As I
walked the streets today surrounded by warm evening light, I thought of Constantine
Petrou Cavafy walking the colorful, exotic streets of Alexandria. I saw him cross squares and navigate narrow
passageways in the warm, sultry air; saw him stop for a bit to drink a Turkish
coffee in a café or to watch the sunset over the shimmering Mediterranean. He would take a moment to jot down some lines
on human folly and nobility, on the sacred or the profane; but always with a
tone of glowing, unimpeachable serenity.
Serenity, even in the face of the possibility that one’s life’s work might
come to nothing, as in “Απολείπειν ο θεός Αντώνιον”:
την
τύχη σου που ενδίδει πια, τα έργα σου
που απέτυχαν, τα σχέδια
της ζωής σου
που βγήκαν όλα πλάνες,
μη ανωφέλετα θρηνήσεις.
Cavafy was a great poet who knew that he
was a great poet. And what higher
satisfaction could there be than that?
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