Cavafy Poem 98: What I Brought To Art

Whatever this poem may be in the original, the existing translations that I have seen are rather dull; which leads one to surmise that perhaps it is just a dull poem - it happens to the best poets; or perhaps untranslateable using scholarly methods. So I have considerably beefed it up from its original seven lines of Greek verse and tried to make it into an enjoyable and rewarding English poem while retaining the core Cavafy message which is a meaningful one. I have additionally transformed it into my personal poetic credo.

98. WHAT I BROUGHT TO ART

There's a deep where creativity thrives,
a hidden place beyond sensation
unreachable by mentation
supple however be its sinews
subtle its ways;
a slumber through which glide eternal shapes,
archetypal images and forms.

Half asleep, half waking,
dreaming half and half aware
I meditate in that midheaven air
waiting for the mists and fogs to clear.

What do I bring to that high altar, Art?
What flowers heap the chancel and side chapel
of the tabernacle Poetry, pure song?
What jewels flash from the icons in the gloom?

Longing I fetch, fresh picked from encircling thorn;
feeling that twines about the ivied heart;
passion profuse, bound in flowering bunches;
perfumed bouquets of trembling apprehension;
pressed diamond essences of love and deep despair.
Half comprehended, half forgotten,
things half seen and only half remembered;
certain beautiful faces, lovely phrases;
undifferentiated memories;
people and psalms I treasured, long ago lost.

These and more are what I bring to Art,
Poetry's gift and sacrifice,
blood upon the altar and the steps,
crimson blood upon my bleeding hands.
Throned above, the Muse looks down and smiles.
How cold and rich his smile, provocative
of all the sufferings of earthbound man -
he knows how to use them, how to shape them
into meaningful lines and rhythms, golden speech
to echo down the ages through distant ears.

He softens our harshness with verdure,
overruns the steep slopes of despair
with masses of scented roses;
coaxes stark reality into bloom;
enpetals impressions, desires,
forming flowering vines of entwining days;
from the rock exudes the living water;
bathes our fevered brows with sparkling dew.

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[PoetLina]

Ah, ha, no wonder I couldn't find "Balas", I was looking for trinkets, not realising you had the Midas touch.

[MaurizioAndrea2008]

Complimenti per le Splendide Parole.

5 +++++

Un Abbraccio Fraterno

Con Amicizia e Rispetto

Maurizio Andrea.

[alchemistra]

What ever had been lost in translation, you have rendered new again, in a language the speaks the inspiration of the poet's heart.

[1zangelique]

Thanks so much once again, Charles. Beautiflly moving. I also wanted to tell you that the Daniel Mendelsohn book(s) are now available, if you're interested in investigating. I told you about them a few months ago.