#C. P. Cavafy

[derangedrhythms]

It was a thing of my love, that blood.

C. P. Cavafy, Collected Poems; from ‘The Bandaged Shoulder’, tr. Edmund Keeley

#c. p. cavafy #collected poems #the bandaged shoulder #poetry #excerpts #blood #l

[psikonauti]

David Hockney (British, b. 1937)

Portrait of Cavafy in Alexandria, 1966

Etching and aquatint on paper

#David Hockney #upl #art #prints #etching #men #C. P. Cavafy

[desimonewayland]

David Hockney

Twelve etchings were made to illustrate a series of erotic poems by the Greek-Egyptian writer C. P. Cavafy. Hockney greatly admired Cavafy’s ability to write openly and unapologetically about gay relationships. Many of Hockney’s illustrations are based on intimate sketches of his friends. Others were drawn from photographs. The backgrounds are based on a trip Hockney took to Beirut, Lebanon in 1966. He felt that Beirut’s cosmopolitan atmosphere made it the contemporary equivalent of Cavafy’s native Alexandria, Egypt.

Sotheby’s

#david hockney #c. p. cavafy #queer history #1960s #beirut #alexandria #couples

[transsexualjoanofarc]

the city by c. p. cavafy (trans. edmund keeley)

#me.txt #words words words #c. p. cavafy #this is one of my favorite poems lmao

[catullus101]

C. P. Cavafy, ‘For Ammon, Who Died at 29 Years of Age, in 610′, in The Complete Poems, trans. by Daniel Mendelsohn (2013)

#c. p. cavafy #daniel mendelsohn

[iminlovewithyourbrother]

pawn poems. because

#poetry #i just think theyre neat #the pawns i mean #fiona apple #c. p. cavafy

[insilverrolled]

The City

By C.P. Cavafy; Translated by Edmund Keeley [x]

You said: “I’ll go to another country, go to another shore, find another city better than this one. Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong and my heart lies buried like something dead. How long can I let my mind moulder in this place? Wherever I turn, wherever I look, I see the black ruins of my life, here, where I’ve spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally.”

You won’t find a new country, won’t find another shore. This city will always pursue you. You’ll walk the same streets, grow old in the same neighborhoods, turn gray in these same houses. You’ll always end up in this city. Don’t hope for things elsewhere: there’s no ship for you, there’s no road. Now that you’ve wasted your life here, in this small corner, you’ve destroyed it everywhere in the world.

#c. p. cavafy #edmund keeley #grief #place #cycles

[cor-ardens-archive]

C. P. Cavafy, ‘The Bandaged Shoulder’, tr. Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard

#this poem makes me soooo #blood thirsty #C. P. Cavafy #poetry #m. lit. #all is beautiful about your blood

[bakaity-poetry]

#C. P. Cavafy #cavafy #poem

[poems-from-around-the-world]

As Much As You Can - C.P. Cavafy - Greece

Translator: Edmund Keeley, Philip Sherrard (Greek)

And if you can’t shape your life the way you want, at least try as much as you can not to degrade it by too much contact with the world, by too much activity and talk.

Try not to degrade it by dragging it along, taking it around and exposing it so often to the daily silliness of social events and parties, until it comes to seem a boring hanger-on.

#as much as you can #cp cavafy #c. p. cavafy #greece #poem #poetry #poems from around the world #translation: Greek

[derangedrhythms]

C. P. Cavafy, Collected Poems; ‘The Bandaged Shoulder’, tr. Edmund Keeley

#c. p. cavafy #collected poems #the bandaged shoulder #poetry #blood #o

[threadbareturnbacks]

#c. p. cavafy #the god abandons antony #strong silverflint vibes on this one #but will always be a poem of the alexandria quartet for me #poetry

[aperion]

The Afternoon Sun

This room, how well I know it. Now they’re renting it, and the one next to it, as offices. The whole house has become an office building for agents, businessmen, companies. This room, how familiar it is. The couch was here, near the door, a Turkish carpet in front of it. Close by, the shelf with two yellow vases. On the right—no, opposite—a wardrobe with a mirror. In the middle the table where he wrote, and the three big wicker chairs. Beside the window the bed where we made love so many times. They must still be around somewhere, those old things. Beside the window the bed; the afternoon sun used to touch half of it. . . . One afternoon at four o’clock we separated for a week only. . . And then— that week became forever.

#c. p. cavafy

[gwydionmisha]

In Despair - C. P. Cavafy

He lost him completely. And he now tries to find his lips in the lips of each new lover, he tries in the union with each new lover to convince himself that it’s the same young man, that it’s to him he gives himself. He lost him completely, as though he never existed. He wanted, his lover said, to save himself from the tainted, unhealthy form of sexual pleasure, the tainted, shameful form of sexual pleasure. There was still time, he said, to save himself. He lost him completely, as though he never existed. Through fantasy, through hallucination, he tries to find his lips in the lips of other young men, he longs to feel his kind of love once more.  

#In Despair #C. P. Cavafy #Poem #Poetry

[engkanto-chanticleer]

The city where you grow up will always find you. The home that shapes you follows you wherever you are.

#poetry #literature #C. P. Cavafy

[lamiantoine]

Ithaca

When you start on your way to Ithaca, pray that the journey be long, rich in adventure, rich in discovery. Do not fear the Cyclops, the Laestrygonians or the anger of Poseidon. You’ll not encounter them on your way if your thoughts remain high, if a rare emotion possesses you body and soul. You will not encounter the Cyclops, the Laestrygonians or savage Poseidon if you do not carry them in your own soul, if your soul does not set them before you. Pray that the journey be a long one, that there be countless summer mornings when, with what pleasure, what joy you drift into harbours never before seen; that you make port in Phoenician markets and purchase their lovely goods: coral and mother of pearl, ebony and amber, and every kind of delightful perfume. Acquire all the voluptuous perfumes that you can, then sail to Egypt’s many towns to learn and learn from their scholars. Always keep Ithaca fixed in your mind. Arrival there is your destination. Yet do not hurry the journey at all: better that it lasts for many years and you arrive an old man on the island, rich from all that you have gained on the way, not counting on Ithaca for riches. For Ithaca gave you the splendid voyage: without her you would never have embarked. She has nothing more to give you now. And though you find her poor, she has not misled you; you having grown so wise, so experienced from your travels, by then you will have learned what Ithacas mean. C. P. CAVAFY The Selected Poems of Cavafy. Penguin Classics, 2008. Translated from the Greek by Avi Sharon.

#c. p. cavafy #greek literature