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XXV. ITHAKA. CAVAFY'S POEMS REWRITTEN. Nos. 31 - 34.
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Ithaka is another of the most widely read and widely commented upon of Cavafy's poems. Cavafy can often be morbidly deterministic, even fatalistic: but not here. It is interesting to compare this poem with No. 23, 'The Old Town'. In the latter poem he tells us that wherever we go we will always be the same person; if we fail in the here and now we shall also fail in the there and then since we are unable to change our basic patterns of behaviour. In that poem he suggests that travel is only an attempt to escape from ourselves; but in 'Ithaka' he presents travel, journeying, as an entirely positive activity. Of course, there is the possibility that he is in fact commenting not upon actual physical travels but on mental voyaging, philosophical or religious enquiry included.
Ithaka is above all a poem of hope, and its spirit is one with which I find it very easy to identify. The morbidity of 'The Old Town' is claustrophobic but 'Ithaka' is as open as a cloudless blue sky on a day when we are just setting out upon an exciting journey - no prepaid and preselected and prearranged package holiday, but a true voyage of discovery in the old Elizabethan style: a journey into the truly unknown and previously unvisited.
The end of this exciting journey is the most wonderful part of our travelling because we sail into a familiar port and find that we mysteriously have known it all along: it is home. In a way we have arrived back at our starting point, just as we did in 'The Old Town', but this time accompanied by illumination and not despair. And in this new journey we do not disembark in an identical frame of mind to that with which we started. No, the place is the same, but we are entirely different, 'changed, changed utterly'; and what is born of this is not 'a terrible beauty' as in Yeats but the pellucid and hopeful reality of enlightenment.
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Talking of journeys, particularly life-journeys, several readers of these pages have asked for information about me. I attempted to deal with this question (or carefully evade it!) on my previous and now ancient-looking website, amazingly still available, to be found at the link below. There is not much to tell and my life-journey has been a largely obscure and retired one, for which I thank the Heavenly Powers. My journeys have been all of the Ithakan variety, as mentioned above, with also the slightest touch at intervals of 'The Old Town' syndrome.
I was born in London in 1941 and lived in that noble and expanding city for most of my life. I started upon my poetic 'career' as a pre-teen and have been at it, on and off, ever since, but with absolutely no signs of public recognition - the fate of the majority of scribblers. But the enjoyment I receive (the excitement even!) from my poetic and literary studies and efforts is really all that anyone can ask, as indeed with the journey in Ithaka discussed above.
My public career consisted of working first at accountancy and then in the Civil Service, neither of which was particularly congenial to me and from which I am now happily retired with the luxury of having all the time in the world (or whatever amount is left to me!) to devote to my studies. I live in a charmingly quiet village beside the sea with a most dear companion where I hope to spend the rest of my days. The sun is shining through the soon-to-be-dispelled mist of a March morning, and life is good!
A photo taken today is at the heading of this page.
- Charles Bryant, 26 March 2005.
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31. PTOLEMAIC ARTS
i’m Soter son of King Lagos
King Lagos’s boy
from Macedonia.
i am not shy and have won,
with power and wealth, the right to enjoy
all the notorious pleasures of the world,
both west and east.
barbarian or Greek,
not one is my equal.
Seleukos’ riotous son is meek
compared with me,
his tentative luxuries laughable.
in the city by the sea,
at Alexandria,
enjoyment is my coronet
and flashes gaudily,
in every part accomplished,
in every vice most wise.
32. ITHAKA
if, like Odysseus, you try to get home to Ithaka,
be lucky in your journey - let it be a long one
packed with fascination.
don't be aghast at giants or fear the one-eyed man
or the angry sea-god:
these are only fables.
your mind exalted,
your spirit and body purified through thought,
you need not witness these monsters
unless you carry them with you
locked in imagination.
this wonderful Ithacan journey -
pray it may be long
full of happy summer mornings
when you enter new harbours never seen before
tense with excitement, your heart thudding heavily.
do not omit to visit those trading stations
set up by peripatetic Phoenicians
who in their wanderings to fabulous regions
amass the most beautiful pearl and coral
heaped up with amber and ebony
in dark shops redolent with sensuous perfumes.
do not forget to study at great Egyptian
centres of learning, to extend your wisdom
by the words of the wise.
your destination, Ithaka, keep always in mind:
that's where you're heading; that's your purpose.
but better that your journey is not hurried
(Ithaka is always waiting)
better if it takes you years to get there;
better if you're old when you reach the island
enriched beyond expectation with experience
- then Ithaka, your goal, on coming home
will not disappoint you.
it was for this you wandered,
for this you came.
having seen so many wonders,
you accept her: this is your home, your island.
you come with full hands; and you were not fooled,
wise with experience, into thinking
Ithaka other than she is.
33. HERODIS ATTIKOS
glory to Herodis Attikos
the unsurpassable Herodis
the unreachable Attikos
shining shining shining
his sun unquenchable, un-put-outable
may his hotly burning globe fire on forever.
Alexander from Seleukeia
that most remarkable teacher
arrived at Athens to lecture.
he found the city empty.
Herodis was in the country -
all the young people had followed him
into the sticks.
Alexander from Seleukeia
writing to Herodis
begged him to post some pupils off to town.
Herodis replied: ‘i’m coming back
and all the boys are coming with me.’
how many students now in Alexandria
or learning to speak good Greek in Antioch
or beating out hexameters in Beirut -
how many gathering to daintily dine
lounging around the table on their elbows
discussing the finer points of sophistry
discoursing of their amatory adventures -
how many fall suddenly silent, are struck dumb
forgetting the pleasant viands and fine wines
while they cogitate on Herodis’ large fortune
(the lustrously spangling gold, the sparkling gems)
the wonder and the wealth of that great Attikos -
who does whatever he likes wherever he goes
and all the Greeks
(who would ever think it of the Greeks?)
follow him follow him, follow at his whim
ask nothing, argue nothing
neither criticise nor debate
just follow follow follow
that amazing fellow
Herodis Attikos
lord of light and logic
unsurpassable unquenchable
son of the sun!
34. LOVER OF THE GREEKS (PHILHELLENE)
Sithaspis, i adjure you to ensure
the engraving for my coinage is your best.
show me with a serious expression.
some majesty would not here be amiss,
a lifting and enhancement of the profile.
trace my tiara delicately thin
unlike those great thick wedges of pure gold
loved by the barbarians - so vulgar!
the inscription on the coin will be in Greek
since that’s a must. nothing exaggerated
and no bragging: the Governor wouldn’t like it.
(he’s always poking his nose in, telling tales
back at Rome.) give me my due nonetheless;
be properly respectful.
on the reverse: a beautiful young athlete
preparing to throw the discus; like that
lovely marble statue by what’s-his-name.
above all else Sithaspis, most dear artist,
don’t let them neglect, after the honorific
‘Saviour’ and ‘King’, to add to my titles
‘Lover of the Greeks’. i must have ‘Philhellene’
despite your critical banter. disbelief
and bitchiness won’t stop me. and don’t say,
as you usually tease me, ‘Greeks? what Greeks?
Greeks out here beyond the back of beyond?’
since all the petty heads of petty tribes
use that sounding inscription, so shall we.
and anyway you always seem to forget
the philosophers who visit us from Syria,
the peripatetic poets down on their luck
and similar artistic ne’er-do-wells.
with all this, we can hardly be un-Greek!
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Links:
Charles Bryant's Previous Webpage
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