C. P. Cavafy: Collected Poems - Bilingual Edition 9781400833658, 9780691141244

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C.P.CAVAFY COLLECTED POEMS BILINGUAL EDITION

THE LOCKERT LIBRARY OF POETRY IN TRANSLATION

Editorial Advisor: Richard Howard For other titles in the Lockert Library, seep. 465

C.P.CAVAFY COLLECTED POEMS BILINGUAL EDITION

Translated by

Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard Edited by

George Savidis With a new foreword by

Robert Pinsky

PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS Princeton and Oxford

Bilingual Edition copyright© 2009 by Princeton University Press Foreword by Robert Pinsky copyright© 2009 by Princeton University Press English translations copyright© 1975, 1992,2009 by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard Greek text of the "Unpublished Poems"© 1963, 1968 Kyveli Singopoulou The Bilingual Edition is based in part on two previous editions of Cavafy's poetry: C. P. Cavafy: Collected Poems (1975) and C. P. Cavafy: Collected Poems, Revised Edition (1992), both by Princeton University Press Published by Princeton University Press, 41 William Street, Princeton, New Jersey 08540 In the United Kingdom: Princeton University Press, 6 Oxford Street, Woodstock, Oxfordshire OX20 1TW All Rights Reserved Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to Permissions, Princeton University Press Library of Congress Control Number 2009925559 ISBN: 978-0-691-14124-4 The Lockert Library of Poetry in Translation is supported by a bequest from Charles Lacy Lockert (1888-1974) This book has been composed in Times Roman Printed on acid-free paper. press.princeton.edu

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

oo

In memory of our friend

George Seferis who also loved Cavafy's poems

CONTENTS

Foreword to the Bilingual Edition Translators' Note to the 1992 Revised Edition

XV

xxiii

"PUBLISHED POEMS" Before 1911 WALLS (1896)

3

AN OLD MAN (1897)

5

THE HORSES OF ACHILLES (1897)

7

PRAYER (1898)

9

THE FUNERAL OF SARPEDON (1898)

11

CANDLES (1899)

15

THE FIRST STEP (1899)

17

THE SOULS OF OLD MEN (1901)

19

CHE FECE ... IL GRAN RIFIUTO (1901)

21

INTERRUPTION (1901)

23

THE WINDOWS (1903)

25

THERMOPYLAE (1903)

27

UNFAITHFULNESS (1904)

29

WAITING FOR THE BARBARIANS (1904)

31

VOICES (1904)

35 37

LONGINGS (1904) TROJANS (1905)

39

KING DIMITRIOS (1906)

41

THE RETINUE OF DIONYSOS (1907)

43

MONOTONY (1908)

45

THE FOOTSTEPS (1909)

47

THAT'S THE MAN (1909)

49

THE CITY (1910)

51

THE SATRAPY (1910)

53

vm

1911 THE IDES OF MARCH THINGS ENDED SCULPTOR OF TYANA THE GOD ABANDONS ANTONY IONIC THE GLORY OF THE PTOLEMIES ITHAKA DANGEROUS THOUGHTS

55 57 59 61 63 65 67 71

1912

HERODIS ATTIKOS

73 75

ALEXANDRIAN KINGS

77

COME BACK

79 81

PHILHELLENE

IN CHURCH

1913 VERY SELDOM AS MUCH AS YOU CAN FOR THE SHOP I WENT

83 85 87 89

1914 TOMB OF THE GRAMMARIAN LYSIAS TOMB OF EVRION CHANDELIER LONG AGO

91 93 95 97

ix

1915 BUT THE WISE PERCEIVE THINGS ABOUT TO HAPPEN

99

THEODOTOS

101

AT THE CAFE DOOR

103

HE SWEARS ONE NIGHT

105 107

MORNING SEA

109

PICTURED

111 113 117 119 121

OROPHERNIS THE BATTLE OF MAGNESIA MANUEL KOMNINOS THE DISPLEASURE OF SELEFKIDIS

1916 WHEN THEY COME ALIVE IN THE STREET BEFORE THE STATUE OF ENDYMION

123 125 127

1917 IN A TOWN OF OSROINI PASSING THROUGH

129 131

FOR AMMONIS, WHO DIED AT 29, IN 610

133

ONE OF THEIR GODS

135

IN THE EVENING

137

TO SENSUAL PLEASURE

139

GRAY

141 143 145 147

TOMB OF IASIS IN THE MONTH OF ATHYR I'VE LOOKED SO MUCH ....

X

TOMB OF IGNATIOS DAYS OF 1903 THE WINDOW OF THE TOBACCO SHOP

149 151 153

1918

SINCE NINE O'CLOCK

155 157 159 161 163 165 167 171 173 175

OUTSIDE THE HOUSE

177

THE NEXT TABLE

179

KAISARION BODY, REMEMBER .... TOMB OF LANIS UNDERSTANDING NERO'S DEADLINE ENVOYS FROM ALEXANDRIA ARISTOVOULOS IN THE HARBOR-TOWN AIMILIANOS MONAI, ALEXANDRIAN, A.D. 628-655

1919 THE AFTERNOON SUN COMES TO REST OF THE JEWS (A.D. 50) IMENOS ON BOARD SHIP OF DIMITRIOS SOTIR (162-150 B.C.)

181 183 185 187 189 191

1920 IF ACTUALLY DEAD YOUNG MEN OF SIDON (A.D. 400) TO CALL UP THE SHADES

195 197 199

Xl

DAREIOS ANNA KOMNINA

201 205

1921

THEIR BEGINNING

207 209

THE FAVOR OF ALEXANDER VALAS

211

A BYZANTINE NOBLEMAN IN EXILE COMPOSING VERSES

MELANCHOLY OF JASON KLEANDER, POET IN KOMMAGINI, A.D. 595 DIMARATOS I'VE BROUGHT TO ART FROM THE SCHOOL OF THE RENOWNED PHILOSOPHER CRAFTSMAN OF WINE BOWLS

213

215 219 221 225

1922 THOSE WHO FOUGHT FOR THE ACHAIAN LEAGUE TO ANTIOCH OS EPIPHANIS IN AN OLD BOOK

227 229 231

1923 IN DESPAIR JULIAN SEEING CONTEMPT EPITAPH OF ANTIOCHOS, KING OF KOMMAGINI THEATRE OF SIDON (A.D. 400)

233 235 237 239

1924 JULIAN IN NICOMEDIA BEFORE TIME ALTERED THEM HE HAD COME THERE TO READ IN ALEXANDRIA, 31 B.C. JOHN KANTAKUZINOS TRIUMPHS

241 243 245 247 249

xii

1925 TEMETHOS, ANTIOCHIAN, A.D. 400 OF COLORED GLASS THE TWENTY-FIFTH YEAR OF HIS LIFE ON AN ITALIAN SHORE IN THE BORING VILLAGE APOLLONIOS OF TYANA IN RHODES

251 253 255 257 259 261

1926

IN THE TAVERNAS

263 265 267 269

A GREAT PROCESSION OF PRIESTS AND LAYMEN

271

SOPHIST LEAVING SYRIA

273 275

KLEITOS' ILLNESS IN A TOWNSHIP OF ASIA MINOR PRIEST AT THE SERAPEION

JULIAN AND THE ANTIOCHIANS

1927 ANNA DALASSINI

277

DAYS OF 1896

279 281 283 285

TWO YOUNG MEN, 23 TO 24 YEARS OLD GREEK FROM ANCIENT TIMES DAYS OF 1901

1928 YOU DIDN'T UNDERSTAND A YOUNG POET IN HIS TWENTY-FOURTH YEAR IN SPARTA

287 289 291

Xlll

PICTURE OF A 23-YEAR-OLD PAINTED BY HIS FRIEND OF THE SAME AGE, AN AMATEUR IN A LARGE GREEK COLONY, 200 B.C. A PRINCE FROM WESTERN LIBYA

293 295 299

KIMON, SON OF LEARCHOS, 22, STUDENT OF GREEK LITERATURE (IN KYRINI) ON THE MARCH TO SINOPI DAYS OF 1909, '10, AND 'll

301 303 305

1929 MYRIS: ALEXANDRIA, A.D. 340

307

ALEXANDER JANNAIOS AND ALEXANDRA

311

LOVELY WHITE FLOWERS

313 315 317

COME, 0 KING OF THE LACEDAIMONIANS IN THE SAME SPACE

1930 THE MIRROR IN THE FRONT HALL HE ASKED ABOUT THE QUALITY TO HAVE TAKEN THE TROUBLE

319 321 323

1931 FOLLOWING THE RECIPE OF ANCIENT GRECO-SYRIAN MAGICIANS IN THE YEAR 200 B.C.

327 329

1932 DAYS OF 1908

333

xiv

"UNPUBLISHED POEMS" JULIAN AT THE MYSTERIES (1896)

337

KING CLAUDIUS (1899)

339 345 347

WHEN THE WATCHMAN SAW THE LIGHT (1900) GROWING IN SPIRIT (1903) SEPTEMBER, 1903 (1904) DECEMBER, 1903 (1904) ON THE STAIRS (1904) AT THE THEATRE (1904) POSEIDONIANS (1906) ANTONY'S ENDING (1907) HIDDEN THINGS (1908) ON HEARING OF LOVE (1911) "THE REST I WILL TELL TO THOSE DOWN IN HADES" (1913) THE PHOTOGRAPH (1913) GOING BACK HOME FROM GREECE (1914) EXILES (1914)

349 351 353 355 357 359 361 363 365 367 369 371

AND I LOUNGED AND LAY ON THEIR BEDS (1915)

373 375

HALF AN HOUR (1917)

377

SIMEON ( 191 7)

ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF ANTIOCH (1932-3)

379 381 383

Editor's Introduction to the Notes

387

Appendix

393

Notes to the Poems

395

Biographical Note

453

Alphabetical Index of Titles

459

THEOPHILOS PALAIOLOGOS (1914)

THE BANDAGED SHOULDER (1919)

FOREWORD TO THE BILINGUAL EDITION

CoNSTANTINE CAVAFY, the great poet of intimacy, is also profoundly, passionately retrospective. The immediate, and the remote: this double intensity drives Cavafy's art without shattering its elegant surfaces. That contained, propulsive conflict is related to the ways that the Keeley and Sherrard translations in this book remain unsurpassed as embodiments of Cavafy's art in English. After an intense, transgressive encounter, two lovers leave their bed, dress hurriedly, and part without speaking; Cavafy focuses on them afterward, as they walk separately, flushed with guilt and pleasure, down crowded streets. Or he studies a room in an office building and remembers where the wardrobe was, where the bed was where he and another made love many times, how the afternoon sun would fall across half of that bed, how they parted for a week one afternoon at four o'clock, and that week became forever. Always, the most profound viewpoint is afterward. This is true for pairs of lovers and also for the ancient, vividly populated Hellenic world that Cavafy makes breathe: alive with a conviction beyond the lavish ingenuity of any movie. The conviction, whatever its form or setting, is never far from the beloved, sexual body: in Cavafy's world memory is erotic and eros is memory. Memory, sexual and indomitable, repeatedly slays the embodied distances of time, as surely and ardently as a saint or mythological hero slays the dragon. Even the slightest erotic moment, the most transitory thrill, breathes in this poetry, in the voice of the poet, the exhalation where spirit, body, and memory tremble and conjoin:

XVI

BODY, REMEMBER ....

Body, remember not only how much you were loved, not only the beds you lay on, but also those desires that glowed openly in eyes that looked at you, trembled for you in the voicesonly some chance obstacle frustrated them. Now that it's all finally in the past, it seems almost as if you gave yourself to those desires too-how they glowed, remember, in eyes that looked at you, remember, body, how they trembled for you in those voices. The plainness of these sentences, almost severe, enhances by contrast the gorgeousness of the rhythms. Here are no striking images (though in other poems Cavafy crafts those, too) or metaphors-a bed, glowing eyes, voices are presented as themselves embodiments of emotion, not figuratively. When such direct, plain poetry works in English-the writing of Ben Jonson at his best, certain passages of Elizabeth Bishop-critics have the subtle perfection of the style, the idiom itself to celebrate. A consistent but fluent idiom, varying precisely among fine degrees of informality and elevation, the physical and the colloquial, the language of the street and the language of literature. Difficult to attain such grace, with no disguise of ornament to conceal defects, in poetry-and difficult, too, in translation. An even more extreme example of Cavafy's uncloaked, seemingly unornamented directness:

xvii

HE SWEARS

He swears every now and then to begin a better life. But when night comes with its own counsel, its own compromises and prospectswhen night comes with its own power of a body that needs and demands, he goes back, lost, to the same fatal pleasure. The timing of "when night comes" in the fourth line, echoing "But when night comes" in the second line-that slight variation; the consonants and vowels in "a body that needs and demands"; the same in "now and then to begin a better"; the degree of difference between "a better life" and the more formal "its own counsel"-upon such vocal nuances, almost too fine to be noted or described, the art of the poem depends. Love between two people, brief and lost, in Cavafy's work has its parallel in the history of culture-though "history" and "culture" are pathetically cold, vague terms for realities as urgent as thirst: POSEIDONIANS

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

xvm

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. The Poseidonians retrieve, pathetically, distorted shreds of their past-distorted and in shreds yet still beautiful. Cavafy retrieves their story from "Athenaios, Deipnosophistai. Book 14, 31A (632)," who in Cavafy's epigraph says that the Poseidonians observe the one Greek festival "even to this day," in the third century A.D. Each remove in time simultaneously increases the loss and makes it sharper: the emotion richer as any human action-lovemaking, festival, artmaking-adds its surrounding layers of awareness and language, thought and poetry. (Deipnosophistai: "the dinner-table philosophers.") Perception and memory give every action its weight of feeling, deposited by levels and kinds of language, registering the past, and those who spoke words before us, as ancestral celebrants precede the vestigial music of the Poseidonians. And on some level of remove, every consciousness is a Poseidonian: unlike Keats's nightingale, which was not born for death, we take our place in the cycles of remembering and forgetting, loss and possession. For us American poets and readers who cannot read Greek, but want to understand Cavafy's genius, his ability to reach lyric heights without much in the way of metaphors or striking

XlX

images, it is fascinating to read that his work brings together the various strands and kinds of literary Greek and demotic Greek. His poems, scholars tell us, combine various kinds and ranges of language, in different proportions in different poems, so that categories like "literary" and "demotic," "purist" and "colloquial" begin to blur or dissolve. That process suggests a poetic language that is at once pure and inclusive: all the kinds of experience within a culture recalled and distilled in a fluent, sensitive idiom. Here is where the work of Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard attains the rare excellence that has made their Cavafy versions important to American poets. Learned translators often betray a surprisingly crude grasp of idiom, little understanding the countless elements that make the flow of a poem's utterance come alive: formal and informal, plain and adorned, abrupt and languid, familiar and exquisite, rough and smooth, the elements of language resemble the complex molecules of a living body, specialized yet coordinated. A merely competent translator may add a pinch of slang or a dash of neologism as though the poem were a pot of ingredients, and not a breathing organism. Consider the language of the matter-of-fact and of the slightly elevated, in the course of this poem: THE BANDAGED SHOULDER

He said he'd hurt himself against a wall or had fallen down. But there was probably some other reason for the wounded, the bandaged shoulder.

XX

Because of a rather abrupt gesture, as he reached for a shelf to bring down some photographs he wanted to look at, the bandage came undone and a little blood ran. I did it up again, taking my time over the binding; he wasn't in pain and I liked looking at the blood. It was a thing of my love, that blood. When he left, I found, in front of his chair, a bloody rag, part of the dressing, a rag to be thrown straight into the garbage; and I put it to my lips and kept it there a long whilethe blood of love against my lips. This poised intimacy depends upon fine gradations: the plainness of "and I liked looking at the blood" contrasted just enough with the measured intensity of "It was a thing of my love, that blood." In a comparable, even more economical way, the double adjective of "the wounded, the bandaged shoulder" raises the temperature at the conclusion of the first stanza-as the final line does for the poem as a whole, with a minimal, noiseless grace. But of course I am in the dark. Readers who cannot read Cavafy-or any great poet-in the original must be grateful for every translation, as we triangulate and guess. The warmth of the Rae Dalven translation, glints of difference or scholarship or idiom in the versions of Aliki Barnstone or Daniel Mendelsohn, contribute to the ongoing, imperfect perception

xxi

of Cavafy. And in this new edition, with the Greek page facing the English, matters like the placement of rhymes and the length of lines are visible. Thus we can supplement visually and by guesswork the notes on form of George Savidis, such as "Each line really consists of two lines of either six or seven syllables, sporadically rhymed," remembering Cavafy's craft, which itself recalls the history of Greek culture. Memory is the mother of the muses-never more true than for the poet who invokes her, in the voice of a maker of fine vessels: CRAFTSMAN OF WINE BOWLS

On this wine bowl-pure silver, made for the house of Herakleidis, where good taste is the rulenotice these graceful flowers, the streams, the thyme. In the center I put this beautiful young man, naked, erotic, one leg still dangling in the water. 0 memory, I begged for you to help me most in making the young face I loved appear the way it was. This proved very difficult because some fifteen years have gone by since the day he died as a soldier in the defeat at Magnesia.

Robert Pinsky Cambridge, Massachusetts February 2009

TRANSLATORS' NOTE TO THE 1992 REVISED EDITION

THE COLLECTION of poems translated in this volume is the same as that of the first edition: it consists of all those poems published in the Greek edition of Cavafy's poems edited by George Savidis (Athens: lkaros, 1963), together with a selection from the volume of "Unpublished Poems," also edited by George Savidis (Athens: lkaros, 1968) and first published in an earlier English version in the volume C. P. Cavafy: Passions and Ancient Days (New York: Dial Press, 1971). Our collection has continued to be determined by these sources because we feel that they still represent the best of Cavafy's work now in print. English translations of the so-called "Early Poems" and "Repudiated Poems" are currently available in other collections or in periodicals. Our mode of rendering Cavafy has remained more or less consistent since we offered our first broad selections of his poems in 1972 and 1975, though we have tried to freshen our renderings thereafter with each new opportunity to do so (e.g., the sixth printing of the collected edition and the selection in Voices of Modern Greece, Princeton, 1981). This is especially true of the present revised edition, where the resetting of the entire collection permitted us to review each poem and to make whatever alterations seemed appropriate. As in the past we have continued to strive for an equivalent discipline rather than strain to rhyme those poems-mostly early-that are strictly rhymed in the Greek; but in this latest revision we have been especially sensitive to Cavafy's other formal concerns, for example his subtle use of enjambment and his mode of establishing rhythm and emphasis through

xxiv

repetition. We have also chosen to render with repetitive consistency those words that Cavafy repeated often in establishing his particular personal landscape (for example, the word "idoni," which we have usually translated as "sensual pleasure''). Along with a renewed sense of responsibility toward the finer nuances and occasional eccentricities of the Greek original, we have made every effort to exercise our responsibility toward the language of poetry in English, with the hope that our renderings will live comfortably and naturally in the Anglo-American tradition. So much critical and scholarly exploration of Cavafy's work has taken place since the first edition of this collection in 1975 that it no longer strikes us as practicable or apt to include a "Bibliographical Note" in this revised edition. We have retained, however, the "Biographical Note" essentially as it appeared originally. For this edition our editor, George Savidis, has generously revised and amplified his notes to the poems in keeping with his latest edition of the Greek text of Cavafy. E.K. P.S. Katounia, Limni, Evia, 1991

2

TEIXH

Xwpir; nepiaKB'IflV, xwpir; A.vn,v, xwpir; a/Ow J.lt"'OJ..a K' V'lf'lla 7:Pl')'vpw p,ov lK1:1aav 1:eim. Kai KaOop,al Kai aneA.ni,op,az 7:cbpa

Mro.

"Allo Jev aKB1t7:0p,al : 1:0v vovv p,ov 1:pcbyez avriJ fJ 7:VX'1" Jzo'T:l npayp,a1:a 1COAM eew Va Kap,w BfXOV• ..A li'T:av tK'T:l,aV 'fa ndm nror; va p,iJv npoaeew. 'Alla Jev axovaa no1:8 Kpo1:ov K7:laTrov ;; ~xov . •A V81tala01jrwr; p,' eKAelaav ano 'T:OV Koap,ov eew.

3 WALLS

With no consideration, no pity, no shame, they have built walls around me, thick and high. And now I sit here feeling hopeless. I can't think of anything else: this fate gnaws my mindbecause I had so much to do outside. When they were building the walls, how could I not have noticed! But I never heard the builders, not a sound. Imperceptibly they have closed me off from the outside world.

4 ENAE FEPOE

EroiJ Karpeveiov roiJ poepoiJ ro piaa pipo~ aKVJ.lBVO~ aro rpane(.z Ka8er' evac; yepo~· J.le J.llav 8rpf/f.l8Pioa BJ.lTrpo~ 't'ov, xwpi~ avvrporpza. Kai p.t~ arc:Ov lf.(Jbwv rf/parezc:Ov TT,v Ka't'arppoveza aKeTrreraz noao )Jyo XUprJKB 't'a xpovza nov elxe Kai o6vaJ.ll, Kai Myo, K' BJ.lOprpla. Eipez nov yipaae noA.6· 't'o vouh8e1, 't'O Kvrra(.ez. K' ev 't'OV't'Ol~ 0 KWpo~ TCOV 1}'t'aV vio~ Jl.Ola(.el aav x8e~. Tl ozaarf/J.la J.lllcp6, 't'l ozaarf/J.la J.llKpo. Kai avlloyzera1 f! iPp6V1Jal~ n~ rov eyiA.a· Kai n~ rT,v BJ.l1tlare6ovrav navra- 't'i rpiA.A.a 1't'T,V IJIBVrpa nov lkye· « Ai5pzo. "Exel~ noA.vv KalpO ». 8VJ.lfi.'Caz Oppl~ nov paaraye· Kai noaq xapa 8vaiat;.e. TT,v lf.J.lvahj rov yvc:Oa1 Ka8' BVKalpia xaJ.lBVf/ 't'chpa 't'T,V BJ.lnafCez • . . . . Ma an' 't'O noA.v va aKBn't'e?:al Kai va OvJ.lfi.?:al yepo~ et;.aA.faO,KB. Kl anoKOlJ.lfi.raz aroiJ Karpeveiov dKovJ.lmapivo~ 't'o 't'pani(.l.

0

5

AN OLD MAN

At the noisy end of the cafe, head bent over the table, an old man sits alone, a newspaper in front of him. And in the miserable banality of old age he thinks how little he enjoyed the years when he had strength, eloquence, and looks. He knows he's aged a lot: he sees it, feels it. Yet it seems he was young just yesterday. So brief an interval, so very brief. And he thinks of Prudence, how it fooled him, how he always believed-what madnessthat cheat who said: "Tomorrow. You have plenty of time." He remembers impulses bridled, the joy he sacrificed. Every chance he lost now mocks his senseless caution. But so much thinking, so much remembering makes the old man dizzy. He falls asleep, his head resting on the cafe table.

6 TA AAOFA TOY AXIAAEDE

Tov lla:rpOido uav sloav (JfCO't'Wf.lBVO, nov 1}-rav TO(JO avopsio~, Kai OVVa't'o~, TCai vto~, lipxluav •• lf.A.oya va KAaiVs 't'OV •Axl..ui~· ~ rpool(; TWV ~ IJ.Oava't'l'/ ayavaTCTOV(J8 yla 't'OV Oava-rov olJro TO epyov nov OwpoiJqs, Tivat;.av 't'a 1C8rpaA.ta 't'(J)V TCai 't'B~ f.la1Cpv8r; xai-rsr; ICOVVOV(JaV, •i!v yif x-rvnovqav p8 -rei noo1a, Kai Op'JVOvqav 't'OV lla-rpoTCA.o nov AvOlchOavs lil/fVXO- arpavtqf,.livof,.llci uapTCa -rchpa 1t0Tanr,- TO nvsiJpa tOV xap.ivoIJ.vvnspciuttl(J't'O- XWpir; nvor, elr; TO p.B)'ci.A.o Tino-re Am(Jtpaf,.livo an· •i!v Cwlj.

o

Ta ociTCpva eloe Zsvr; -r&)v IJ.Oava-rwv IJ.Mywv Kai A.vn1j0'7. « E-rov ll'IU~ -rov yaf.lO » elne « Jev enpen• B't'(Jl aUK81t't'a va Kclf.l(J)' KaAVTepa va f.li!v qfit; Jivap.B liA.oya f.lOV OOOTVXl(Jpiva I Tl yvpe6a-r' BKBi xaf.lOV (JTi!V Mlla avOpronO't''JTa norJvaz TO nalyVlOV tf/r; f.lO[p~. Eerr; nov oMs Oava-ror; rpvMyez, oMe -ro "'ifpar; npt)qJCatpsr; uvprpope~ ufit; -rvpavvovv. E-ra Pauava -rwv q~ lpnkeav ol avOpronot».-"0~ Ta odKpvd TWV y1a toiJ Oava-rov -rr,v nano-rmvr, •ilv (JVf.lffJOpav exvvave Ta Jvo ta Cwa Ta evyevf/.

o

7

THE HORSES OF ACHILLES

When they saw Patroklos dead -so brave and strong, so youngthe horses of Achilles began to weep; their immortal nature was upset deeply by this work of death they had to look at. They reared their heads, tossed their long manes, beat the ground with their hooves, and mourned Patroklos, seeing him lifeless, destroyed, now mere flesh only, his spirit gone, defenseless, without breath, turned back from life to the great Nothingness. Zeus saw the tears of those immortal horses and felt sorry. "At the wedding of Peleus," he said, "I should not have acted so thoughtlessly. Better if we hadn't given you as a gift, my unhappy horses. What business did you have down there, among pathetic human beings, the toys of fate. You are free of death, you will not get old, yet ephemeral disasters torment you. Men have caught you up in their misery." But it was for the eternal disaster of death that those two gallant horses shed their tears.

8

AEHEI.E

'H OOJ.aaaa ara pa.o, T1'/C: nffp" evav va6f1'/.'H JlaVa TOV, avljeep1'/, 'TClaiVBl ICl aVaqJTBl (JffJV Ilavayia Jl1Cpoara eva Vlf/1'/AO ICBpi yza va emarpBlfiBl ypljyopa ICai vdv• ICaAoi ICalpoiICai OAo npo elpaz ptpawr; nov, axeoov ra Taa xpovza npor:~r:epa, 1:0 iozo awpa avro ro an~J.avaa. Aev elvaz ozoJ.ov eeav11r; 8pror:zapov. Kai povaxa npo oJ.iyov Jl1t~Ka arb KaCivo· oev elxa ovre wpa y1a va mw noJ.6. To iozo awpa 8yd> r:o an~J.avaa. Kz av oev Ovpovpal, 1tOV- eva etxaapQ. JlOV oev a7Jpa{vez • .. A r:wpa, vci, 1tOV Ka07Jat arb omJ.avo -rpaniCz yvropiCro KafJe KiVTJal 1tOV KGJlVtl - Kl an· -ra povxa yvpva -r' aya1t7Jpeva peAT/ eavapJ.tnro.

KcZf(J)

179 THE NEXT TABLE

He must be barely twenty-two years oldyet I'm certain that almost that many years ago I enjoyed the very same body. It isn't erotic fever at all. And I've been in the casino for a few minutes only, so I haven't had time to drink a great deal. I enjoyed that very same body. And if I don't remember where, this one lapse of memory doesn't mean a thing. There, now that he's sitting down at the next table, I recognize every motion he makes-and under his clothes I see again the limbs I loved, naked.

180

0 HAIOE TOY AIIOFEYMATOI

T~v Kap.apTJV ain~' 1C6t1o Ka.A.a 't'~V eep(J). Twpa VOlKla(oV't'al Kl avr~ K' ~ n.A.ayzv~ yza eJ11COPIKU ypaqJeia. "0 .A.o 1'0 C11Ci1:1 eyrve ypaqJeia p.eam)Jv, K' ep.n6pwv, K' •Erazpeier; •

..A ~ Kap.apTJ ain~, -r:i yvwprJ.ltl nov elvar.

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Kavanir;, Kov't'a m~v n6p-r:a tow 1}-r:av K' ep.np6r; TOV eva 'tOVpKlKO xa.A.f• qzp.a 't'o paqJz p.e t5vo pa.ca Kirpzva. Lleeza· oxz, avrzKpv, eva v-r:o.A.dm p.8 Ka()pi1CTTJ. E-r:~ p.taTJ 1'0 -r:pantCz onov EypafPe' K' ~ 't'peir; p.eya.A.er; lfla()zver; Kapiy.A.er;. ll.A.ai t1-r:o napd()vpo t}1:av 1:0 Kpeppa7:z nov a:yan11()~Kap.P. 1:6aer; rpopir;.

ll.A.ai t11'0 napd()vpo t}1:av 't'O Kpeftftd7:l' ;;.A.zor; 1:ov anoyevp.a1:or; 't'd'Jrp()ave wr; 't'a Jl.lt1d •

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.. .'An6yevp.a ~ wpa 7:Bt1t1eper;, e1xaJ1.8 xwpzq()ei yza Jl.la 8Pt5op.at5a p.Ovo ••• 'Allofp.ovov, ~ 8pt5op.ar; hcefwt eyzve naV't'o?:z~.

181 THE AFTERNOON SUN

This room, how well I know it. Now they're renting it, and the one next to it, as offices. The whole house has become an office building for agents, merchants, companies. This room, how familiar it is. Here, near the doqr, was the couch, a Turkish carpet in front of it. Close by, the shelf with two yellow vases. On the right-no, opposite-a wardrobe with a mirror. In the middle the table where he wrote, and the three big wicker chairs. Beside the window was the bed where we made love so many times. They must still be around somewhere, those old things. Beside the window was the bed; the afternoon sun fell across half of it. ... One afternoon at four o'clock we separated for a week only . . . And thenthat week became forever.

182

NA MEINE/

·n wpa Jlla

f~V vvx-ra OII-rave,

fj jllaJ.llUV.

Ie p.1a yama -rolJ Kan,A.elOlJ· niaro an• -ro evA.lvo -ro xmplap.a. •EK-ror; ~pli)v -rwv Joo -ro p.ayaCi oA.ror; JuJA.ov libe10. M1a A.ap.na nerpeA.aiov p.OA.1r; -ro rpmrtCe. Kozp.ovvrave, ar~v n6pra, aypvnvzapivor; im'lpir'lr;.

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£1ev Oa p.fir; epA.ene Kaveir;. Ma Kl6A.ariJ 17 Evpia- qxet5ov t58v po1aCe1 qav narpir; rov, avriJ slv· 17 xwpa rov 'Hpa~els(t51J ICai rov BO.A.a.

193

But in his mind he had always thought of it as something sacred that you approach reverently, as a beautiful place unveiled, a vision of Greek cities and Greek ports. And now? Now despair and sorrow. They were right, the young men in Rome. The dynasties born from the Macedonian Conquest cannot be kept going any longer. It doesn't matter. He had made the effort, fought as much as he could. And in his bleak disillusion there's one thing only that still fills him with pride: how even in failure he shows the world his same indomitable courage. The rest: they were dreams and wasted energy. This Syria-it almost seems it isn't his homelandthis Syria is the country ofValas and Herakleidis.

194

EIFE ETEAEYTA

((nov anea6p0,Ke, 1COV exaO,Ke 0 Iorpor; ,· , Enen:· ano Ta Oa6p,a-ra TOV ra no..ua, -riJv f/JtlJ111 -rfjr; t5zt5aaKaJ.iar; -rov 1COV t5zet5601JK8V elr; TOGa eOV1J eKp6rp01JK" a1rpv1Jr; Kai t58v eJ.laOe Kaveir; p,8 OerlKOt'1JTa -ri eyzve ( oMe Kaveir; nore elt5e nirpov -rov). "Eftya).av JlBPlKOi nchr; neOave GTiJv "Erpeao. Lfev -coypalpev Lftip,zr; IJJ.U.Or;· Tino-rs '}'ltl Otiva-ro TOV ·AnoA.A.wvfov t58v eypalpBV 0 Lftip,zr;. "Alloz elnave nchr; eyzve arpav-ror; GTiJv Aivt5o. "'H p,t]nror; elv· eKeiv· ;, la-ropia ~Ozvtj, nov avs).tjrp01JKB ariJv KptjT1J, Gt'O apxalo Tfjr; LflKTDVV1JC: iepov.·Au· IJp,ror; exovf.lB -riJv Oavp,aaia, -riJv V1C8pffJVGlKiJv ep,rptivzai TOV elr; evav veov anovt5aa-ciJ adJ. T6ava. , Iaroe; t58v ~).Osv 0 Kalpor; yza va B1ClG'CpBlp8l yza va rpaveproOei (J't"OV KOGJlO nti).l" lj p,BTap,oprprop,!.vor;, laror;, JlB-raev p,ar; yvpit;ez ayvwpzaror;.- Ma Oa eavarpavepwOei chr; ljrave, t5tt5tlaKOVTar; Ta op(}a· Kai TOTS ftiftaza Oa 8navarpipez -riJv ).ar:peia -rrov Oerov p,ar;, Kai Tee; KaAa{G01JT:Br; ellf/VlKBC: par; TUBTBC: ».

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"ETal tp!.p,ftaCe ar:iJv 1C8VlXPtl TOV KaTOlK{a p,er:a Jlla avayvroaz TOV c})z).oar:paTOV « Ta tr; -rov Tvavea ·Anollcbvzov »8var; ano -rove; ).iyovr; 80vllc06r;, -rove; 1COAV ).{yovr; 1COV elxav JlB{VBl. , A.Uroar:e- aat]p,av-ror; avOpronOI; Kai t5ez).or; - GTO rpavepov eKave "COV Xpza-rzavo Kl avror; K BKKAfJGltiCov-rav. ''Hrav ;, tTroxiJ Kao· fjv ftaaihvev, BV aKpq. eiJ).afteiq., 0 yeprov "foVGTivor;, K. ;, ·A heavt5peza, no).zr; Oeoaeftt]r;, aO).fovr; eit5ro).oMr:par; anoarpirpov-rav. 0

195 IF ACTUALLY .DEAD

''Where did the Sage withdraw to, where did he disappear? After his many miracles, the renown of his teaching which spread to so many countries, he suddenly hid himself and nobody knew for certain what happened to him (nor did anybody ever see his grave). Some reported that he died at Ephesus. But Damis does not record that in his memoir. Damis says nothing about the death of Apollonios. Others said that he disappeared at Lindos. Or maybe the story is true about his assumption in Crete, at the ancient sanctuary of Diktynna. But then again we have that miraculous, that supernatural apparition of his before a young student at Tyana. Maybe the time has not yet come for him to return and show himself to the world again; or maybe, transfigured, he moves among us unrecognized-. But he will come again as he was, teaching the ways of truth; and then of course he will bring back the worship of our gods and our elegant Hellenic rites.'' These were the musings of one of the few pagans, one of the very few still left, as he sat in his shabby room just after reading Philostratos' On Apollonios of Tyana. But even he-a trivial and cowardly manplayed the Christian in public and went to church. It was the time when Justin, known as the elder, reigned in total piety, and Alexandria, a godly city, detested pitiful idolators.

196 NEOI THI IIA!JNOI (400 M.X.)

TO~ OlaUKeOauel luujyye1le Kai pep11Cti e1Clypappar:a C'ICleK't'a .

•0 ;,eonou}, nov eqJepav )llCl va

•H areovua avolye U't'OV Kfjno enavw· K' efxe J.llClV eA.aqJpa efJwoia av8iwv nov evcbvov't'aV pl 't'a pvpWOlKa 't'a1V nine apwpa't'lUpivwv Ilowviwv vicov. AlapauO,Kav MeUayp~. Kai Kp1vayop~. Kai P1av&;. Ma uav amfyyelAeV 0 ;,eonolo,, « AiuxvA.ov EvqJopfwvo, •A81Jvaiov 't'ooe Ke68e1- » ( 't'OVfCona, ru~ vnep 't'O oeov 't'O (( aA.KI)v o· eVOOKIJ.lOV ». TO (( M apaOcbvlOV aA.uo, ))) • ne't'axO,KeV eve~ eva nwol (W1Jp0, qJava't'lKO y1a ypappa't'a, Kai qJcbv~e·

«''A OBV p' apiuel 't'O 't'B't'paU't'lXOV afm]. 'EKqJpauel, 't'OIOV't'OV e!oo~ J.lOIQ.{OVV Kan~ ANH

•0

vi~ •Avnoxe~

elne crrov parnUa, pla npourplA,iJr; eA.nfr;· «Mer; "CTJV Kapoza J.WV 1taAAel oi MaKeoovsr; n6.A.1, "Anfoxe 'Emrpavfi, oi MaKeoover; elval per; crriJv J.l8"!6.h! naA.r, • ..Ar; ~ "(a v va vuajuovvKai q' OTCOlOV Oikl oiOw "COV Uovra Kai rovr; 11t1t0~, "COV flava ano KOpalll, Kai "CO KO!Jf/10 naMn, Kai roVr; ev T6prp K~1t0~, "' ou• aA.A.a p" 6xe1r; &hue1, 'Av"Cioxe 'Emrpavq».

"luwr; va UV"fKI~O, KOJ.lO,"Cl 0 Pauzk6r;. Ma napavra Ov~fh, naripa KZ MeA.rpov. Kai ptfrs dttBKpf(}'l· MnopoiJue dJraKovcrriJc; va enavaM{Jsl Karz., Allicrre, fPVUlKOV, raxiwr; enf/A.Os el