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- Herausgeber: Carcanet Classics
- Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
- Sprache: Englisch
A Times Literary Supplement Book of the Year 2020A Review 31 Book of the Year 2020With The Barbarians Arrive Today, Evan Jones has produced the classic English Cavafy for our age. Expertly translated from Modern Greek, this edition presents Cavafy's finest poems, short creative prose and autobiographical writings, offering unique insights into his life's work.Born in Alexandria, Egypt, Constantine Petrou Cavafy (1863-1933) was a minor civil servant who self-published and distributed his poems among friends; he is now regarded as one of the most significant poets of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, an influence on writers across generations and languages. The broad, rich world of the Mediterranean and its complex history are his domain, its days and nights of desire and melancholy, ambition and failure - with art always at the centre of life.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
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C. P. CAVAFY
The Barbarians Arrive Today
poems & prose
translated with an afterword by
EVAN JONES
Acknowledgements
Some of these translations have appeared in the following magazines: Antigonish Review, Bolton Review, Eborakon, Manchester Review, New Walk, PN Review, Poetry, Poetry and Audience, Poetry Ireland Review, The Walrus, The Wolf. A small selection of the poems appeared in a pamphlet published in Toronto by Anstruther Press, The Drawing, The Ship, The Afternoon (2018).
I am indebted to Steven Heighton, John McAuliffe, Ian Pople, Michael Schmidt, and Jena Schmitt for their help and ideas with the writing and translating of these poems. And every thank you to Marion and Ioanna, my parents and family, for patience, support and understanding.
CONTENTS
for Jena Schmitt
NOTE
We have been living in Cavafy’s poems since they first began to appear, but translators and editors are always speaking before his poems, filling in all that he chose not to write down. My thoughts on matters of translation and much more are in the afterword. Here, I would like to point out that the photograph on the cover of this book is of Cavafy in 1932. It was taken in Athens sometime between July and October by the photographer Kyriakos Pagonis, about whom I can find little information, in the studio of the modernist sculptor Michalis Tompros (1889–1974). Cavafy had been part of the international committee that commissioned Tompros’s memorial statue of Rupert Brooke on Skyros in 1931. At the time, Pagonis photographed Cavafy from four sides for the creation of a bust that Tompros never completed. The poet was in Athens for treatment of the throat cancer that would take his life the following year. He is wearing a scarf to cover a tracheostomy and could only speak in whispers.
ANCIENT DAYS
THE FUNERAL OF SARPEDON
The deep grief of Zeus – Sarpedon’s life
taken by Patroklus. And now the son of Menoetius
and the Akhaians rush forward to mangle
the body and desecrate it.
But Zeus will not allow that.
This favoured child – abandoned
and lost – Zeus will honour
the dead, this he decrees.
He sends – look! – Phoebos to the plain,
instructed to care for the body.
The dead hero – Phoebos carries him
with reverence and sorrow to the river.
He washes the dust and the blood,
closes the wounds, does not allow
any trace to show; he pours
over him the aroma of ambrosia; dresses
him in pristine Olympian robes.
The skin is cleaned, and the thick, black hair
straightened with a nacred comb.
He lays out and positions the muscular limbs.
He looks like a young king again, a charioteer –
twenty-five, maybe twenty-six –
carefree now that he has won
the first prize in a famous race,
with his golden chariot and swift horses.6
Phoebos comes to the end
of his work and summons Sleep and Death,
the brothers, ordering them
to lay the body in Lykia, land of plenty.
Towards Lykia, this land of plenty,
the brothers, Sleep and Death, walk,
and when they reach
the door of the king’s house
they deliver the treasured body
and return to other cares and chores.
And as soon as the body is received,
the processions, veneration and singing begin,
wine is poured from sacred vessels –
all as it should be on a sad occasion.
And then the craftsmen from the city
and the stone carvers arrive,
ready to shape the memorial and the stele.
August 1908
AKHILLEUS’S HORSES
The horses saw that Patroklus
was dead, the powerful, courageous
youth, and they began to snort;
these immortal creatures grew furious
in full sight of Death’s work.
They tossed their heads, shook their long manes,
struck the earth with their hooves, mourning
Patroklus, seeing him lifeless, collapsed,
his earthly form disgraced, spirit gone,
returned to the great Nothing,
defenseless and breathless.
Zeus turned to see the tears
of the undying horses, heart bursting.
‘At Peleus’s wedding,’ he said, ‘it was rash,
you were presented too eagerly, poor
horses. Why are you wandering
among the arrogant humans – prey to fate?
No death, no aging await you,
only torture by the short-lived, the mistaken.
Humans draw you into suffering.’ This did nothing.
The two noble beasts continued to grieve
for the endless tragedy that is death.
July 1896
PRIAM’S NIGHT MARCH
In Ilium, there is neither calm nor joy.
The land of Troy
cries out in desperation, horror,
bitterly, for Priam’s son, for Hektor.
The lament is unrelenting, heart-breaking.
The all-aching
people of Troy hold in their thoughts
the great man, the tragedy of his loss.
But what’s the point? What good will it bring,
their offering,
in a time of war and violence?
Fate guarantees the wretched man’s silence.
Priam despises any vanity.
From the treasury
he measures gold enough, packs cauldrons,
carpets, wine cups, cloaks and linens,
tunics, tripods, fine attires for women –
he can summon
anything, if a Greek might cherish it.
This is loaded onto his chariot.
He will take the ransom to the enemy
to remedy –
if he can – the terror, so he might recover
his child’s body and undo dishonour. 9
In the calm of night, he sets out.
No doubt,
no worry. There’s just the sound
his chariot makes, crossing the ground.
The bare path extends before him,
light is dim,
a pitiful wind seems to cry and moan,
a dejected raven squawks on its own.
He hears a dog barking out its witness.
The busyness
of a hare on the path is there and gone.
The King drives his horses on.
Shadows unsettle the waking field.
They know to yield,
they sense purpose in the horses’ tramp,
this Dardanid flying towards the camp
of murderous Argives and inhuman
Akhaians.
The King is careless of disaster.
He urges his horses faster, faster.
May 1893 (Hidden)
TROJANS
Our hardships are those of the hapless;
our hardships are those of the Trojans.
We gain a little ground, take some
weight upon ourselves, and begin
to show courage and hope.
But something always stops us.
Akhilleus rises from the trenches
and terrifies all with a great yowl.
Our hardships are those of the Trojans.
We believe boldness and determination
will alter our fortunes,
so we ready for battle.
When the great crisis arrives,
our boldness and resolve are lost,
our spirits rattled, stupefied,
and we scatter around the walls,
seeking somehow to save ourselves.
Our failure is predestined. From the walls,
the songs of sorrow have begun.
They lament the memory, the awareness
of our end. Priam and Hekabe weep for us.
June 1900
WHEN THE SENTRY SAW THE LIGHT
Watching from the House of Atreus, the Sentry
had weathered winters and summers, until finally
he spoke. He saw fires being lit and felt relief –
his hard work was complete.
He had weathered night and day, heat and cold,
looking out over Arachnaion and the old
signal had arrived – it brought happiness,
but less than expected. Only this is
certain: no more waiting, no more anxiousness.
Things are going to change in the House of Atreus.
Any fool can guess the future now the Sentry
has seen the light. Do not worry.
The good light means good men are coming
with their good speeches and good planning.
We pray they will be swift. But Argos
will outlast the House of Atreus.
Houses do not stand forever. Many will speak
and we will listen. But we will not be misled
by the serious and the great and the unique.
Someone serious and great and unique
is always lurking just ahead.
January 1900 (Hidden)
THE INTERVENTION OF THE GODS
Heartily know / … / The gods arrive.
Emerson
Rémonin. – …Il disparaîtra au moment necessaire; les dieux interviendront.
Mme De Rumières. – Comme dans les tragedies antiques?
(Acte II, sc. i)
Mme De Rumières. – Qu’y a-t-il?
Rémonin. – Les Dieux sont arrives.
Alexandre Dumas, Fils,L’Étrangère (Acte V, sc. x)
Now this happens, and then that,
and in year or two the same
happens again in the same way.
Worries better left behind:
we strive to improve our lives.
In striving we fail, muddle things,
walk towards the problem’s cliff
and stand there. The gods must get
to work. They are lowered on cranes
and deliver us, sudden,
violent, plucked up by the waist,
yanked off the stage by a rope.
Their one job, their work completed
for the day, until another steps
forward, moves toward the spotlight,
and there it all starts over.
May 1899 (Hidden)
INTERRUPTION
We interrupt the work of the gods,
we careless, naive, ephemeral beings.
In the palaces of Eleusis and Phthia,
Demeter and Thetis reckon with
great flames and heavy smoke. But
Metaneira always rushes in from the room
of the king, panicked, hair swept back;
Peleus, always afraid, intervenes.
May 1900
FAITHLESSNESS
Thus, although we are admirers of Homer, this we cannot
admire… nor will we praise the verses of Aeschylus
in which Thetis says that Apollo at her wedding:
Was celebrating in song her fair progeny
Whose days were to be long and free from sickness.
And when he had spoken of my lot as in all things blessed
Of heaven, he raised a note of triumph and cheered my soul.
I believed that the word of Phoebus, being divine
and full of prophecy, would never fail. And now
he himself who sang the strain…
...he it is who has slain my son.
– Plato, The Republic 2
Apollo stood up at the marriage
of Thetis and Peleus, during the resplendent
reception feast, and blessed the child the
newly wedded would produce through their union:
May sickness never touch him!
may he live a long life! – This is the way he spoke.
And Thetis was pleased, because the words
of Apollo, which foretell the future,
seemed to ensure the long life of her child.
As Akhilleus grew, and his beauty
was praised throughout Thessaly,
Thetis remembered the words of the god.
But one day old men came with news,
and told of the death of Akhilleus in Troy.
Thetis tore off her purple robes,
removed her bracelets and rings,
threw them all on the ground.
In tears she remembered the old times,
asked what the wise Apollo was doing,
where was the poet who spoke eloquently
at her wedding, where was the prophet
when her son was killed in the prime of life?
And the old men responded that Apollo
himself descended to the plains of Troy
and helped the Trojans kill Akhilleus.
May 1903
SECOND ODYSSEY
Dante, Inferno, Canto XXVI
Tennyson, ‘Ulysses’
The grand second Odyssey,
grander than the first. But
no Homer, no hexameter.
His father’s roof was too small,
his father’s city was too small,
all of Ithaka was too small.
The affection of Telemakhus, the faith
of Penelope, the age of his father,
his old friends, the devoted love
of his people, the pleasant calm of the house
entered the heart of the seafarer
like sunbeams of happiness.
And like the sun they set.
A thirst
for the sea awakened in him.
He despised the overland air.
The apparition of the Evening Star
prevented his sleeping at night.
A nostalgia for travels, mornings
where, arriving in a new port
for the first time, one is happy.
The affection of Telemakhus, the faith
of Penelope, the age of his father,
his old friends, the devoted love
of his people, the peace
and the calm of the house
put him to sleep.
He left.
Once the coast of Ithaka
disappeared from sight, he sailed
towards the West, Iberia,
the Pillars of Herakles –
away from Akhaian waters –
where he felt alive once more,
released from the heavy chains
of everyday domesticity.
And his ambitious heart
delighted in the cool absence of love.
January 1894 (Hidden)
DEMARATOS
The young sophist, Porphyrios, proposed
in conversation the subject, The Character
of Demaratos, which he expressed thus
(he intended to develop the argument):
‘He was prosperous in the court of King
Dareios, and later of King Xerxes,
and now under Xerxes’ command
Demaratos sees himself vindicated.
The shameful injustice done to the son
of Ariston: his foes bribed the oracle,
and were not satisfied when he
forfeited his kingdom.
He relented and agreed
to endure the life of a private citizen,
and they insulted him publicly –
humiliated at a festival.
For these reasons he holds faith in Xerxes.
He will return to Sparta,
the powerful Persian forces beside him,
and so enthroned, he will humiliate
that hypocrite Leotychidas –
he will drive him out.
There come, however, anxieties:
to advise the Persians, to show them
ways to conquer Greece. 19
Detailed, careful planning –
Demaratos has no time for rest.
Detailed, careful planning –
Demaratos has no heart for this:
he feels no happiness
(what he feels is nothing like,
cannot be anything like, happiness),
for he is aware of the outcome:
the Greeks will be victorious.’
November 1911
THERMOPYLAE
May all praise those who in life
guarded Thermopylae.
Never flagging from their errand,
righteous and fair in their actions,
they have compassion for the pitiful,
are generous when rich, and
continue to give when poor;
they are never unhelpful,
always speaking the truth,
withholding hatred for those who lie.
May all praise those men because
they foresaw (as many did foresee)
that an Ephialtes would present himself
and the Medes would get through.
November 1903
HELLENISTIC KINGS
RETURNING FROM GREECE
I see the coast, Hermippes, we’re almost there.
The captain says another day or two.
We’re sailing our home seas.
The currents off Cyprus, Syria, and Egypt,
waters favoured by our countrymen, carry us.
Only silence? Look in your heart:
do you feel happier the farther
we sail from Greece? Are we fooling ourselves?
That would not be very Greek.
The truth is, we are Greeks too –
what else are we? – through the
affections and sensibilities of Asia,
affections and sensibilities
that can surprise the Greeks.
Philosophers, Hermippes, know better
than to behave like minor kings
(we laughed at the royalty
who attended our classes, remember?) –
performing their Greekness,
their Macedonianness (there’s a word!),
where some Arabic feature shows,
something Median they cannot hold back,
and the sheepheaded fools struggle
comically to cover it all up. 24
No, we know better.
Greeks like us avoid the trivial.
The blood of Syria and Egypt
flowing in our veins is not disgraceful:
we should respect it – boast of it.
July 1914 (Hidden)
