A young poet in his twenty-fourth year

A young poet in his twenty-fourth year C.P. Cavafy Brain, work now as well as you can. A one-sided passion is destroying him. He’s in a maddening situation. Every day he kisses the face he worships, his hands are on those exquisite limbs. He’s never loved before with this degree of passion. But the beautiful fulfillment of love is lacking, that fulfillment is lacking which both of them must want with the same intensity. (They aren’t equally given to the abnormal form of sensual pleasure; only he is completely possessed by it.) And so he’s wearing himself out, all on edge. Then—to make things worse—he’s out of work. He manages somehow to borrow a little here and there (sometimes almost begging for it) and he just gets by. He kisses those adored lips, excites himself on that exquisite body—though he now feels it only acquiesces. And then he drinks and smokes, drinks and smokes; and he drags himself to the cafés all day long, drags the weariness consuming his beauty. Brain, work now as well as you can.

Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard

[From The Cavafy Archive.  More or less ignored by the Greek literary establishment during his lifetime, Cavafy is now acknowledged to be one of the greatest modern Greek poets]

From AOM

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 voices—
only 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. 

C.P. Cavafy

[From the C.P. Cavafy website]

Cavafy - Half an Hour

An extraordinary Greek poet, who lived in Alexandria. He never got the recognition he deserved, because he was different (fitting in is all, neh?) and he was gay. At first it was foreigners who celebrated his genius: E M Forster, Lawrence Durrell (who though straight was gay-friendly -- his magnificent Alexandria Quartet has several gay characters), and others. Now, I'm glad to see, there is a website in Greece devoted to him.

His poems are so sad, and so wise. Like all of us, outsiders, he sees to the truth of things. He does not deceive himself. There is a crystal clear vision of life, of mankind, tempered by a loving forgiveness and tolerance. He was one of the great poets.




The poem's called Half an Hour.


I never had you, nor I suppose
will I ever have you.
A few words, an approach,as in the bar the other day—nothing more.
It’s sad, I admit. But we who serve Art,
sometimes with the mind’s intensity,
can create—but of course only for a short time—
pleasure that seems almost physical.
That’s how in the bar the other day—
mercifully helped by alcohol—
I had half an hour that was totally erotic.
And I think you understood this
and stayed slightly longer on purpose.
That was very necessary. Because
with all the imagination, with all the magic alcohol,
I needed to see your lips as well,
needed your body near me.