Constantine P. Cavafy

(29 April 1863 – 29 April 1933 / Alexandria)

Constantine P. Cavafy Poems

161. Darius 1/3/2003
162. Dangerous Things 1/3/2003
163. Craftsmen Of Wine Bowls 3/23/2012
164. Come, O King Of The Lacedaimonians 3/23/2012
165. Che Fece 1/3/2003
166. Candles 1/3/2003
167. Caesarion 1/3/2003
168. But Wise Men Perceive Approaching Things 1/3/2003
169. Body Remember 1/3/2003
170. Before Time Altered Them 3/23/2012
171. Before The Statue Of Endymion 3/23/2012
172. At The Theatre 9/26/2012
173. At The Café Door 3/23/2012
174. As Much As You Can 1/3/2003
175. Apollonius Of Tyana In Rhodes 1/3/2003
176. Antony's Ending 9/26/2012
177. Anna Dalassené 1/3/2003
178. Anna Comnena 1/3/2003
179. And I Lounged And Lay On Their Beds 9/26/2012
180. An Old Man 1/3/2003
181. Alexandrian Kings 1/3/2003
182. Alexander Jannaios And Alexandra 3/23/2012
183. Aemilianus Monae, Alexandrian, 628 - 655 A.D. 1/1/2004
184. Addition 1/3/2003
185. According To The Formulas Of Ancient Grecosyrian Magi 1/1/2004
186. A Young Poet In His 24th Year 3/23/2012
187. A Prince From Western Libya 3/23/2012
188. A Great Procession Of Priests And Laymen 3/23/2012
189. A Byzantine Nobleman In Exile Composing Verses 3/23/2012
Best Poem of Constantine P. Cavafy

Ithaca

When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - do not fear them:
such as these you will never find
as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare
emotion touch your spirit and your body.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - you will not meet them
unless you carry them in your soul,
unless your soul raise them up before you.

Ask that your way be long.
At many a Summer dawn to enter
with what gratitude, what joy -
ports seen ...

Read the full of Ithaca

Ionian

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.
When an August morning breaks upon you
a vigour from their lives stabs through your air;
and sometimes an ethereal and youthful form

[Hata Bildir]