Konstantinos Petrou Kavafis, who was born 163 years ago today and died 93 years ago today, spent most of his 70 years living alone as an obscure civil servant in Alexandria, Egypt (where he was born and died) but with a rich inner life that eventually qualified him -- posthumously -- to be considered one of the modern poetic masters, in Greek or any language. As a translator, I have to admit that at least half of the excitement of Cavafy is how impossible to translate he is. I've spoken of this difficulty before when I attempted a few of his perfect verses but, in hindsight, he inspired perhaps my favorite of all my translations with his chilling ode to his home city.
The "published" works comprising his collected poems consisted of what would best be called mimeographs sent privately to friends. But there were many unpublished poems and fragments left in notebooks at his death that provide a rare glimpse into his process. Below are essentially three versions of the same poem: a preliminary sketch, a more complete (and honest) version, and finally the canonical version that beautifully expresses what has been taken out in the revision process.
Some 40 years ago -- and even if it never comes.
It is now that adjacent table,
At the adjacent table.
A youth who was sprawled
Some 40 years ago,
It appears that way to me.
And the adjacent tables,
The far away tables,
The place we used to haunt
Still is.
---
He must be not 22, or scarcely
But I am most sure that some 40 years ago
I pleased myself on the same body, the same ideal.
It's not a mirage. It's not from the wine.
Some 40 years ago -- but the space is filled the same,
Same sloping neck, the same hopelessness.
I looked at him from my seat at the adjacent table.
How the time has now passed. How I became like this.
This stranger, this fossil, in the people world.
---
It must be true -- scarcely 22 years old.
But I know that it was many years ago,
Almost the same -- that I enjoyed that same body.
It is not at all an erotic fantasy.
Now I have just entered the casino;
I didn't have time to even drink much.
The same body I enjoyed.
And if I don't remember where -- my oblivion is not saying.
And now he sits at the adjacent table.
I recognize every movement of his -- and under his threads
I see again those beloved limbs, naked.
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Είναι τώρα εκείνο το διπλανό τραπέζι.
Στο διπλανό το τραπέζι
ένα νέο παιδί που κάθονταν,
πριν από σαράντα χρόνια,
μου φαίνεται πως είναι.
Και τα διπλανά τραπέζια,
κ’ εκείνα τα τραπέζια,
που κάποτε συχνάζαμε,
θα είναι.
---
Το διπλανό τραπέζι (Unpublished draft)
Πρέπει να ’ναι μόλις είκοσι δύο ετών.
Κι όμως είμαι βέβαιος πως πριν σαράντα χρόνια
απόλαυσα το ίδιο το σώμα, την ίδια αγάπη.
Δεν είναι παραίσθησις. Δεν είναι από τα κρασιά.
Σαράντα χρόνια — κι όμως η ίδια κίνησις,
η ίδια γραμμή του σβέρκου, η ίδια απελπισία.
Καθόμουν και τον κοίταζα στο διπλανό τραπέζι.
Πώς πέρασαν τα χρόνια. Πώς έγινα έτσι.
Σαν ξένος, σαν ερείπιο, μες στον κόσμο αυτόν.
---
Το διπλανό τραπέζι (Published version)
Πρέπει να ’ναι μόλις είκοσι δυό ετών.
Κι όμως είμαι βέβαιος πως πριν από τόσα χρόνια —
σχεδόν τα ίδια — απόλαυσα το ίδιο το σώμα.
Δεν είναι καθόλου ερωτική φαντασία.
Τώρα μόλις μπήκα μες στο καζίνo·
δεν πρόφθασα ούτε πολύ να πιώ.
Το ίδιο σώμα απόλαυσα εγώ.
Κι αν δεν θυμούμαι πού — μια λησμονιά δεν λέγει τίποτε.
Τώρα που κάθισε στο διπλανό τραπέζι
γνωρίζω κάθε κίνησί του — και κάτω απ’ τα φορέματα,
ξαναβλέπω τα μέλη τα αγαπημένα, γυμνά.
For more, go to the Cavafy Online Archive
