A Cavafy Find 

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An interesting discovery of three hitherto unknown poems by the Alexandrian poet C. P. Cavafy has recently been discussed in the pages of Cyprus Letters by the scholar A. Indianos. These poems were unearthed from an old scrap book in the possession of the Countess Chariclea Jerome Valieri, who lives in Cyprus, and who is the daughter of Cavafy’s brothers, Aristides. They are the earliest known work of the Alexandrian master, and while they are not equal to the work of his maturity, they show, despite the conventional lyrical form in which they are written, touches of the true Cavafian irony and actuality: the way, for instance, in which he discusses emotions in terms of simple humble objects ‘the cheap cretonne dress’ and the ‘cheap bracelets on her arms’. The word ‘cheap’ he always uses with emotion to offset the values these shopworn objects, bodies, ears, hands, eyes, etc, represent in the eyes of the lover who invests them with his own feelings. Indeed all the grandeur of Cavafy lies in this patient, loving, miserly way of looking at objects and events – reinfecting memory time and time again with the passionate actuality of something that has disturbed him – so that the resulting vibration in words become significant and powerful, and the poem as a whole comes over. Lovers of his verse will be interested in these early examples. Even though, perhaps, in their English versions, they lose something of their natural strength. 

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My Friends, When I Was in Love 

My friends, when I was in love,  
It was many years ago
I did not share the same earth 
With other mortal beings. 

Lyrical was my turn of mind
And though so often deceptive
It gave me happiness
Abounding life and warmth

Whatever the eye took in 
Was rich in beauty,
The palace of my love  
A nest appeared to me

A cheap cretonne dress
The one she used to wear 
I swear when first I saw it
Seemed of the finest silk

The two cheap bracelets 
She wore on her wrists
Seemed to me precious stones  
Adorning some great lady 

On her head she wore
Mountain flowers –
The loveliest of all bouquets
They seemed to me.

Smooth the walks we took
Together arm in arm,
Nor thorn or brambles there,  
Or if there were earth hid them

Today the orator and the sage
Cannot move me half as much
As a single sign from her did
In those old days

My friends when I was in love 
It was many years ago
I did not share the same earth 
With other mortal beings.

Flowers of May

All the Year’s flowers blossom in May,   
But of them all Youth is the loveliest, 
But how soon it fades, never to come back;  
Only the flowers always adorn the ground. 

All the Year’s flowers blossom in May, 
The same ones, but my eyes don’t see them,
And other hands put them in other bosoms,  
Spring comes and ebbs, but no two springs alike 
The sweets of each are different.

All the Year’s flowers bloosom in May,  
But they do not always wait upon our happiness, 
The same flowers give joy and bitterness,
Growing on graves we mourn for,   
Adorning the scented fields. 

Again May comes, and the flowers rise, 
But it is difficult to see her from the window,  
And the pane dwindles, diminishes, disappears.  
The mournful eye grows dim and cannot see, 
Our tired limbs can no longer hold us up.

This year the flowers are not for us,  
Other springs now crown us with their blossoms;  
The past comes surging back, 
Beloved shades stoop down and beckon us  
Lull the starved heart asleep. 

Dounya Gouzeli 

(The loveliest woman in the world)

The mirror does not lie: what I see is true  
There is no one lovelier anywhere than I, 
Glittering diamonds of eyes,
Lips verging on corals,  
A double line of pearls for teeth,
My body is graceful, my legs admired, 
Hands and neck of milk, and hair of spun silk,
But alas what is the good of it all? 

Inside this loathed enclosed harem
Who on earth can look upon my beauty?
Only hostile rivals or horrible eunuchs
Poisoning me with looks, my blood freezes
When my terrible husband comes to me. 
My prophet, my Lord forgive me if 
My sad heart cries ‘If only I were a Christian’. 

If I became a Christian I should be free 
Show myself freely to one and all,
For men to admire and girls to envy.  
All would agree that Nature could not make
Another like me; passing in my coach
The streets of Istanbul would fill 
With crowds admiring me. 

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These three poems by C. P. Cavafy (translated by Lawrence Durrell) originally appeared in the July 1956 edition of The London Magazine.

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