#c p cavafy

[celluloidrainbow]

ΚΑΒΆΦΗΣ | KAVAFIS (1996) dir. Yannis Smaragdis Alexandria, Kingdom of Egypt, 1933. Intent on publishing a study on the life and work of a prominent intellectual, a young biographer visits bedridden Konstantinos Kavafis: a Greek poet, journalist, and civil servant from Alexandria. On his 70th birthday, the gravely ill thinker skims through his biography to give his approval, and as he takes a trip down memory lane, little by little, Kavafis relives the pivotal events that shaped his life. (link in title)

[cmacaulays]

c.p. cavafy, the first step

[typo1]

In the Same Space

BY C. P. CAVAFY

The setting of houses, cafés, the neighborhood

that I’ve seen and walked through years on end:

I created you while I was happy, while I was sad,

with so many incidents, so many details.

And, for me, the whole of you has been transformed into feeling.

[derangedrhythms]

It was a thing of my love, that blood.

C. P. Cavafy, Collected Poems; from ‘The Bandaged Shoulder’, tr. Edmund Keeley

[desimonewayland]

David Hockney

Twelve etchings were made to illustrate a series of erotic poems by the Greek-Egyptian writer C. P. Cavafy. Hockney greatly admired Cavafy’s ability to write openly and unapologetically about gay relationships. Many of Hockney’s illustrations are based on intimate sketches of his friends. Others were drawn from photographs. The backgrounds are based on a trip Hockney took to Beirut, Lebanon in 1966. He felt that Beirut’s cosmopolitan atmosphere made it the contemporary equivalent of Cavafy’s native Alexandria, Egypt.

Sotheby’s

[psikonauti]

David Hockney (British, b. 1937)

Portrait of Cavafy in Alexandria, 1966

Etching and aquatint on paper

[quotesengage]

As much as you can

And if you can’t shape your life the way you want,

at least try as much as you can

not to degrade it

by too much contact with the world,

by too much activity and talk.

Try not to degrade it by dragging it along,

taking it around and exposing it so often

to the daily silliness

of social events and parties,

until it comes to seem a boring hanger-on.

C. P. Cavafy

[insilverrolled]

The City

By C.P. Cavafy; Translated by Edmund Keeley [x]

You said: “I’ll go to another country, go to another shore, find another city better than this one. Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong and my heart lies buried like something dead. How long can I let my mind moulder in this place? Wherever I turn, wherever I look, I see the black ruins of my life, here, where I’ve spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally.”

You won’t find a new country, won’t find another shore. This city will always pursue you. You’ll walk the same streets, grow old in the same neighborhoods, turn gray in these same houses. You’ll always end up in this city. Don’t hope for things elsewhere: there’s no ship for you, there’s no road. Now that you’ve wasted your life here, in this small corner, you’ve destroyed it everywhere in the world.

[bakaity-poetry]

[poems-from-around-the-world]

As Much As You Can - C.P. Cavafy - Greece

Translator: Edmund Keeley, Philip Sherrard (Greek)

And if you can’t shape your life the way you want, at least try as much as you can not to degrade it by too much contact with the world, by too much activity and talk.

Try not to degrade it by dragging it along, taking it around and exposing it so often to the daily silliness of social events and parties, until it comes to seem a boring hanger-on.

[cherry-brewed-tea]

greek poet arrested for inflicting severe psychological pain on sad lonely teenagers

Μακρυά

Θά ‘θελα αυτήν την μνήμη να την πω... Μα έτσι εσβύσθη πια... σαν τίποτε δεν απομένει – γιατί μακρυά, στα πρώτα εφηβικά μου χρόνια κείται.

Δέρμα σαν καμωμένο από ιασεμί... Εκείνη του Αυγούστου – Αύγουστος ήταν; – η βραδιά... Μόλις θυμούμαι πια τα μάτια∙ ήσαν, θαρρώ, μαβιά... Α ναί, μαβιά∙ ένα σαπφείρινο μαβί.

[sumpix]

Ithaka

By C. P. Cavafy. Translated By Edmund Keeley

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.

[gwydionmisha]

In Despair - C. P. Cavafy

He lost him completely. And he now tries to find his lips in the lips of each new lover, he tries in the union with each new lover to convince himself that it’s the same young man, that it’s to him he gives himself. He lost him completely, as though he never existed. He wanted, his lover said, to save himself from the tainted, unhealthy form of sexual pleasure, the tainted, shameful form of sexual pleasure. There was still time, he said, to save himself. He lost him completely, as though he never existed. Through fantasy, through hallucination, he tries to find his lips in the lips of other young men, he longs to feel his kind of love once more.  

[engkanto-chanticleer]

The city where you grow up will always find you. The home that shapes you follows you wherever you are.

[derangedrhythms]

C. P. Cavafy, Collected Poems; ‘The Bandaged Shoulder’, tr. Edmund Keeley

[lamiantoine]

Ithaca

When you start on your way to Ithaca, pray that the journey be long, rich in adventure, rich in discovery. Do not fear the Cyclops, the Laestrygonians or the anger of Poseidon. You’ll not encounter them on your way if your thoughts remain high, if a rare emotion possesses you body and soul. You will not encounter the Cyclops, the Laestrygonians or savage Poseidon if you do not carry them in your own soul, if your soul does not set them before you. Pray that the journey be a long one, that there be countless summer mornings when, with what pleasure, what joy you drift into harbours never before seen; that you make port in Phoenician markets and purchase their lovely goods: coral and mother of pearl, ebony and amber, and every kind of delightful perfume. Acquire all the voluptuous perfumes that you can, then sail to Egypt’s many towns to learn and learn from their scholars. Always keep Ithaca fixed in your mind. Arrival there is your destination. Yet do not hurry the journey at all: better that it lasts for many years and you arrive an old man on the island, rich from all that you have gained on the way, not counting on Ithaca for riches. For Ithaca gave you the splendid voyage: without her you would never have embarked. She has nothing more to give you now. And though you find her poor, she has not misled you; you having grown so wise, so experienced from your travels, by then you will have learned what Ithacas mean. C. P. CAVAFY The Selected Poems of Cavafy. Penguin Classics, 2008. Translated from the Greek by Avi Sharon.