For Cavafy, Where Ever You May Find Him


Constantine Cavafy, I've been reading of your life
It is one that sprouts the seeds of curiosity within me
You had many friends and lovers
And no children
Your words were your sons
These are my sons
Like yours
Apparently though, I will never fully understand
For I do not know the Greek language
The translation is a glass of wine
That while makes my head light and full of bliss
Still veils the path that you want me to walk
I know what it is you say
Yet how you say it, your incantations, remain aloof
Your magic spells
They made a museum for you, you know?
In the Alexandrian apartment you lived in
Perhaps I will visit it one day
When I go to find the library's foundations
And Alexander's resting place
Or should I spend the spring (for it is on its way)
Trying to learn Greek?
Oh what a chore!
Love always seems to be
But, ultimately it seems worth it
Maybe you would be the cure for my soul?
Did you know
They say your most important work was done after you were 40?
But what of when you were a young man
Sitting on a boat, watching muscles furrow, what poetry were you thinking?
I am only 28
Will they say that about me?
Constantine, this isn't about me, this is you I discuss
You and what you are doing right now
Staring over my shoulder
With your pity, jealousy, love and cigarette ash falling on my coat
So I will learn your language
Merely to give me something to do while I travel to Ithaca
And I will read your latter day words
For you, for your wisdom, for your youth, for your experience

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