Although i posted a number of Cavafy poems in the old poetry thread, it seems to be dead now, and perhaps it is not superfluous to amass some of them in this post.
Cavafy is my favourite poet, he was a Greek living in Alexandria in the beginning of the 20th century. His poetry largely consists of symbolic verses that clothe themselves with ancient and Byzantine Greek history, while he attempts to describe his own passions and thoughts through them.
So, here are a few of his poems. First off this is my own translation of the poem "The pawn"
The pawn
Often, as i watch others playing chess
my eye is following a pawn
which slowly finds its way
and reaches the final line.
With such willingness it goes to the end
that you would think that naturally here shall begin
its joys and its rewards.
Many unpleasantness does it find on the road.
Blades crookedly are being thrown at it by walkers-by
the castles hit it with their wide
lines' inside their two squares
fast riders seek with malice to make it stranded'
and now and then with a diagonal threat
in its path some pawn is found
from the camp of the enemy sent.
But it escapes from all the dangers
and it reaches the final line
How thiumphantly does it there reach,
to the horrible line the last
how willingly does it touch its death!
Because here the pawn shall die
and all of its worries were merely for this.
For the Queen, which shall save us
to ressurect her from the grave
it came to fall to the chessboard's Hades.
Another poem i like a lot is the one titled "Candles":
Candles
Days to come stand in front of us
like a row of lighted candles—
golden, warm, and vivid candles.
Days gone by fall behind us,
a gloomy line of snuffed-out candles;
the nearest are smoking still,
cold, melted, and bent.
I don’t want to look at them: their shape saddens me,
and it saddens me to remember their original light.
I look ahead at my lighted candles.
I don’t want to turn for fear of seeing, terrified,
how quickly that dark line gets longer,
how quickly the snuffed-out candles proliferate.
Lastly, for now, here is the poem "The Poseidonians":
Poseidonians
([We behave like] the Poseidonians in the
Tyrrhenian Gulf, who although of Greek
origin, became barbarized as Tyrrhenians
or Romans and changed their speech and
the customs of their ancestors. But they
observe one Greek festival even to this
day; during this they gather together and
call up from memory their ancient names
and customs, and then, lamenting loudly
to each other and weeping, they go away.
Athenaios, Deipnosophistai, Book 14, 31A (632) )
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 and flutes, contests and wreaths.
And it was their habit toward the festival’s end
to tell each other about their ancient customs
and once again to speak Greek names
that only a few of them still recognized.
And so their festival always had a melancholy ending
because they remembered that they too were Greeks,
they too once upon a time were citizens of Magna Graecia;
and how low they’d fallen now, what they’d become,
living and speaking like barbarians,
cut off so disastrously from the Greek way of life.
Cavafy is my favourite poet, he was a Greek living in Alexandria in the beginning of the 20th century. His poetry largely consists of symbolic verses that clothe themselves with ancient and Byzantine Greek history, while he attempts to describe his own passions and thoughts through them.
So, here are a few of his poems. First off this is my own translation of the poem "The pawn"
The pawn
Often, as i watch others playing chess
my eye is following a pawn
which slowly finds its way
and reaches the final line.
With such willingness it goes to the end
that you would think that naturally here shall begin
its joys and its rewards.
Many unpleasantness does it find on the road.
Blades crookedly are being thrown at it by walkers-by
the castles hit it with their wide
lines' inside their two squares
fast riders seek with malice to make it stranded'
and now and then with a diagonal threat
in its path some pawn is found
from the camp of the enemy sent.
But it escapes from all the dangers
and it reaches the final line
How thiumphantly does it there reach,
to the horrible line the last
how willingly does it touch its death!
Because here the pawn shall die
and all of its worries were merely for this.
For the Queen, which shall save us
to ressurect her from the grave
it came to fall to the chessboard's Hades.
Another poem i like a lot is the one titled "Candles":
Candles
Days to come stand in front of us
like a row of lighted candles—
golden, warm, and vivid candles.
Days gone by fall behind us,
a gloomy line of snuffed-out candles;
the nearest are smoking still,
cold, melted, and bent.
I don’t want to look at them: their shape saddens me,
and it saddens me to remember their original light.
I look ahead at my lighted candles.
I don’t want to turn for fear of seeing, terrified,
how quickly that dark line gets longer,
how quickly the snuffed-out candles proliferate.
Lastly, for now, here is the poem "The Poseidonians":
Poseidonians
([We behave like] the Poseidonians in the
Tyrrhenian Gulf, who although of Greek
origin, became barbarized as Tyrrhenians
or Romans and changed their speech and
the customs of their ancestors. But they
observe one Greek festival even to this
day; during this they gather together and
call up from memory their ancient names
and customs, and then, lamenting loudly
to each other and weeping, they go away.
Athenaios, Deipnosophistai, Book 14, 31A (632) )
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 and flutes, contests and wreaths.
And it was their habit toward the festival’s end
to tell each other about their ancient customs
and once again to speak Greek names
that only a few of them still recognized.
And so their festival always had a melancholy ending
because they remembered that they too were Greeks,
they too once upon a time were citizens of Magna Graecia;
and how low they’d fallen now, what they’d become,
living and speaking like barbarians,
cut off so disastrously from the Greek way of life.
