Emis—young, twenty-eight— reached this Syrian harbor in a Tenian ship, his plan to learn the incense trade. But ill during the voyage, he died as soon as he was put ashore. His burial, the poorest possible, took place here. A few hours before dying he whispered something about “home,” about “very old parents.” But nobody knew who they were, or what country he called home in the great panhellenic world. Better that way; because as it is, though he lies buried in this harbor-town, his parents will always have the hope he’s still alive.

Reprinted from C.P. CAVAFY: Collected Poems Revised Edition, translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard, edited by George Savidis. Translation copyright © 1975, 1992 by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard. Princeton University Press. For reuse of these translations, please contact Princeton University Press. 
The Canon

In the Month of Athyr

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