#constantine kavafis

[wehuzunngeldi]

başka diyarlara, başka denizlere giderim, dedin.

bundan daha iyi bir kent vardır bir yerde nasıl olsa.

sanki bir hükümle yazgılanmış bir çabam;

ve yüreğim sanki bir ceset gibi gömülmüş oraya.

daha ne kadar çürüyüp yıkılacak böyle aklım?

nereye çevirsem gözlerimi, nereye baksam burada

gördüğüm kara yıkıntılarıdır hayatımın yalnızca

yıllar yılı yıktığım ve heder ettiğim hayatımın.

[liesmyth]

One monotonous day is followed by another monotonous, identical day. The same things will happen, they will happen again — the same moments find us and leave us. A month passes and ushers in another month. One guesses the coming events easily they are the boring ones of yesterday. And the morrow ends up not resembling a morrow anymore.

Constantine P. Cavafy, Monotony

[yorgunherakles]

bir gemi yok, bir yol yok sana

kavafis

[manwalksintobar]

Returning from Greece

Well, we’re nearly there, Hermippos. Day after tomorrow, it seems—that’s what the captain said. At least we’re sailing our seas, the waters of Cyprus, Syria, and Egypt, the beloved waters of our home countries. Why so silent? Ask your heart: didn’t you too feel happier the farther we got from Greece? What’s the point of fooling ourselves? That would hardly be properly Greek. It’s time we admitted the truth: we are Greeks also—what else are we?— but with Asiatic affections and feelings, affections and feelings sometimes alien to Hellenism. It isn’t right, Hermippos, for us philosophers to be like some of our petty kings (remember how we laughed at them when they used to come to our lectures?) who through their showy Hellenified exteriors, Macedonian exteriors (naturally), let a bit of Arabia peep out now and then, a bit of Media they can’t keep back. And to what laughable lengths the fools went trying to cover it up! No, that’s not at all right for us. For Greeks like us that kind of pettiness won’t do. We must not be ashamed of the Syrian and Egyptian blood in our veins; we should really honor it, take pride in it.

(Translated from the Greek by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard)

[eucanthos]

Alexandria, 4 Kavafi street (once poet's residence), Egypt

Constantine P. Cavafy (Alexandria, April 29, 1863 - 1933, Alexandria)

Κωνσταντίνος Καβάφης

Ἡ Πόλις

Καινούριους τόπους δεν θα βρεις, δεν θάβρεις άλλες θάλασσες. Η πόλις θα σε ακολουθεί. Στους δρόμους θα γυρνάς τους ίδιους. Και στες γειτονιές τες ίδιες θα γερνάς, και μες στα ίδια σπίτια αυτά θ’ασπρίζεις. Πάντα στην πόλι αυτή θα φθάνεις.

The City is a well known Greek philosophical poem by Constantine Cavafy. Written August 1894, originally entitled “Once More in the Same City,” it was published April 1910.

In this poem, Alexandria is the symbol of the past that follows the protagonist everywhere. It is presented as the sign of failures, troubles and mistakes that people experience in their lives, brought upon themselves or not.

https://www.lifo.gr/tropos-zois/travel/i-alexandreia-toy-mythoy-kai-pera-apo-ayton

[poemasnorecatosegredo]

https://poemasnorecantosegredo.blogspot.com/p/grises-constantine-kavafis-1863-1933.html https://www.instagram.com/p/Co10xQytjZy/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[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)

[stellawasastar]

[folklorepoetsdepartment]

happy pride

[leitoracomcompanhia]

Pessoas de Alexandria: Marco Antonio

“Justine” termina com as palavras de Konstantinos Kavafis (ou Konstandinos Kavafis ou Constantin Cavafy ou C. P. Cavafy); na fotografia vemos Marlon Brando como Marco António. Brando fica sempre bem. O deus abandona Marco António Quando subitamente se ouve à meia-noite um cortejo que invisível passa com sublimes músicas e cânticos - a tua fortuna que desiste, as tuas obras que falharam, os planos de uma vida inteira tornados nada -, não vale chorar. Como aquele de há muito preparado, corajosamente diz-lhe adeus, à Alexandria que de ti se afasta. Acima de tudo não te iludas, nunca digas que foi apenas sonho, um engano, quanto ouviste: não te agarres a tão vãs esperanças. Como aquele de há muito preparado, corajosamente, e como é próprio de quem, como tu, era digno de uma tal cidade, aproxima-te firme da janela, e escuta emocionado, mas não com lamentos e súplicas cobardes, escuta, derradeira alegria tua, os sons que passam, os sublimes instrumentos do cortejo místico, e diz adeus, adeus à Alexandria que perdeste.

[lavandin]

Waiting for the Barbarians

What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum?            The barbarians are due here today. Why isn’t anything happening in the senate? Why do the senators sit there without legislating?            Because the barbarians are coming today.            What laws can the senators make now?            Once the barbarians are here, they’ll do the legislating. Why did our emperor get up so early, and why is he sitting at the city’s main gate on his throne, in state, wearing the crown?            Because the barbarians are coming today            and the emperor is waiting to receive their leader.            He has even prepared a scroll to give him,            replete 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, and 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 come forward 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 restlessness, this confusion? (How serious people’s faces have become.) Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly, everyone going home so lost in thought?            Because night has fallen and the barbarians have not come.            And some who have just returned from the border say            there are no barbarians any longer. And now, what’s going to happen to us without barbarians? They were, those people, a kind of solution. 

Κωνσταντίνος Π. Καβάφης / Constantine Peter Cavafy, 1898, first published in 1904

Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard.

[anotherconservator]

As you set out for Ithaka

hope the voyage is a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery.

Constantine P. Cavafy

[yorgunherakles]

her şey alt üst olduğunda hatırla... ( bozgun ) öleceksin.

t.s elliot - çorak ülke

[tesia-a-138]

Et autant que tu peux te souvenir de mon amour...dormez autant que vous pouvez...ce soir.

Constantine Kavafis

Ph Alina Valivova

[lewistanmexico]

“I contemplated the beauty so much that my sight belongs to it”. -Constantin Kavafis ✨

Lewis is a divine being who shines through his beautiful inner light. 🤩😍❤️

[epestrefe]

Κωνσταντίνος Καβάφης/Constantine Kavafis – Απ’ τες εννιά/Since Nine O’Clock

Απ’ τες εννιά

Δώδεκα και μισή. Γρήγορα πέρασεν η ώρα απ’ τες εννιά που άναψα την λάμπα, και κάθησα εδώ. Καθόμουν χωρίς να διαβάζω, και χωρίς να μιλώ. Με ποιόνα να μιλήσω κατάμονος μέσα στο σπίτι αυτό.

Το είδωλον του νέου σώματός μου, απ’ τες εννιά που άναψα την λάμπα, ήλθε και με ηύρε και με θύμησε κλειστές κάμαρες αρωματισμένες, και περασμένην ηδονή – τι τολμηρή ηδονή! Κ’ επίσης μ’ έφερε στα μάτια εμπρός, δρόμους που τώρα έγιναν αγνώριστοι, κέντρα γεμάτα κίνησι που τέλεψαν, και θέατρα και καφενεία που ήσαν μια φορά.

Το είδωλον του νέου σώματός μου ήλθε και μ’ έφερε και τα λυπητερά· πένθη της οικογένειας, χωρισμοί, αισθήματα δικών μου, αισθήματα των πεθαμένων τόσο λίγο εκτιμηθέντα.

Δώδεκα και μισή. ��ως πέρασεν η ώρα. Δώδεκα και μισή. Πως πέρασαν τα χρόνια.

Since Nine O’Clock

Half past midnight. The time passed quickly since nine when I lit the lamp, and sat here. Sitting without reading, and without speaking. With whom would I speak utterly alone in this house.

The image of my youthful body, since nine when I lit the lamp, came and found me, reminded me of shuttered fragrant rooms, and past pleasures – what bold pleasures! And it also brought to my eyes, avenues that now have become unrecognizable, centres full of traffic now gone, and theatres and cafes that once were.

The image of my youthful body came and brought me sadness; Grieving in the family, separation, my own feelings, feelings for the ones lost, so little esteemed.

Half past midnight. How the time passed. Half past midnight. How the years passed.