A Cypriot friend of mine (who wishes to remain anonymous) has produced some new translations of Cavafy in a modest private printing. They are not without merit, so I felt they deserved to be read outside our small circle. After a few vigorous attempts at persuasion (which may or may not have included the use of spirits and sweet liqueurs), he has graciously allowed me to post a selection.

 

The God Abandons Anthony

When suddenly, at midnight, you hear
an invisible procession passing by
with exquisite music, with voices—
your retreating fortune, all your works
that failed, your life's plans
that all turned out illusions, do not idly mourn.
As if long prepared, with courage,
bid goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.
Above all do not delude yourself, do not say
it was a dream, that your ears were deceived;
do not stoop to such vain hopes.
As if long prepared, with courage,
as befits one who proved worthy of such as a city,
go firmly to the window,
and listen with emotion, but not
with the pleading and whining of a coward,
your final pleasure—the music,
the exquisite instruments of the mystical procession,
and bid goodbye to her, the Alexandria you are losing.

 

Dangerous Thoughts

Said Myrtias (a Syrian student
in Alexandria, under the reign
of Augustus Constans and Augustus Constantius;
partly pagan, and partly Christianizing);
"Strengthened by theory and study,
I will not fear my passions like a coward.
I will give my body over to pleasure,
to my dreams’ delights,
to the boldest erotic desires,
to the lustful urges of my blood, without
any fear, because when I want—
and have the will, strengthened
as I shall be by theory and study—
in critical moments I will find again
my spirit, as before, ascetic."

 

Thermopylae

Honor to those who in their life
define and guard a Thermopylae.
Never straying from duty,
just and true in every deed,
but with pity too, and compassion;
Generous when they are rich
and when they are poor, still generous in small things
still sharing what they can;
always speaking the truth,
but without resentment for the deceivers.

And yet greater honor to them
when they foresee (as many do foresee)
that Ephialtes will appear in the end,
and the Medes will finally break through.

 

Philhellene

Ensure the engraving is skilfully done.
The expression serious and majestic.
The diadem preferably a bit narrow:
I don't like the broad ones from Parthia.
The epigraph, as usual, Greek:
not bombastic, not pompous—
the proconsul might misunderstand,
he's always nosing around and reporting back to Rome—
but of course commendatory.
Something very fine on the other side:
some discus-thrower, young, good-looking.
Above all I urge you to see to it
(Sithaspis, for God's sake, do not forget!)
that after the King and the Savior,
they engrave with stylish letters, Philhellene.
Now don't start with your wisecracks,
with your "Where are the Hellenes?" and "Where is the Hellenism
out here behind the Zagros, beyond Phraata."
So many others more barbarous than us
inscribe it, and so shall we.
After all don't forget that sometimes
we are visited by sophists from Syria,
and versifiers, and other triflers.
So we are not, I think, un-Hellenic.

 
 

Emperor Heraclius, 629 A.D.

The war had already been lost when he took the throne,
but he crossed the Black Sea,
and struck the Persians in the heart of their empire.
Six campaigns, six triumphs—each more glorious
than the last. The banners of Byzantium
waved over Ctesiphon’s ruins.

The return was a continuous celebration.
In Jerusalem, he laid aside the purple and the diadem,
and barefoot returned the Holy Cross,
which he had so gloriously recovered.

His triumph was magnificent.
As he entered the City drawn by four elephants,
the senate and the people came out to meet him
with tears and acclamations,
holding olive branches and lamps,
and throwing flowers on his path.
Surrounded by the splendor of his conquests,
surrounded by ambassadors from every nation bearing gifts,
precious jewels from the ruler of India,
and an eternal peace from the leader
of the barbarous Franks,
they hailed him Basileus.
The poet had already composed a splendid work—
not inferior to those of the ancients—
likening him to Moses, and Alexander, and Hercules.

And while the City celebrated,
on the borders of Syria an obscure village was pillaged
by the followers of a desert prophet.

 

Before Time Changes Them

They were deeply sorrowed           by their parting.
They didn’t want it;           it was the circumstances.
The need to earn a living           compelled one of them
to journey far —           New York or Canada.
Their love of course           was not the same as before;
the attraction           had faded gradually,
the attraction           had faded a lot.
But separation,           that was not what they wanted.
It was the circumstances.—           Or perhaps Fate
appeared as an artist,           parting them now
before their feeling is extinguished,           before Time changes them;
each for the other           will remain forever
that beautiful youth           of twenty-four.

 

Alexandrian Kings

The Alexandrians were gathered
to see Cleopatra's children,
Caesarion, and his little brothers,
Alexander and Ptolemy, displayed
for the first time in the Gymnasium,
there to be declared as Kings,
amidst the gleaming ranks of soldiers.

Alexander—they called him King
of Armenia, of Media, and of Parthia.
Ptolemy—they called him King
of Cilicia, of Syria, and of Phoenicia.
Caesarion was standing up front,
draped in rose-coloured silk,
a garland of hyacinth on his chest,
his belt a double row of sapphire and amethyst,
his shoes laced up with white ribbons
embroidered with pink pearls.
Him they called greater than the young ones,
him they called King of Kings.

The Alexandrians knew, of course,
that these were merely words and theater.

But the day was warm and poetic,
the sky a light blue,
the Alexandrian Gymnasium
a triumphant artistic achievement,
the courtiers in extraordinary splendor,
Caesarion all grace and beauty
(Cleopatra's son, blood of the Lagidae);
and the Alexandrians rushed to the festival,
exuberant and cheering
in Greek, in Egyptian, and some in Hebrew,
charmed by the lovely spectacle—
but of course they knew,
what hollow words these Kingships were.