Poseidonians
Constantine P. Cavafy
The Poseidonians forgot the Greek language after so many centuries of mingling with Tyrrhenians, Latins, and other foreigners. The only thing surviving from their ancestors was a Greek festival, with beautiful rites, with lyres and flutes, contests and wreaths. And it was their habit toward the festival's end to tell each other about their ancient customs and once again to speak Greek names that only few of them still recognized. And so their festival always had a melancholy ending because they remebered that they too were Greeks, they too once upon a time were citizens of Magna Graecia; and how low they'd fallen now, what they'd become, living and speaking like barbarians, cut off so disastrously from the Greek way of life.
Next 10 Poems
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Priest At The Serapeum
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Remember, Body...
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Return
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Since Nine O'clock
- Constantine P. Cavafy : So Much I Gazed
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Supplication
- Constantine P. Cavafy : The Bandaged Shoulder
- Constantine P. Cavafy : The City
- Constantine P. Cavafy : The First Step
- Constantine P. Cavafy : The God Abandons Antony
Previous 10 Poems
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Pictured
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Picture Of A 23-year-old Youth Painted By His Friend Of The Same Age, An Amature
- Constantine P. Cavafy : One Of Their Gods
- Constantine P. Cavafy : On An Italian Shore
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Of The Shop
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Nero's Term
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Morning Sea
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Monotony
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Manuel Komninos
- Constantine P. Cavafy : Ithaka