poems (Penguin Modern Classics, 2002) - has since been supplemented by New Zealand-based Italian poet and translator Marco Sonzogni's Corno inglese: An Anthology of Eugenio Montale's Poetry in English Translation (2009), a volume to which I myself was happy to contribute.

Marco Sonzogni, ed.: Corno Inglese (2009)

As a tribute to Penguin's original concept, I've decided it might be interesting to compile a complementary list of more modern poets whose influence in English has been particularly striking. Here are my 12 proposed candidates:

1. Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891) [French]
2. C. P. Cavafy (1863-1933) [Greek]
3. Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) [German]
4. Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918) [French]
5. Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935) [Portuguese]
6. Anna Akhmatova (1889-1966) [Russian]
7. Osip Mandelstam (1891-1938) [Russian]
8. Eugenio Montale (1896-1981) [Italian]
9. Federico García Lorca (1898-1938) [Spanish]
10. Salvatore Quasimodo (1901-1968) [Italian]
11. Pablo Neruda (1904-1973) [Spanish]
12. Paul Celan (1920-1970) [German]

I've confined it mainly to poets in whom I myself take a strong interest. I've also stuck to a kind of linguistic quota system: two French poets, two German poets, two Italian poets, two Russian poets, two Spanish poets, along with a Greek poet and a Portuguese poet.

There are, of course, innumerable others I could have included, and I'm only too conscious of the crippling gender imbalance in this list. I thought it would be hypocritical to include any writers whom I myself find uncongenial, though, or whose work I don't know well enough to discuss in detail (hence no Seferis, no Ungaretti, no Valéry, no Mayakovsky ...)

Over the years, I've attempted versions of poems by some - by no means all - of the writers above: occasionally, recklessly, without any knowledge of the language in question (Greek, for instance, in Cavafy's case). I wouldn't claim to understand any of them in any depth; but I "think continually" about all of them (to borrow a phrase from Stephen Spender). They've enriched my life; I'd like to try to explain why.

In any case, that's the project. We'll just have to see how far I get with it after this, the first instalment in the series. There'll only need to be eleven posts, though, as I've decided to count the work done already on Montale in English by Harry Thomas in America and Marco Sonzogni in New Zealand as quite enough said on that particular subject.

Eugenio Montale: Poems. Ed. Harry Thomas (2002)

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Lawrence Durrell: Justine (1957)

To come back to Cavafy, I'm forced to admit that my own first introduction to his poetry was probably in Lawrence Durrell's Justine, the first part of his Alexandria Quartet. Durrell's constant references to the "old poet of the city" - not to mention his inclusion of his own free translations of "The City" and "The God Abandons Antony" - were enough to awaken a lot of us to the existence of this hitherto rather obscure poet.

There are versions of another four Cavafy poems at the end of Clea, the final volume in the series, but - while striking in themselves - they mainly serve to accentuate the impact already made by the two included in Justine. They are, in order, "The Afternoon Sun," "Far Away," "One of Their Gods," and "Che fece ... il gran rifiuto" [he who made ... the great refusal]. The title of the last poem makes reference to Dante's characterisation of one of the souls - probably Pope Celestine V, the first to lay down the Papacy on account of old age; also the last, until Benedict XVI's resignation in 2013 - trapped aimlessly in front of Hell's Gate.

E. M. Forster: Alexandria: A History and A Guide (1922)

Strangely enough, it was actually in English that Cavafy made his first substantive claim on the world's attention. Bloomsbury insider E. M. Forster spent much of the First World War stationed in Alexandria as a Red Cross volunteer. When he wasn't agonising over recalcitrant drafts of his novel A Passage to India, he passed the time compiling a guidebook to the city.

In the process, he met Cavafy. And so "The God Abandons Antony," in a translation by George Valassapoulo, is situated strategically at the end of the historical section of Forster's book. He went on to publish a more substantial essay about Cavafy a year later, in the set of impressionistic travel pieces Pharos and Pharillon.

E. M. Forster: Pharos and Pharillon (1923)

The God Abandons Antony
- trans. George Valassopoulo (1922)

When at the hour of midnight
an invisible choir is suddenly heard passing
with exquisite music, with voices - 
Do not lament your fortune that at last subsides,
your life's work which has failed, your schemes that have proved illusions.
But like a man prepared, like a brave man,
bid farewell to her, to Alexandria who is departing.
Above all, do not delude yourself, do not say that it is a dream, 
that your ear was mistaken.
Do not condescend to such empty hopes.
Like a man for long prepared, like a brave man,
like to the man who was worthy of such a city,
go to the window firmly, 
and listen with emotion,
but not with the prayers and complaints of the coward
(Ah! supreme rapture!)
listen to the notes, to the exquisite intruments of the mystic choir,
and bid farewell to her, to Alexandria whom you are losing.

•

Cavafy died in 1933. The first major Greek edition of his collected poems appeared in Alexandria two years later, but it probably wasn't until John Mavrogordato's pioneering English translation of the bulk of his work came out from the Hogarth Press in 1951 that he really began to attract attention.

Within a few years of the publication of Durrell's Justine, the first (so-called) "complete" English translation of his poems was published in London and New York. Rae Dalven's version remains smooth and serviceable, but it was probably the fact that the book included an introduction by W. H. Auden that really created waves. "Atlantis," Auden's adaptation of Cavafy's famous poem "Ithaka," was among the first poems he wrote on his arrival in America in 1939.

After that, as you can see from the bibliography included below, the floodgates were open. If you knew anything at all about world poetry, it was impossible to be unaware of Cavafy's work. Canadian singer / songwriter Leonard Cohen

... transformed Cavafy's poem "The God Abandons Antony", based on Mark Antony's loss of the city of Alexandria and his empire, into "Alexandra Leaving", a song around lost love.

- Wikpedia: C. P. Cavafy in popular culture

It's also intriguing to see in that Wikipedia list a reference to Greek director Stelios Haralambopoulos's film The Night Fernando Pessoa Met Constantine Cavafy, which posits an imaginary encounter between these two great flâneurs on a transatlantic ocean liner on the 21st of October, 1929, a few days before the Wall Street crash ...

Stelios Charalampopoulos, dir.: Ti nyhta pou o Fernando Pessoa synantise ton Konstadino Kavafi (2008)

Ithaka
- trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard (1975)

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.

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J. M. Coetzee: Waiting for the Barbarians (1980)

Nobel prize-winning novelist J. M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians takes its name from a Cavafy poem. Along with "The God Abandons Antony" and "Ithaka," it's unquestionably one of his most easily recognisable - and influential - works.

I thought it might be interesting to compare a few different translations of it. What is it about this particular poem which has focussed so many writers' attention, over so many years?

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K. P. Kavaphē: Poiēmata (1935)

Περιμένοντας τους Bαρβάρους
- Κωνσταντίνος Πέτρου Καβάφης (1898 / 1904)



— Τι περιμένουμε στην αγορά συναθροισμένοι;

Είναι οι βάρβαροι να φθάσουν σήμερα.

— Γιατί μέσα στην Σύγκλητο μια τέτοια απραξία;
Τι κάθοντ’ οι Συγκλητικοί και δεν νομοθετούνε;

Γιατί οι βάρβαροι θα φθάσουν σήμερα.
Τι νόμους πια θα κάμουν οι Συγκλητικοί;
Οι βάρβαροι σαν έλθουν θα νομοθετήσουν.

— Γιατί ο αυτοκράτωρ μας τόσο πρωί σηκώθη,
και κάθεται στης πόλεως την πιο μεγάλη πύλη
στον θρόνο επάνω, επίσημος, φορώντας την κορώνα;

Γιατί οι βάρβαροι θα φθάσουν σήμερα.
Κι ο αυτοκράτωρ περιμένει να δεχθεί
τον αρχηγό τους. Μάλιστα ετοίμασε
για να τον δώσει μια περγαμηνή. Εκεί
τον έγραψε τίτλους πολλούς κι ονόματα.

— Γιατί οι δυο μας ύπατοι κ’ οι πραίτορες εβγήκαν
σήμερα με τες κόκκινες, τες κεντημένες τόγες·
γιατί βραχιόλια φόρεσαν με τόσους αμεθύστους,
και δαχτυλίδια με λαμπρά, γυαλιστερά σμαράγδια·
γιατί να πιάσουν σήμερα πολύτιμα μπαστούνια
μ’ ασήμια και μαλάματα έκτακτα σκαλιγμένα;

Γιατί οι βάρβαροι θα φθάσουν σήμερα·
και τέτοια πράγματα θαμπώνουν τους βαρβάρους.

— Γιατί κ’ οι άξιοι ρήτορες δεν έρχονται σαν πάντα
να βγάλουνε τους λόγους τους, να πούνε τα δικά τους;

Γιατί οι βάρβαροι θα φθάσουν σήμερα·
κι αυτοί βαρυούντ’ ευφράδειες και δημηγορίες.

— Γιατί ν’ αρχίσει μονομιάς αυτή η ανησυχία
κ’ η σύγχυσις. (Τα πρόσωπα τι σοβαρά που εγίναν).
Γιατί αδειάζουν γρήγορα οι δρόμοι κ’ η πλατέες,
κι όλοι γυρνούν στα σπίτια τους πολύ συλλογισμένοι;

Γιατί ενύχτωσε κ’ οι βάρβαροι δεν ήλθαν.
Και μερικοί έφθασαν απ’ τα σύνορα,
και είπανε πως βάρβαροι πια δεν υπάρχουν.

__

Και τώρα τι θα γένουμε χωρίς βαρβάρους.
Οι άνθρωποι αυτοί ήσαν μια κάποια λύσις.




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John Mavrogordato: The Poems of C. P. Cavafy (1951)



1. Waiting for the Barbarians

- trans. John Mavrogordato (1951)



What are we waiting for all crowded in the forum?
    The Barbarians are to arrive today.
Within the Senate-house why is there such inaction?
The Senators making no laws what are they sitting there for?
    Because the Barbarians arrive today.
    What laws now should the Senators be making?
    When the Barbarians come they'll make the laws.

Why did our Emperor get up so early in the morning?
And at the greatest city gate why is he sitting there now,
Upon his throne, officially, why is he wearing his crown?
    Because the Barbarians arrive today.
    The emperor is waiting to receive
    Their Leader. And in fact he has prepared
    To give him an address. On it he has
    written him down all sorts of names and titles.

Why have our two Consuls gone out, both of them, and the Praetors
Today with their red togas on , with their embroidered togas?
Why are they wearing bracelets, and all those amethysts too,
And all those rings on their fingers with splendid flashing emeralds?
Why should they be carrying today their precious walkingsticks,
With silver knobs and golden tops so wonderfully carved?
    Because the Barbarians will arrive today;
    Things of this sort dazzle the Barbarians.

And why are the fine orators not come here as usual
To get their speeches off, to say what they have to say?
    Because the Barbarians will be here today;
    And they are bored with eloquence and speechmaking.

Why should this uneasiness begin all of a sudden?
And confusion. How serious people's faces have become.
Why are all the streets and squares emptying so quickly,
and everybody returning home again so full of thought?
    Because night has fallen and the Barbarians have not come.
    And some people have arrived from the frontier;
    They said there are no Barbarians any more.

    And now what will become of us without Barbarians? -
    Those people were some sort of a solution.




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Rae Dalven: The Complete Poems of C. P. Cavafy (1961)



2. Expecting the Barbarians

- trans. Rae Dalven (1961)



What are we waiting for, assembled in the public square?

The barbarians are to arrive today.

Why such inaction in the Senate?
Why do the Senators sit and pass no laws?

Because the barbarians are to arrive today.
What further laws can the Senators pass?
When the barbarians come they will make the laws.

Why did our emperor wake up so early,
and sits at the principal gate of the city,
on the throne, in state, wearing his crown?

Because the barbarians are to arrive today
and the emperor waits to receive 
their chief. Indeed he has prepared
to give him a scroll. Therein he engraved
many titles and names of honor.

Why have our two consuls and the praetors come out
today in their red, embroidered togas;
Why do they wear amethyst-studded bracelets,
and rings with brilliant, glittering emeralds;
Why are they carrying costly canes today,
superbly carved with silver and gold?

Because the barbarians are to arrive today,
and such things dazzle the barbarians.

Why don’t the worthy orators come as usual
to make their speeches, to have their say?

Because the barbarians are to arrive today;
and they get bored with eloquence and orations.

Why this sudden unrest and confusion?
(How solemn their faces have become.)
Why are the streets and squares clearing quickly,
and all return to their homes, so deep in thought?

Because night is here but the barbarians have not come.
Some people arrived from the frontiers,
and they said that there are no longer any barbarians.

And now what shall become of us without any barbarians?
Those people were a kind of solution.




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Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard: C. P. Cavafy: Collected Poems (1990)



3. Waiting for the Barbarians

- trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard (1975)



What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum?

      The barbarians are due here today.


Why isn’t anything going on in the senate?
Why are the senators sitting there without legislating?

      Because the barbarians are coming today.
      What’s the point of senators making laws now?
      Once the barbarians are here, they’ll do the legislating.


Why did our emperor get up so early,
and why is he sitting enthroned at the city’s main gate,
in state, wearing the crown?

      Because the barbarians are coming today
      and the emperor’s waiting to receive their leader.
      He’s even got a scroll to give him,
      loaded with titles, with imposing names.


Why have our two consuls and praetors come out today
wearing their embroidered, their scarlet togas?
Why have they put on bracelets with so many amethysts,
rings sparkling with magnificent emeralds?
Why are they carrying elegant canes
beautifully worked in silver and gold?

      Because the barbarians are coming today
      and things like that dazzle the barbarians.


Why don’t our distinguished orators turn up as usual
to make their speeches, say what they have to say?

      Because the barbarians are coming today
      and they’re bored by rhetoric and public speaking.


Why this sudden bewilderment, this confusion?
(How serious people’s faces have become.)
Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly,
everyone going home lost in thought?

      Because night has fallen and the barbarians haven't come.
      And some of our men just in from the border say
      there are no barbarians any longer.


Now what’s going to happen to us without barbarians?
Those people were a kind of solution.




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Evangelos Sachperoglou: The Collected Poems: with Parallel Greek text (2007)



4. Waiting for the Barbarians

- trans. Evangelos Sachperoglou (2007)



– What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum?
The barbarians are to arrive today.

– Why then such inactivity in the Senate?
Why do the Senators sit back and do not legislate?

Because the barbarians will arrive today.
What sort of laws now can Senators enact?
When the barbarians come, they’ll do the legislating.

– Why is our emperor up so early,
and seated at the grandest gate of our city, upon the throne,
in state, wearing the crown?

Because the barbarians will arrive today.
And the emperor expects to receive their leader.
He has even prepared to present him
with a parchment scroll where he has
invested him with many names and titles.

– Why have our two consuls and the praetors come out
today in their purple, embroidered togas;
why did they put on bracelets studded with amethysts,
and rings with resplendent, glittering emeralds;
why are they carrying today precious staves
beautifully worked in gold and silver?

Because the barbarians will arrive today
and such things dazzle the barbarians.

– And why don’t our distinguished orators come out as usual
to give their speeches, say what they have to say?

Because the barbarians will arrive today;
and they are bored by rhetoric and public speeches.

– Why this sudden commotion, this confusion?
(How solemn people’s faces have become.)
Why are the streets and the squares emptying so quickly,
and everyone is returning home lost in thought?

Because night has fallen and the barbarians have not come.
And some of our men have arrived from the frontiers,
and say that there are no barbarians anymore.

— And now, what will become of us without barbarians?
Those people were a kind of solution.




•

Daniel Mendelsohn: C. P. Cavafy: Complete Poems (2012)



5. Waiting for the Barbarians

- trans. Daniel Mendelsohn (2009)



- What is it that we are waiting for, gathered in the square?

      The barbarians are supposed to arrive today.


- Why is there such great idleness inside the Senate house?
  Why are the Senators sitting there, without passing any laws?

      Because the barbarians will arrive today.
      Why should the Senators still be making laws?
      The barbarians, when they come, will legislate.


- Why is it that our Emperor awoke so early today,
  and has taken his position oat the greatest of the city’s gates
  seated on his throne, in solemn state, wearing the crown?

      Because the barbarians will arrive today.
      And the emperor is waiting to receive 
      their leader. Indeed he is prepared
      to present him with a parchment scroll. In it
      he's conferred on him many titles and honorifics.


- Why have our consuls and our praetors come outside today
  wearing their scarlet togas with their rich embroidery,
  Why have they donned their armlets with all their amethysts,
  and rings with their magnificent, glistening emeralds;
  Why should they be carrying such precious staves today,
  maces chased exquisitely with silver and with gold?

      Because the barbarians will arrive today;
      and things like that bedazzle the barbarians.


- Why do our worthy orators not come today as usual
 to deliver their addresses, each to say his piece?

      Because the barbarians will arrive today;
      and they’re bored by eloquence and public speaking.


- Why has this uneasiness arisen all at once,
  and this confusion? (How serious the faces have become.)
  Why is it that the streets and squares are emptying so quickly,
  and everyone's returning home in such deep contemplation?

      Because night has fallen and the barbarians haven't come.
      And some people have arrived from the borderlands,
      and said there are no barbarians anymore.


And now what’s to become of us without barbarians.
Those people were a solution of a sort.




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Björn Thegeby's Translations (2018)



6. Waiting for the Barbarians

- trans. Björn Thegeby (2018)



– What are we waiting for here in the square?

It’s the barbarians who will arrive today.

– Why is there in the Senate such torpor?
How do the Senators sit and not pass laws?

Because the barbarians will arrive today.
What laws will the Senators adopt now?
The barbarians when they come will adopt laws.

– Why does our Emperor rise this early,
and sit by the largest gate in the city
upon the throne, in splendour, wearing the crown?

Because the barbarians will arrive today.
And the Emperor is waiting to receive
their leader. He is ready
to give him a parchment. On which
he wrote many titles and honours.

– Why did our two consuls and praetors go out
today with their red, their embroidered togas;
why did they wear bracelets with so many amethysts,
and rings with sparkling, more sparkling emeralds;
Why today do they clutch precious staffs
exquisitely carved with silver and gold?

Because the barbarians will arrive today;
and such things impress the barbarians.

– Why the worthy orators do not come as before
to deliver their speeches, to say their own words?

Because the barbarians will arrive today;
and speeches and rethoric bore them.

– Why this sudden concern
and unease. (How serious the faces have become).
Why are the streets and the squares emptying fast,
and everyone goes to their homes very thoughtful?

Because night came and the barbarians did not arrive.
And some arrived from the border,
and told us barbarians no longer exist.

__

And now what will happen without barbarians.
Those people were a sort of solution.




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Evan Jones: The Barbarians Arrive Today: A Cavafy Reader (2020)



7. Waiting for the Barbarians

- trans. Evan Jones (2020)



– Why are we waiting in the agora?

     Because the barbarians arrive today.

– Why is there such uncertainty in the Senate?
Why do the Senators sit there and not legislate?

     Because the barbarians arrive today.
     What laws can our Senators enact now?
     The barbarians will legislate when they arrive.

– Why has our emperor awoken so early,
and seated himself before the city’s main gate,
on his throne, solemn, wearing his crown?

     Because the barbarians arrive today
     and the emperor wants to greet
     their leader. As is the custom, he will
     present him with a parchment.
     Many titles and names are written on it.

– Why have our two consuls and the praetors chosen
today to don their red, embroidered togas?
Why are they wearing bracelets adorned with amethyst
and rings with shiny, glistening emeralds?
Why do they carry expensive walking sticks
gilded and inlaid with silver?

     Because the barbarians arrive today,
     and such things impress barbarians.

– And why have our outspoken orators not come as always
to spout their words, to have their say?

     Because the barbarians arrive today,
     and eloquence and speeches bore them.

– Where has this anxiousness and confusion come from
all of a sudden? Look at the haunted faces.
Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly
and everyone returning to their homes so worried?

     Because night fell and the barbarians never arrived.
     Some men travelled to the border region,
     and reported that the barbarians no longer exist.

            ——

Now what will we do without the barbarians?
They were a sort of solution for us.

•

Thomas Cole: The Course of Empire: Destruction (1801)

So there we are: seven English versions of the same Greek poem, published over a period of some seventy years.

Some are definitely more wordy than others. Daniel Mendelsohn's is particularly egregious in that respect. When you have to type them out one after another, you begin to notice the redundant words and clumsy periphrases some of the translators employ. But they're all recognisably the same poem.

John Mavrogordato's version puts me in mind of W. H. Auden's 1930s ballad "O What Is That Sound:

O what is that sound which so thrills the ear
Down in the valley drumming, drumming?
Only the scarlet soldiers, dear,
The soldiers coming.

Compare that with the opening of Mavrogordato's poem:

What are we waiting for all crowded in the forum?
The Barbarians are to arrive today.
Within the Senate-house why is there such inaction?
The Senators making no laws what are they sitting there for?
Because the Barbarians arrive today.

There's the same question / response pattern within the stanzas, and Mavrogardato even runs on the syntax of some of his lines to give a similar breathless intensity: "The Senators making no laws what are they sitting there for?"

Rae Dalven's translation, by contrast, has a simple straightforwardness to it. She ignores the dashes and spacing of the original, and lays it all out as directly as possible. She's also the only one who dared to change the title, though it's hard to see "Expecting the Barbarians" as any improvement over "Waiting for the Barbarians."

The joint translation by Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard stood as the standard version for many years. They're less bold than Mavrogordato, and more literal than Rae Dalven. Their version, though a little stilted in parts, combines an accurate knowledge of the original with a sound poetic ear for English idiom. They generally provide a good yardstick to measure other versions against.

Evangelos Sachperoglou's 2007 translation, for instance, has better idiomatic phrasing in parts than any of his predecessors. But as a whole, it doesn't offer much they don't. It's certainly better than Mendelsohn's. The only reason for buying the latter, in fact, is because it includes a lot of material missing from other editions. This is important for completists, but unfortunately the poorly worded translations make his version only really useful as a crib.

And what of our last two translations, by (respectively) Björn Thegeby and Evan Jones? Thegeby's is not particularly well worded:

– What are we waiting for here in the square?

It’s the barbarians who will arrive today.

– Why is there in the Senate such torpor?
How do the Senators sit and not pass laws?

That's by far the poorest opening to any of the translations. Jones, by contrast, does a solid, workmanlike job. Some of his phrasing has the effect of undermining the tension of the situation, however:

What laws can our Senators enact now?
The barbarians will legislate when they arrive.

That's not nearly as effective as Sachperoglou's ominous: "When the barbarians come, they’ll do the legislating." But then, Mavrogordato's: "When the Barbarians come they'll make the laws" is probably even better. Dalven must have thought so. She ended up making only one small change to his line:

When the barbarians come they will make the laws.

So I guess the real question is whether or not it's really worth while making such basically similar versions of the same canonical poem? There's nothing really wrong with the later versions (though I do have certain doubts about Mendelsohn's and Thegeby's), but do they need to exist?

The rather maverick liberties of Mavrogordato's translation were softened and corrected by Dalven's blander and simpler version. Keeley and Sherrard revisited the entire question of whether a more accurate reflection of Cavafy's original could still be combined with a certain poetic grace: very successfully, in most readers' opinion.

After that, though, why not translate it into Scots? or reimagine the whole thing in some more radical way? I don't see the point of compiling such transcripts unless someone arises who has a superlative gift for accurate phrasing: "What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd," as Pope puts it.

Cribs will always have their place - which I suppose is one strong argument in favour of Mendelsohn's wordy but thorough version.

But I'm afraid that I refuse to see Cavafy as just one more dead writer with nothing important left to say. If anything, his world-weary cynicism seems more appropriate than ever in the final paroxysms of yet another bumptious imperial world order.

Doctors without Borders: Gaza Death Trap (2024)

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C. P. Cavafy (1914-1996)

Konstantinos Petrou Kavafis
[Constantine P. Cavafy]
(1863-1933)

Books I own are marked in bold:

Text:


1. Ποιήματα [Poiēmata] (1935)

Translations:


2. Poems by C. P. Cavafy. Trans. John Mavrogordato (1951)
   • Poems. Trans. John Mavrogordato. Introduction by Rex Warner. 1951. London: Chatto & Windus, 1974.
3. The Complete Poems of Cavafy. Trans. Rae Dalven. Introduction by W. H. Auden (1961)
   • The Complete Poems of Cavafy. Trans. Rae Dalven. Introduction by W. H. Auden. London: The Hogarth Press, 1961.
4. The Greek Poems of C.P. Cavafy. Trans. Memas Kolaitis. 2 vols (1989)
5. Passions and Ancient Days - 21 New Poems. Trans. Edmund Keeley & George Savidis (1972)
6. Collected Poems. Trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard. Ed. George Savidis (1975)
   • Collected Poems: Bilingual Edition. Trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard. Ed. George Savidis. London: The Hogarth Press, 1975.
   • Collected Poems. Trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard. Ed. George Savidis. 1975. London: Chatto & Windus, 1979.
7. Poems by Constantine Cavafy. Trans. George Khairallah (1979)
8. Collected Poems. Trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard. Ed. George Savidis. Rev. ed. (1992)
9. Selected Poems of C. P. Cavafy. Trans. Desmond O'Grady (1998)
10. Before Time Could Change Them: The Complete Poems of Constantine P. Cavafy. Trans. Theoharis C. Theoharis. Foreword by Gore Vidal (2001)
11. Poems by C. P. Cavafy. Trans. J. C. Cavafy (2003)
12. I've Gazed So Much. Trans. George Economou (2003)
13. The Canon. Trans. Stratis Haviaras. Foreword by Seamus Heaney (2004)
14. The Collected Poems. Trans. Evangelos Sachperoglou. Ed. Anthony Hirst. Introduction by Peter Mackridge (2007)
    • The Collected Poems. Trans. Evangelos Sachperoglou. Ed. Anthony Hirst. Introduction by Peter Mackridge. Oxford World’s Classics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
15. The Collected Poems of C. P. Cavafy: A New Translation. Trans. Aliki Barnstone. Introduction by Gerald Stern (2007)
16. Selected Poems. Trans. Avi Sharon (2008)
17. Cavafy: 166 Poems. Trans. Alan L Boegehold (2008)
18. Collected Poems. Trans. Daniel Mendelsohn (2009)
    • Collected Poems. Trans. Daniel Mendelsohn. 2009. A Borzoi Book. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2010.
19. The Unfinished Poems. Trans. Daniel Mendelsohn (2009)
    • The Unfinished Poems: The First English Translation. Based on the Greek Edition of Renata Lavagnini. Trans. Daniel Mendelsohn. A Borzoi Book. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2009.
20. Selected Prose Works. Ed. & trans. Peter Jeffreys (2010)
21. Poems: The Canon. Trans. John Chioles. Ed. Dimitrios Yatromanolakis (2011)
22. Selected Poems. Trans. David Connolly (2013)
23. Complete Poems. Trans. Daniel Mendelsohn (2013)
    • Complete Poems. Trans. Daniel Mendelsohn. 2009 & 2012. Harper Press. London: HarperCollins Publishers, 2013.
24. Clearing the Ground: C. P. Cavafy, Poetry and Prose, 1902-1911. Trans. Martin McKinsey (2015)
25. The Barbarians Arrive Today: Poems & Prose. A Cavafy Reader. Trans. Evan Jones (2020)
    Selections:
    
    
26. Lawrence Durrell. Justine (1957)
    • The Alexandria Quartet: Justine; Balthazar; Mountolive: Clea. 1957, 1958, 1958, 1960. London: Faber, 1962.
27. Six Poets of Modern Greece. Trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard (1960)
    • Six Poets of Modern Greece: Cavafy; Sikelianos; Seferis; Antoniou; Elytis; Gatsos. Trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard. London: Thames and Hudson, 1960.
28. Four Greek Poets. Trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard (1966)
    • Four Greek Poets: C. P. Cavafy / Odysseus Elytis / Nikos Gatsos / George Seferis: Selected Poems. Trans. Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard. Penguin Modern European Poets. 1966. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1970.
29. The Penguin Book of Greek Verse. Ed. Constantine A. Trypanis (1971)
    • The Penguin Book of Greek Verse: With Plain Prose Translations of Every Poem. Ed. Constantine A. Trypanis. The Penguin Poets. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1971.
30. Modern Greek Poetry. Ed. Kimon Friar (1973)
31. Memas Kolaitis. Cavafy as I knew him (1980)
32. Jack Ross. City of Strange Brunettes (1998)
    • "The God Abandons Antony." In City of Strange Brunettes. Birkenhead, Auckland, Aotearoa New Zealand: The Pohutukawa Press, 1998.
33. James Merrill. Collected Poems (2002)
    • Collected Poems. Ed. J. D. McClatchy & Stephen Yenser. 2001. New York: Alfred a. Knopf, 2002.
34. Jack Ross. The Imaginary Museum of Atlantis (2006)
    • "Ithaka." In The Imaginary Museum of Atlantis. R.E.M. Trilogy 2. ISBN 0-9582586-8-6. Auckland: Titus Books, 2006.
35. David Ferry. Bewilderment (2012)
36. Don Paterson. Landing Light (2003)
37. Derek Mahon. Adaptations (2006)
38. A. E. Stallings. Hapax (2006)
39. Don Paterson. Rain (2009)
40. John Ash. In the Wake of the Day (2010)
41. David Harsent. Night (2011)

Secondary:


42. Forster, E. M. Alexandria: A History and Guide. 1922. Ed. Michael Haag. Introduction by Lawrence Durrell. 1982. London: Michael Haag Limited, 1986.
43. Forster, E. M. Pharos and Pharillon. 1923. Berkeley: Creative Arts Books, 1980.
44. Liddell, Robert. Cavafy: A Critical Biography. 1974. Introduction by Peter Mackridge. London: Duckworth, 2000.

Robert Liddell: Cavafy: A Critical Biography (1976)

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William Roberts: The Vorticists at the Restaurant de la Tour Eiffel (1961-62)

Modern Poets in English

1. C. P. Cavafy (1863-1933)
2. Anna Akhmatova (1889-1966)
3. Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891)
4. Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)
5. Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918)
6. Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935)
7. Osip Mandelstam (1891-1938)
8. Eugenio Montale (1896-1981)
9. Federico García Lorca (1898-1938)
10. Salvatore Quasimodo (1901-1968)
11. Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)
12. Paul Celan (1920-1970)

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Euhemerism

Tim Severin: The Jason Voyage (1985)

Tim Severin. The Jason Voyage: The Quest for the Golden Fleece. Drawings by Tróndur Patursson. Photographs by John Egan, Seth Mortimer and Tom Skudra. Hutchinson. London: Century Hutchinson Ltd., 1985.

The other day I picked up a rather handsome secondhand copy of Tim Severin's book The Jason Voyage for a trifling sum. I wasn't actually planning on reading it right away, but somehow it grabbed my attention and diverted me from all the other odds and ends - biographies, short story collections, graphic novels - I'm working my way through at the moment.

I remember seeing a documentary about the making of Severin's replica twenty-oar Bronze Age galley the Argo some years ago, and it was interesting to compare that to the rather more contextual approach to the myth he takes here.

Apollonius of Rhodes: Argonautica (2014)

Apollonius of Rhodes. The Voyage of Argo. Trans. E. V. Rieu. 1959. Rev. ed. 1972. Introduction by Lawrence Norfolk. Illustrations by Daniel Egnéus. London: The Folio Society, 2014.

After a while I thought I should check on the critical response to some of Severin's more audacious claims about the original voyage of the Argonauts, and found the following review on the Goodreads site, contributed by a certain Koen Crolla (29/10/2020):

... Tim Severin spent much of the '70s and '80s and other people's money recreating some historic boat journeys; in this case, that of Jason and the Argonauts, from Iolcus (now Volos in Greece) to Colchis (now Georgia)...
The book covers everything from the construction of the replica Argo in Greece to their successful arrival in Poti, (Soviet) Georgia, and, in the epilogue, their engine-powered return, but Severin is neither a classicist nor an archaeologist, so many of the more interesting detail [sic.] are skipped over: you'll find plenty of anecdotes illustrating the boat-builder's personality, for example, but few details regarding the construction of the ship itself, and none at all regarding the archaeological basis of the design.
During the journey itself, too, Severin's thoughts on the Argonautica range far beyond what conscientious euhemerism will actually allow, with every coincidence becoming a confirmation of the definite historical fact of Jason and everything he encounters. It doesn't help that Severin's knowledge of Bronze Age Greece is rudimentary at best and tainted by Gimbutasian nonsense ... but some of the blame surely falls on two archaeologists (Vasiliki Adrimi in Greece and Othar Lordkipanidze in (Soviet) Georgia) for filling this gullible oaf's head with nonsense.
Still, things are such that even dodgy experimental archaeology often yields useful results, and if you ignore everything Severin writes about landmarks that are definitely 100% the locations mentioned in the Argonautica, there's still actual information left about the feasibility of crossing the open sea and rough currents in a crappy galley, even with doughy and/or middle-aged rowers — even if Severin is enough of a narcissist that large swathes of his account are clearly unreliable. (At least National Geographic took a lot of pictures.)
And though the write-up is kind of a lost opportunity, it's still decent entertainment; I would have liked to have been one of the crew.

Tim Severin: Rowers in the Bosphorus (1985)

How surprising that they didn't think to invite Mr. (or is it Dr?) Crolla to accompany them! His lively good humour would have left the whole crew in stitches, I'm sure - especially that little side-swipe at the "doughy and/or middle-aged rowers" Severin enlisted to help him. Not according to the photos he included of their sinewy bodies toiling at the oars - talk about "sitting well in order smite / The sounding furrows" (Tennyson, "Ulysses") ...

There were a couple of other points of interest in Koen Crolla's review, though. First of all, there was that intriguing word "euhemerism," which I must confess was new to me. Not any more, though:

Euhemerus of Sicily (fl. 4th century BCE)

Euhemerism:

is an approach to the interpretation of mythology in which mythological accounts are presumed to have originated from real historical events or personages. Euhemerism supposes that historical accounts become myths as they are exaggerated in the retelling, accumulating elaborations and alterations that reflect cultural mores. It was named after the Greek mythographer Euhemerus ... In the more recent literature of myth ... euhemerism is termed the "historical theory" of mythology.

Tim Severin: The Jason Voyage (map)

Well, there you go. You learn something new every day. That really is a perfect description of Severin's diegetic method. Nary a rock or a headland can be glimpsed without his pointing out how perfectly it matches Apollonius's description in the Argonautica: an epic poem composed in the 3rd century BCE, roughly a thousand years after the actual events of the original voyage are supposed to have taken place.

I was also intrigued by Crolla's side-reference to "Gimbutasian nonsense." Again, this was not an adjective familiar to me, but I presume it refers to Marija Gimbutas:

a Lithuanian archaeologist and anthropologist known for her research into the Neolithic and Bronze Age cultures of "Old Europe" and for her Kurgan hypothesis, which located the Proto-Indo-European homeland in the Pontic Steppe.

Marija Gimbutienė: Lithuanian postage stamp (2021)

The "Kurgan hypothesis" turns out, on investigation, to be a fairly well-regarded theory about the origins of the proto-Indo-European (or "Aryan", as they used to be called) languages in an area north of the Black Sea. What I think Crollas must be referring to, though, is her later work:

Gimbutas gained fame and notoriety in the English-speaking world with her last three English-language books: The Goddesses and Gods of Old Europe (1974); The Language of the Goddess (1989) ... and the last of the three, The Civilization of the Goddess (1991), which, based on her documented archaeological findings, presented an overview of her conclusions about Neolithic cultures across Europe: housing patterns, social structure, art, religion, and the nature of literacy.
The Goddess trilogy articulated what Gimbutas saw as the differences between the Old European system, which she considered goddess- and woman-centered (gynocentric), and the Bronze Age Indo-European patriarchal ("androcratic") culture which supplanted it. According to her interpretations, gynocentric (or matristic) societies were peaceful, honored women, and espoused economic equality. The androcratic, or male-dominated, Kurgan peoples, on the other hand, invaded Europe and imposed upon its natives the hierarchical rule of male warriors.

Aha! The penny drops. I'm certainly familiar with all the ideological battles over whether or not there ever was an ancient, peaceful woman-centred culture in Europe which was supplanted by the incursion of violent, male-dominated, warrior tribes. Once again, one point up to Crolla, though his reference to Severin as a "gullible oaf" still seems a little uncalled for.

•

Tim Severin: The Ulysses Voyage (1987)

Tim Severin. The Ulysses Voyage: Sea Search for the Odyssey. Drawings by Will Stoney. Photographs by Kevin Fleming, with Nazem Choufeh and Rick Williams. Hutchinson. London: Century Hutchinson Ltd., 1987.

It isn't really the voyage of the Argonauts that's the problem, though. It's the Odyssey.

After rowing his painstakingly constructed galley through the Aegean and across into the Black Sea to reenact the Argonautica, the second part of Severin's master-plan clicked into action. Now he would attempt to sail the same boat from Troy, on the coast of Asia Minor, to the island of Ithaka, in order to chart the much-vexed Odysseus's difficult ten-year journey home.

Here's one of the standard interpretations of this voyage:

The Route of Odysseus

And here's Tim Severin's own route from Troy all the way to the Ionian sea, as navigated (for the most part) by his own Trojan-war-era galley:

Tim Severin: The Ulysses Voyage (map 1)

And here's an overview of his blueprint for the entire voyage:

Tim Severin: The Ulysses Voyage (map 2)

Both versions agree on a side-trip to North Africa, and a long haul back from there. The difference, however, is that the earlier version has Odysseus's 12-ship flotilla blown all the way down the coast to Tunisia, whereas Severin calculates that the ships must have battened down and furled their sails and thus made landfall far further east, in Libya.

Severin therefore postulates a much shorter trip back to Greece, followed by some cruising around the island of Crete, whereas the other theory has Odysseus landing in Sicily, followed by excursions to the Balearic islands - possibly even as far as the Pillars of Hercules!

Odysseus consulting the shade of Tiresias

Which of these two routes sounds more plausible to you: the one Severin actually sailed in his own boat, or the one dreamed up by desk-bound scholars measuring distances on the map?

Here are a few of the problems I foresee arising from any attempt to answer this question:

1. It presupposes that there was once a person called Odysseus / Ulysses
2. It assumes that he took part in the Trojan War
3. And also that there was an actual, historical "Trojan war"
4. It also takes for granted that legitimate, topographically precise details of his journey home can be gleaned from the Odyssey, a poem probably written around the 8th or 7th century BCE, about a war which took place at least 4-500 years earlier, around the 12th or 13th century BCE
5. There are further assumptions built into it about the poet we refer to as "Homer", who may (or may not) have been the "author" - whatever precisely we mean by that, in a predominantly oral Bardic culture - of both the Odyssey as well as the Iliad
6. And isn't it just a little bit problematic that the one fact all accounts of Homer agree on is that he was blind? Could he really have been the keen yachtsman and ocean swimmer postulated at certain points in Severin's narrative?

Do I need to go on? Without wanting to be a spoilsport about it, I feel that we need at least a few plausible answers to the questions above before we start debating if an obscure Cretan folktale about three-eyed cannibals may have given rise to the story of the Cyclops, or whether or not the Straits of Messina are too wide to have been the abode of Scylla and Charybdis.

Robert Graves: Homer's Daughter (1955)

Such speculations can be a lot of fun, mind you. I'm a big fan of Robert Graves' historical novels, one of which resuscitates Samuel Butler's hypothesis - from The Authoress of the Odyssey (1897) - that the real maker of the Odyssey was a Sicilian woman, who employed well-known landmarks from her own island for most of its more famous incidents.

Graves has her casting herself as Nausicaä, while her hometown is forced to play double duty as both Phaeacia and Ithaka. The whole concludes with a massacre, just like the Odyssey itself.

Robert Graves: The Golden Fleece (1944)

And then there's his earlier novel The Golden Fleece [retitled "Hercules, My Shipmate" for the US market], which turns the whole quest into a "Gimbutasian" struggle between Goddess worshippers and savage Apollonian invaders.

Or, as one of the more positive commentators on Goodreads puts it:

The Golden Fleece is an encyclopedic novel of all things Greek and pre-Greek. Graves incorporates or refers to many myths and legends, from the cosmogony through the trade war between Troy and Greece and the Twelve Labors of Hercules. And from various cultures, including Pelasgian, Cretan, Thracian, Colchian, Taurean, Albanian, Amazonian, Troglodyte, and of course Greek, he works into his novel many interesting customs, about fertility orgies, weddings, births, funerals, and ghosts; prayers, sacrifices, omens, dreams, and mystery cults; boar hunting, barley growing, trading, and ship building, sailing, and rowing; feasting, singing, dancing, story telling, and clothes wearing; boxing, murdering, warring, and treaty negotiating; and more. It all feels vivid, authentic, and strange.

In other words, there's no harm at all in reimagining and reinterpreting these old myths, as long as it's in the interests of sharpening our responses to the stories themselves - as well as the consummate works of literary art in which they've been preserved.

However, it's important to bear in mind that Apollonius of Rhodes was a scholar and librarian at the Library of Alexandria when he composed the Argonautica. Homer was - well, nobody really knows, but probably a Bard and performer of his own poems, in a possibly pre-literate culture. They were, in other words, completely different poets, from widely separate eras of Ancient Greek culture, who lived 500 years apart.

Sir Thomas Malory: Le Morte d'Arthur (1485)

Try transposing these dates onto Le Morte d'Arthur, Malory's version of the Arthurian legends, published by William Caxton as one of the first printed books in English. The five and a half centuries between Malory and us should give you some idea of the actual distance in time between Homer and Apollonius.

If you extend the metaphor, and go back 1,000 years from Malory, you'll find yourself in the approximate era of the real King Arthur (if there ever was such a person). That gives you some idea of the gap between Apollonius and his own heroes, Jason's Argonauts.

Homer, by contrast, lived only 500-odd years later than his subject-matter, the siege of Troy (and its myriad dire consequences). Malory certainly could (and has been) used as a kind of guidebook to Arthurian Britain, but the more precise and "euhemeristic" these educed details become, the more absurd the whole project seems.

Geoffrey Ashe: The Traveller's Guide to Arthurian Britain (1997)

It'd be lovely to go back in a time machine and check out the facts for ourselves - though it might be a bit difficult to square the border region referred to in Hittite records as Taruisa (Troy?) or Wilusa (Greek "Wilios" or "Ilios") with the Troy of our imaginations.

Enterprises such as Severin's are certainly not futile. There is, however, little doubt that he tends to take an ahistorical, over-literal approach to both the textual and topographical details of the folktales that inspired his journeys. Whether or not this assists us in interpreting these myths, and the poems that embody them, is more debatable.

•

Konstantinos Petrou Kavafis [C. P. Cavafy] (1863-1933)

An alternative approach can be found in the work of the modern Greek poet C. P. Cavafy, who set out instead to remind us of the deep metaphorical significance of these legends for all of us - but particularly those who still inhabit those ancient lands today. Here's his great poem "Ithaka" (along with my own attempt at a version for contemporary travellers):

C. P. Cavafy: Ithaka (1911)

Ithaka


Before you set out for Ithaka
pray for a long itinerary
full of protracted stopovers.
Customs officials, Interpol,
the zombie Police Chief – not a problem:
as long as you keep your shit together,
staple a smile to your fat face,
they won’t be able to finger you.
Customs officials, Interpol,
the paparazzi, will look right through you
– unless you invite them up for a drink,
unless they’re already inside your head.

Pray for a long itinerary:
landing for the umpteenth time
on the tarmac of a third-world airport
at fiery psychedelic dawn;
haggling in the duty-frees
for coral necklaces and pearls,
designer scents & silks & shades,
as many marques as you can handle; 
visiting every provincial town,
sampling every drug & kick …

Never forget about Ithaka:
getting there is your destiny;
no need to rush – it’ll still be waiting
no matter how many years you take.
By the time you touch down you’ll be bone-tired,
happy with what you snapped in transit,
just a few daytrips left to do.
Ithaka shouted you the trip,
you’d never have travelled without her.
She’s got fuck-all to show you now.

Dirt-poor, dingy … she’s up front.
It’s over now; you’ve seen so much
there’s no need to tell you what Ithaka means.


(30/8-12/10/04)

Korina Cassianou: Odysseus of Ithaka (2011)

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