Ithaka

I am happy today. Cavafy, whose most famous poem is perhaps Ithaka, wrote some beautiful poems about 'The mad pomegranate tree.' Something like 15 years ago, a much loved friend sent me a copy of these verses. I would like to quote it today, because it's so passionate, so vibrant, and today I am full of enthusiasm; I honestly believe every day should feel the way that poem makes me feel. So can I find it? No. Have I really looked? OK, possibly not. It's buried under a mountain of papers somewhere, and I was sure I could find it more easily on the web. Wrong again.

So instead, I will quote Ithaka, only here's the thing; Googling merely finds me translations best described as stuffy; I am reduced to, of all things, a 1980's cookery book for an empathic rendition. That book does not have it all, but I would sooner quote part of it with tenderness than all of it in stilted academese.

Ithaka is of course, the long-lost home of Odysseus, made famous in the epic poem which details his 10 year journey back to the little island after the Trojan war.

...You must pray that the way be long;
Many be the summer mornings
When with what pleasure, what delight
You enter harbours never seen before;
At Phoenician trading stations you must stop,
And must acquire merchandise,
Mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
And sensuous perfumes of every kind;
As much as you can get of sensuous perfumes;
You must go to many cities of Egypt,
To learn and still to learn from those who know.

...Ithaka has given you your lovely journey
Without Ithaka you would not have set out.
Ithaka has no more to give you now.

Poor though you find it, Ithaka has not cheated you.
Wise as you have become, with all your experience,
You will have understood the meaning of an Ithaka.

My talent for proof-reading is at its finest this morning. For a while there, my mood was insoiled and the Phoenician traders were advised to acquire Mother of pears. Time for coffee perhaps.