Constantine P. Cavafy

(29 April 1863 – 29 April 1933 / Alexandria)

Constantine P. Cavafy Poems

121. Supplication 1/3/2003
122. The Windows 1/3/2003
123. The Satrapy 1/3/2003
124. Priest At The Serapeum 1/3/2003
125. Pictured 1/3/2003
126. In Church 1/3/2003
127. Poseidonians 1/3/2003
128. In 200 B.C. 1/3/2003
129. Nero's Turn 1/3/2003
130. On The Shop 1/3/2003
131. The Ides Of March 4/7/2010
132. Picture Of A 23-Year-Old Youth Painted By His Friend Of The Same Age, An Amature 1/3/2003
133. The Town 1/3/2003
134. The First Step 1/3/2003
135. Hidden 1/3/2003
136. The Grave Of The Grammarian Lysias 1/3/2003
137. Monotony 1/3/2003
138. Very Seldom 1/3/2003
139. He Came To Read 1/3/2003
140. Their Beginning 1/3/2003
141. One Of Their Gods 1/3/2003
142. In The Harbor 1/3/2003
143. Interruption 1/3/2003
144. I Went 1/3/2003
145. Trojans 1/3/2003
146. The Mirror In The Hall 1/3/2003
147. Grey 1/3/2003
148. He Vows 1/3/2003
149. I'Ve Brought To Art 1/3/2003
150. On An Italian Shore 1/3/2003
151. So Much I Gazed 1/3/2003
152. One Night 1/3/2003
153. Voices 1/3/2003
154. Ionian 1/3/2003
155. Return 1/3/2003
156. Apollonius Of Tyana In Rhodes 1/3/2003
157. Understanding 1/3/2003
158. Hidden Things 1/3/2003
159. Exiles 1/3/2003
160. Anna Dalassené 1/3/2003
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

Half An Hour

I never had you, nor will I ever have you
I suppose. A few words, an approach
as in the bar yesterday, and nothing more.
It is, undeniably, a pity. But we who serve Art
sometimes with intensity of mind, and of course only
for a short while, we create pleasure
which almost seems real.
So in the bar the day before yesterday -- the merciful alcohol
was also helping much --

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