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Cavafy 1863 έως 1933 (70)

Constantine Cavafy (April 29, 1863 - April 29, 1933) is one of the most important contemporary Greek poets. He was born and lived in Alexandria, his parents had fled form Constantinople in 1840, Constantine was their ninth child. His father was a cotton merchant, his mother belonged to an old aristocratic family of Constantinople, the commercial status of his father and the nobility of his mother shaped his character. His father died in 1870, when Constantine was 7, their company gradually dissolved and the family settled in England (Liverpool and London) where they stayed until 1876. They returned to Alexandria and Constantine was taught English, French and Greek by a tutor at home, then he completed his education in the Greek Educational school of Alexandria for 2 years. The period 1882-1884 he stayed in Istanbul, in 1897 he traveled to Paris and in 1903 in Athens, the rest of his time he lived in Alexandria. After occasional jobs in brokerage firms, in 1922 at the age of 59 he joined the Ministry of Public Works. In 1932, Cavafy got sick with throat cancer, he went for treatment in Athens where he remained for some time, collecting the warm support of his fans. He returned to Alexandria, his condition worsened. He died on April 29,1933, the day he completed 70 years of life, in the hospital of Greek Community of Alexandria.

Cavafy began publishing poems in 1886, he classified them into three categories: historical, philosophical and sensual or sensuous. His entire work consists of 154 poems acknowledged by himself (Qualified), 37 from his youth in romantic purist who later recanted (disavowed), 75 poems found in his house, ready to be published, and 30 incomplete. Cavafy was working persistently every single verse, sometimes for years, before giving them for publication. The first complete edition of his poems (154 recognized) was held in Athens in 1935 and was sold out immediately. Today his poetry has prevailed not only in Greece but all over the world, it has a prominent position in European poetry, after the translations of his poems originally in French, English, German and then in many other languages.

A biographical note written by Cavafy:
"I am from Constantinople by descent, but I was born in Alexandria—at a house on Seriph Street; I left very young, and spent much of my childhood in England. Subsequently I visited this country as an adult, but for a short period of time. I have also lived in France. During my adolescence I lived over two years in Constantinople. It has been many years since I last visited Greece. My last employment was as a clerk at a government office under the Ministry of Public Works of Egypt. I know English, French, and a little Italian.

AS MUCH AS YOU CAN
Even if you cannot live your life as you wanted to,/ at least try this/ as much as you can; do not humiliate it/ into the affinity of the world/ into the gestures and the conversations./
Do not humiliate it by bringing it,/ by hanging around and exposing it,/ to the daily stupity/ of the realtions and the interactions,/ til it becomes a strange and obtrusive one./

GOD FORSAKES ANTONY
When suddenly, at midnight, you hear/ an invisible procession going by/ with exquisite music, voices,/ don’t mourn your luck that’s failing now,/ work gone wrong, your plans/ all proving deceptive—don’t mourn them uselessly./ As one long prepared, and graced with courage,/ say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving./ Above all, don’t fool yourself, don’t say/ it was a dream, your ears deceived you:/ don’t degrade yourself with empty hopes like these./ As one long prepared, and graced with courage,/ as is right for you who were given this kind of city,/ go firmly to the window/ and listen with deep emotion, but not/ with the whining, the pleas of a coward;/ listen—your final delectation—to the voices,/ to the exquisite music of that strange procession,/ and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.

When you set sail for Ithaca,/ wish for the road to be long,/ full of adventures, full of knowledge./ The Lestrygonians and the Cyclopes,/ an angry Poseidon — do not fear./ You will never find such on your path,/ if your thoughts remain lofty, and your spirit/ and body are touched by a fine emotion./ The Lestrygonians and the Cyclopes,/ a savage Poseidon you will not encounter,/ if you do not carry them within your spirit,/ if your spirit does not place them before you./ Wish for the road to be long./ Many the summer mornings to be when/ with what pleasure, what joy/ you will enter ports seen for the first time./ Stop at Phoenician markets,/ and purchase the fine goods,/ nacre and coral, amber and ebony,/ and exquisite perfumes of all sorts,/ the most delicate fragrances you can find./ To many Egyptian cities you must go,/ to learn and learn from the cultivated./ Always keep Ithaca in your mind./ To arrive there is your final destination./ But do not hurry the voyage at all./ It is better for it to last many years,/ and when old to rest in the island,/ rich with all you have gained on the way,/ not expecting Ithaca to offer you wealth./ Ithaca has given you the beautiful journey./ Without her you would not have set out on the road./ Nothing more does she have to give you./ And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you./ Wise as you have become, with so much experience,/ you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.