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There’ll be no one in the house
Winter’s day seen in the space that’sMade by curtains left undrawn.Only flash-past of the wet whiteSnowflake clusters, glimpsed and gone.Only roofs and snow, and save forRoofs and snow-no one at home.Once more, frost will trace its patterns,I’ll be haunted once againBy my last year’s melancholy,By that other wintertime.Once more, I’ll be troubled by anOld unexpiated…
How I remember solstice days
Each unrepeatable, unique,And each one countless times repeated.Of all these days, these only days,When one rejoiced in the impressionThat time had stopped, there grew in yearsAn unforgettable succession.Each one of them I can evoke.The year is to midwinter moving,The roofs are dripping, roads are soaked,And on the ice the sun is brooding.Then lovers hastily are…
Comments about 1918 by Boris Pasternak
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The air is full of after-thunder freshness,
With the whole outburst of its purple clustersThe lilac drinks the air of paradise.The gutters overflow; the change of weatherMakes all you see appear alive and new.Meanwhile the shades of sky are growing lighter,Beyond the blackest cloud the height is blue.An artist’s hand, with mastery still greaterWipes dirt and dust off objects in his path.Reality…
Winked to the birdcherry, gulped amid tears,
Full moon. The musicians are picking their wayTo the theatre. More and more people assemble.Puddles on stone. Like a throat overfilledWith tears are the roses, deep with wet scaldingDiamonds. Showers of gladness thrill,Eyelashes, stormclouds, and roses enfolding.The moon for the first time is casting in plasterAn epic poem uncast till today:The cordons, the flutter of…
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Comments about When They Are Roused by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Because gods perceive future things, men what is happening now,
Philostratus, Life of Apollonius of Tyana, VIII, 7.Men know what is happening now.The gods know the things of the future,the full and sole possessors of all lights.Of the future things, wise men perceiveapproaching things. Their hearingis sometimes, during serious studies,disturbed. The mystical clamorof approaching events reaches them.And they heed it with reverence. While outsideon the…
I never had you nor, I suppose,
as in the bar yesterday -nothing more.It’s sad, I admit. But we who serve Art,sometimes with the mind’s intensitycan create pleasure that seems almost physical-but of course only for a short time.That’s how in the bar yesterday-mercifully helped by alcohol-I had half an hour that was totally erotic.And I think you understood thisand stayed slightly…
This room, how well I know it.
as offices. The whole house has becomean office building for agents, businessmen, companies.This room, how familiar it is.The couch was here, near the door,a Turkish carpet in front of it.Close by, the shelf with two yellow vases.On the right -no, opposite- a wardrobe with a mirror.In the middle the table where he wrote,and the three…
Things impolitic and dangerous:
supernatural magic, visits to pagan temples.Enthusiasm for the ancient gods.Frequent talks with Chrysanthios.Speculation with Maximus, the astute philosopher.And look what’s happened. Gallos is extremely worried.Konstantios has become suspicious.Julian’s advisors weren’t at all prudent.The matter, says Mardonios, has gone too far,the talk it has aroused must be stopped at all cost.—So Julian goes to the church…
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Even if you can’t shape your life the way you want,
not to degrade itby too much contact with the world,by too much activity and talk.Do not degrade it by dragging it along,taking it around and exposing it so oftento the daily sillinessof social relations and parties,until it comes to seem a boring hanger-on.
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For centuries they hadn’t seen gifts at Delphi
the rival Ptolemaic kings. But now that they have them,the priests are nervous about the oracle.They’ll need all their experienceto determine subtly how to express it, which of the two-which of two brothers like these – will have to be offended.And so they meet secretly at nightto discuss the family affairs of the Lagids.But suddenly…
I love the church: its labara,
the lights, the ikons, the pulpit.Whenever I go there, into a church of the Greeks,with its aroma of incense,its liturgical chanting and harmony,the majestic presence of the priests,dazzling in their ornate vestments,the solemn rhythm of their gestures-my thoughts turn to the great glories of our race,to the splendor of our Byzantine heritage.