Pray that the summer mornings are many when with such pleasure, with such joy you will enter ports seen for the first time - Konstantinos P. Cavafy

"Desires"

Like beautiful bodies of the dead who had not grown old
and they shut them, with tears, in a magnificent mausoleum,
with roses at the head and jasmine at the feet — that is how desires look that have passed
without fulfillment; without one of them having achieved
a night of sensual delight, or a moonlit morn.

VLADAR IZ ZAPADNE LIBIJE

Uglavnom se svideo u Aleksandriji,
za tih deset dana svoga boravka,
Menelajev sin Arispomen,
vladar iz zapadne Libije.
Kao ime, i odeća mu, uljudno, helenska.
Rado je prihvatio počasti,
ali ih nije tražio: bio je skroman.
Kupovao je helenske knjige,
mahom iz istorije i filosofije.
Iznad svega, bio je škrt na rečima.
Mora da je dubokih misli, govorilo se,
a prirodno je što takvi ne pričaju suviše.

Nije bio dubokih misli, niti čega drugog.
Sasvim običan, smešan čovek.
Uzeo je helensko ime, odevao se poput Helena,
a naučio je, manje-više, i da se ponaša kao Heleni.
U duši je strepeo da slučajno
ne pokvari povoljan utisak
ako govori helenski sa strašnim varvarizmima,
a Aleksandrinci bi ga otkrili,
već po svom običaju, nesrećnici.

Stoga se ograničio na malo reči,
pazeći sa strahom na padeže i na izgovor;
i nisu ga malo mučili ti razgovori
koji su se gomilali u njemu.

The Funeral of Sarpedon Zeus is heavy with grief. Sarpedon
is dead at Patroclus’ hands and, right now,
the son of Menoetius and his Achaeans are setting out
to steal the corpse and desecrate it. But Zeus will not allow it.
He had left his beloved child alone
and now he’s lost – for such the Law demanded.
But at least he will honour him in death.
Behold: he sends Phoebus down to the field
with orders to care for the body. Phoebus lifts the hero’s corpse with reverence
and pity, and bears him to the river.
He washes away the blood and dust
and closes the wounds, careful
not to leave a scar; he pours balm
of ambrosia over the body and clothes him
in resplendent Olympian robes.
He blanches the skin and with a comb of pearl
straightens the raven-black hair.
He lays him out, arranging the lovely limbs. The youth seems a king, a charioteer,
twenty-five or twenty-six years old –
relishing his moment of victory,
with the swiftest stallions, upon a golden chariot
in a grand competition. Phoebus, completing his assignment,
calls on his two siblings,
Sleep and Death, commanding them
to carry the body to Lycia, land of riches. So the two brothers, Sleep and Death,
set out on foot to transport the body
to Lycia, land of riches.
And at the door of the king’s palace
they hand over the glorious body
and return to their affairs. As they receive him into the palace
they begin laments and tributes, processions
and libations flowing from sacred vessels
and everything that befits such a sad funeral;
then skilled craftsmen from the city
and artists well known for their work in marble
arrive to fashion the tomb and the stele.