Название: The Complete Poems of C.P. Cavafy
Автор: Daniel Mendelsohn
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Поэзия
isbn: 9780007523382
isbn:
Quite by chance their glances happened to meet,
and timorously, hesitantly expressed
the illicit longing of their flesh.
Later, on the pavement, a few nervous steps—
until they smiled, and nodded very faintly.
And afterward the closed carriage. …
the sensitive nearing of their bodies;
the hands as one, the lips as one.
[1907; 1917]
Passage
What he timidly imagined in his school days, is opened up,
revealed to him. And he makes the rounds, stays out all night,
gets swept up in things. And as is (for our art) only right,
pleasure rejoices in his fresh, hot blood,
an outlaw sensual abandon overcomes
his body; and his youthful limbs
give in to it.
And so a simple boy
becomes, for us, worth looking at, and passes through the High
World of Poetry, for a moment—yes, even he;
this aesthete of a boy, with his blood so fresh and hot.
[1914; 1917]
In Evening
At any rate it wouldn’t have lasted long. Years
of experience make that clear to me. But still, Fate
came and ended things in too much of a hurry.
The life of loveliness was brief.
But how powerful our perfumed unctions were,
how exquisite the bed in which we lay,
to what pleasure we gave our bodies away.
A reverberation of the days of pleasure,
a reverberation of those days drew near me,
something we two had in youth, the fire;
once more I took a letter in my hands,
and read it over and over, till the light had failed.
And I went out onto the balcony, melancholy—
went out so I might clear my head by seeing at least
a little of this town I love so well,
some little movement in the street, and in the shops.
[1916; 1917]
Gray
Looking at an opal of medium gray,
I remembered two beautiful gray eyes
that I saw; it must be twenty years ago. …
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
For one month we were in love.
Then the departure, for Smyrna I daresay,
to get work there, and we never saw each other again.
Those gray eyes—if they’re alive—will have lost their beauty;
the beautiful face will have fallen into ruins.
O my memory, keep them as they were.
And, memory, whatever you can bring back from that love of mine,
whatever you can, bring back to me tonight.
[1917; 1917]
Below the House
Yesterday while strolling through a neighborhood
on the edge of town, I passed below the house
I used to go in when I was very young.
There Eros had taken possession of my body
with his exquisite force.
And yesterday
as I passed along that ancient street,
suddenly everything was made beautiful by desire’s spell:
the shops, the pavements, the stones,
and walls, and balconies, and windows;
there was nothing ugly that remained there.
And while I was standing, gazing at the door,
and standing, tarrying by the house,
the foundation of all my being yielded up
the sensual emotion that was stored inside.
[1917; 1919]
The Next Table
Can’t be more than twenty-two years old.
And yet I’m sure that, just about the same
number of years ago, I enjoyed that very body.
It’s not at all a flaring of desire.
And I only came to the casino a little while ago;
I haven’t even had time to drink a lot.
This very body: I enjoyed it.
And if I don’t remember where—one slip doesn’t signify.
Ah there, sitting at the next table now:
I recognize each movement—and beneath the clothes
I see once more the naked limbs I loved.
[1918; 1919?]