Constantine P Cavafy

In the prologue to her Alexiad, Anna Comnena laments her widowhood. Her soul is dizzy. “And with rivers Of tears,” she tells us “I wet My eyes… Alas for the waves” in her life,

Just because we’ve torn their statues down, And cast them from their temples, Doesn’t for a moment mean the gods are dead. Land of Ionia, they love you yet, Their spirits still remember you.

Our efforts are those of the unfortunate; Our efforts are like those of the Trojans. Somewhat we succeed; somewhat We regain confidence; and we start To have courage and high hopes. But something always

He’s an old man. Used up and bent, Crippled by time and indulgence, He slowly walks along the narrow street. But when he goes inside his house to hide The shambles of his old

In these darkened rooms, where I spend Oppresive days, I pace to and fro To find the windows. When a window Opens, it will be a consolation. But the windows cannot be found, or

Valiant are you who fought and fell gloriously; Fearless of those who were everywhere victorious. Blameless, even if Diaeos and Critolaos were at fault. When the Greeks want to boast, “Our nation turns out

At the back of the noisy café Bent over a table sits an old man; A newspaper in front of him, without company. And in the scorn of his miserable old age He ponders

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

Even if you cannot shape your life as you want it, At least try this As much as you can; do not debase it In excessive contact with the world, In the excessive movements

From all I’ve done and all I’ve said Let them not seek to find who I’ve been. An obstacle stood and transformed My acts and way of my life. An obstacle stood and stopped

Apollonius was talking about Proper education and conduct with a young Man who was building a luxurious House in Rhodes. “As for me” said the Tyanian At last, “when I enter a temple However

A young man, twenty eight years old, on a vessel from Tenos, Emes arrived at this Syrian harbor With the intention of learning the perfume trade. But during the voyage he was taken ill.

They had not seen, for ages, such beautiful gifts in Delphi As these that had been sent by the two brothers, The rival Ptolemaic kings. After they had received them However, the priests were

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

Kimos, son of Menedoros, a young Greek-Italian, Devotes his life to amusing himself, Like most young men in Greater Greece Brought up in the lap of luxury. But today, in spite of his nature,

The days of our future stand in front of us Like a row of little lit candles Golden, warm, and lively little candles. The days past remain behind us, A mournful line of extinguished

Let them not seek to discover who I was From all that I have done and said. An obstacle was there that transformed The deeds and the manner of my life. An obstacle was

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

When one of them passed through the market place Of Seleucia, toward the hour that night falls As a tall and perfectly handsome youth, With the joy of immortality in his eyes, With his

So much I gazed on beauty, That my vision is replete with it. Contours of the body. Red lips. Voluptuous limbs. Hair as if taken from greek statues; Always beautiful, even when uncombed, And

My dear old father, Who always loved me the same; My dear old father I lament Who died the day before yesterday, just before dawn. Jesus Christ, it is my daily effort To observe

He wrapped them carefully, neatly In costly green silk. Roses of ruby, lilies of pearl, Violets of amethyst. As he himself judged, As he wanted them, they look beautiful to him; not as he

Nero was not worried when he heard The prophecy of the Delphic Oracle. “Let him fear the seventy three years.” He still had ample time to enjoy himself. He is thirty. More than sufficient

The sea took a sailor to its depths. His mother, unsuspecting, goes and lights A tall candle before the Virgin Mary For his speedy return and for fine weather And always she turns her

The Poseidonians forgot the Greek language After so many centuries of mingling With Tyrrhenians, Latins, and other foreigners. The only thing surviving from their ancestors Was a Greek festival, with beautiful rites, With lyres

Amid fear and suspicions, With agitated mind and frightened eyes, We melt and plan how to act To avoid the certain Danger that so horribly threatens us. And yet we err, this was not

I did not restrain myself. I let go entirely and went. To the pleasures that were half real And half wheeling in my brain, I went into the lit night. And I drank of

With words, with countenance, and with manners I shall build an excellent panoply; And in this way I shall face evil men Without having any fear or weakness. They will want to harm me.

Let me stop here. Let me, too, look at nature awhile. The brilliant blue of the morning sea, of the cloudless sky, The yellow shore; all lovely, All bathed in light. Let me stand

The years of my youth, my sensual life How clearly I see their meaning now. What needless repentances, how futile…. But I did not understand the meaning then. In the dissolute life of my

I have almost been reduced to a homeless pauper. This fatal city, Antioch, Has consumed all my money; This fatal city with its expensive life. But I am young and in excellent health. My

The Alexandrians were gathered To see Cleopatra’s children, Caesarion, and his little brothers, Alexander and Ptolemy, whom for the first Time they lead out to the Gymnasium, There to proclaim kings, In front of