The Poetics of Cavafy: Textuality, Eroticism, History

by Gregory Jusdanis

Overview

This full-length theoretical examination of Constantine Cavafy breaks the study of this great Greek poet free from the narrow context of traditional scholarship and introduces the latest critical developments into the study of Greek poetry.

Originally published in 1987.

The Princeton Legacy Library uses the latest print-on-demand technology to again make available previously out-of-print books from the distinguished backlist of Princeton University Press. These editions preserve the original texts of these important books while presenting them in durable paperback and hardcover editions. The goal of the Princeton Legacy Library is to vastly increase access to the rich scholarly heritage found in the thousands of books published by Princeton University Press since its founding in 1905.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780691636399
Publisher:	Princeton University Press
Publication date:	04/19/2016
Series:	Princeton Legacy Library , #806
Pages:	218
Product dimensions:	6.10(w) x 9.40(h) x 0.70(d)

Read an Excerpt

The Poetics of Cavafy

Textuality, Eroticism, History

---

By Gregory Jusdanis

PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS

Copyright © 1987 Princeton University Press
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-691-06720-9

---

CHAPTER 1

POET

Western culture has regarded the poet as a source of poetry, or at least an essential component in the creative process. With romanticism a change occurred in the conception of the poet, manifested both in the enhanced social status he enjoyed as a purveyor of truth, and also in the increased reference made to him to explain and interpret poetry. In his influential study of romanticism, The Mirror and the Lamp, M. H. Abrams demonstrates that while previous ages in their conception of poetry fore-grounded either the role of reality (which poetry copied) or the function of the audience (which poetry taught or pleased), by the late nineteenth century poetry came to be understood primarily from the perspective of the poet. The factors of reality and the audience forfeited their significance, as more emphasis was given to the creator. In short, with the rise of expression theory critical interest shifted away from these coordinates to the poet himself.

A passage that exemplifies this transformation and the one usually cited in this context comes from Wordsworth's preface to the Lyrical Ballads (1800), in which he alludes to poetry as the "overflow of powerful feeling." Wordsworth understands poetic creativity as a spontaneous gush of strong passion in the process of which the author pours forth his soul into verse. The source of the poem is the poet; it is he who both fashions the artistic product and renders it meaningful for others. The poet and his internalized microcosm emerge as the central factors in the explanation and judgment of poetry. This conception of artistic activity becomes an essential attribute of nineteenth-century critical discourse and marks the conceptual realignment toward the poet. Writing eighteen years after Wordsworth, William Hazlitt provides a parallel definition of poetry. For Hazlitt, poetry is the expression of the poet's feelings, it is "the language of the imagination and the passions" stemming from the bosoms of men (1930: 1). Terms such as "feelings," "passions," and the "imagination" are the key words by which poetry is discussed and analyzed. Their frequent recurrence in critical discourse — in his essay Hazlitt often repeats the passage quoted here — attests to the shift in thinking about the artistic act and brings to the fore the romantic preoccupation with the poet.

This change in theoretical orientation may be seen in many other critical writings of that and subsequent periods. A case in point is Carlyle's essay "The Hero as Poet" (1840), in which he refers metaphorically to Shakespeare's works as "windows through which we glimpse of the world in him" (1897: 110). But what view do the windows afford? They do not open out to the world, as poetry was expected to do, but reveal a picture of the poet himself; the work illuminates the inner soul more than it describes the universe. One can argue that, for Carlyle, poetry expresses the poet's mind rather than faithfully depicting nature or addressing itself to the experience of the audience. Carlyle's metaphor typifies the new conception of the poet, which gradually became the dominant explanation of poetic production.

Such pronouncements as those cited above constitute a juncture in the development of poetics inasmuch as they posit the poet at the center of interpretive reference. The artist sees himself (and is judged by others) as the triggering force in the act of creation. He emerges as the genius, as the freethinking subject who exists unconstrained by conventions and institutions, and who by his almost divine power fashions new forms. He alone bears the authority to confer upon an object the status of art; that is, an object is deemed to be artistic not because it faithfully represents nature, or because the audience designates it as art, but chiefly because it is produced by the artist. Edmund Wilson, in his study of late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century literature, perceptively points out the crucial difference between the romantic poet and his precursors. In his introductory remarks to Axel's Castle, he notes that while Racine, Molière, and Swift ask us to be interested in what they have created, Musset, Byron, and Wordsworth ask us to be interested in themselves (1931: 2).

Such perhaps was the generalized image of the poet that Cavafy inherited, albeit in modified form. In this chapter I explore the notion of the poet as it is represented in Cavafy's poetics, first, by examining the distinction made in his work between the poet and the nonpoet, and second, by investigating the special attributes that are the characteristics of the poet.

THE POET AND THE NON-POET

One of the recurring features in Cavafy's poetics, which will be encountered throughout this study, is the segregation of the poetic from the nonpoetic dimension of life. The relationship between these two spheres of human activity is seen in terms of radical difference; the boundary dividing them is so vigorously defended by the poet that it becomes nearly impassable. Quite simply, one either possesses the qualities of the poet or one does not. The poets portrayed in Cavafy's work claim to be unique and distinctive beings isolated from the average person. They are preoccupied, if not obsessed, with their difference from the rest of the human race. Their self-image is informed by the notion of alterity, which, as shall be seen later in this chapter, manifests itself in diverse forms of alienation. In Cavafy's work the poet is an elitist who unabashedly proclaims his distinctiveness. Such is the theme of the early poem "Addition" (1897), in which the speaker argues that personal happiness is not the goal of his life:

    I do not question whether I am happy or not.
    But one thing I always keep gladly in mind;
    that in the great addition — their addition that I abhor —
    that has so many numbers, I am not one
    of the many units there. I was not counted
    in the total sum. And this joy suffices me.'

What is paramount for him is maintaining his individuality and keeping a distance from the common rabble, for which he has only contempt. Redemption in life, the source of the only imaginable joy, stems from his successful evasion of the mediocre masses. Since the average man possesses none of the special talents and faculties of the poet, he remains for him uninteresting and uninspiring. Reconciliation between the poet and nonpoet is unwelcome. Indeed Aeschylus, in "Young Men of Sidon" (1920), is severely rebuked by a young man of letters for neglecting his tragedies when, in his epitaph, he refers only to having fought with the horde in the Persian Wars. (For a full analysis of this text see Chapter 6.)

In this poem, the composition of tragedies assumes supreme value and their author occupies a privileged position in the social hierarchy. The ability to write poetry rates as one of the most praiseworthy accomplishments. As Theocritus informs the novice Evmenis in "The First Step" (1899), even the "first step on the ladder of Poetry" deserves attention and respect:

    Just to be on the first step
    should make you happy and proud.
    To have reached this point is no small achievement:
    what you've done already is a wonderful thing.
    Even this first step
    is a long way above the ordinary world.

Theocritos's swift reply to his young poet's searching questions valorize the aesthetic experience. The ability to compose verse is deemed more valuable than any other human capacity. And the poet, who engages exclusively in this activity, ascends the steps of Poetry heading for his apotheosis as creator par excellence. Poetic discourse is divorced from ordinary discourse. This segregation of the poetic from the nonpoetic is, as we shall observe, not free of consequences, for the poet's celebration of his original voice eventually turns to a solipsistic monologue. Before examining the topic of poetic alienation in Cavafy, I wish to discuss those distinctive features that allegedly differentiate the poet from all others and that bring about his ultimate isolation.

Chief among these characteristics is the poet's highly developed sensitivity, which, it is claimed, affords him a vision of truth. Poets were always thought to have access to privileged knowledge. Romanticism exaggerated this trait and created a distinct type of individual, one invested with an artistic personality. The romantic poet emerged as the uniquely gifted individual who in almost all respects differs from other human beings. In the preface to the Lyrical Ballads, Wordsworth enumerates these talents and skills: "A poet ... is a man endued with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, has greater knowledge of human nature and a more comprehensive soul ... a man who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of life ... delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings on of the Universe, and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them" (1966: 48). For Wordsworth the poet is an extraordinary individual endowed with refined senses that enable him to perceive those dimensions of reality to which common man is blind. Through his superior knowledge of human nature he creates for himself a more meaningful and happier existence, and most important, by his unique faculties he fashions beauty wherever it is lacking. Shelley echoes Wordsworth's eulogy of the unparalleled singularity of the poet as he too invests him with ontological priority: "the predominance of the faculty of approximation to the beautiful (taste) exists in excess among poets" (1977: 482). The poet, according to Shelley, is more delicately constructed than other men and is more sensitive to pain and pleasure, both his own and that of others. He is also "the wisest, happiest and best inasmuch as he is a poet" (p. 506). The use of such epithets becomes standard in the discourse on the poet. Novalis confers upon the poet the status of priest, while Carlyle gives him "infinitude" (Novalis 1945: 41; Carlyle 1897: 82). For Emerson, the poet is a "representative man" (1910: 82). Emerson goes on to say that the poet is superior in all ways; he is an inventor, a namer and language maker. "He unlocks our chains and admits us to a new scene" (p. 89). In short, he leads us to truth, we are richer for it, therefore we love the poet. Statements such as these point to the near unanimity in granting the poet superior cognitive and emotional faculties, which distinguish him from nonpoets.

Cavafy shares many of these views, particularly in his early poems. For instance, the posthumous "Correspondence according to Baudelaire" (1891) claims that the poet possesses a discriminating sense of perception: "The glance of the poet is sharper." He alone has access to an unmediated vision of the world: "Only the chords of the lyre / know the truth, and in this life / they are the only certain guides" ("The Poet and the Muse," 1886). The poet's work provides a knowledge of the world that serves as a guide in life. He is also closer to the vital currents in life, more intimately connected with nature, coexisting with her: "Nature is a familiar garden for them [the poets]" ("Correspondence according to Baudelaire"); "The singer's Nature is divine" ("The Singer," 1892). In these verses the poet has been elevated to a transcendental state, but paradoxically, he seems to be nearer to things, enjoying a beneficial relationship with nature, whose secrets he alone uncovers. The image of the poet common to these poems is that of an exceptional individual who leads a much more authentic existence; his senses remain receptive to all stimulation, while his intellectual faculties enable him to apprehend the truth. In the later poems the notion of the poet as an uncommon individual is retained and is in fact reaffirmed; it is purged, however, of hyperbolic epithets and sentimental clichés so typical of the verses cited above. This modification of the figure of the poet can be observed microscopically in the development of one of the poet's special attributes — the faculty of inspiration.

INSPIRATION

In the early and rejected poems inspiration is conceived in the traditional sense as the spontaneous and unconscious factor in creation. Excerpts from three rejected poems illustrate the romantic overtones inherent in this notion as it appears at this stage:

    Far from the world poetic magic intoxicates him. ...
    Friend, be quiet;
    meditate and sing. Be of good heart, mystic apostle.
    "Singer"

    Honest inkwell, sacred to the poet
    from whose ink a world emerges —
    "The Inkwell" (1895)

    Mellifluous song
    drops from your lips, and you are a treasury of myrrh —
    "The Poet and the Muse"

A feature common to all three examples is the exaggerated and affected language employed to describe the poet when under the spell of inspiration. Prior to and during the act of composition, he surrenders his conscious will, having been overcome by poetic intoxication. The whole process seems to occur without the intention of the poet, since from beginning to end he is borne away by poetic enthusiasm. The "sweet melodies" flowing from the lips of the "mystical apostle," or through the sacred ink pen, are triggered independently of his design. This view of inspiration is also found in Cavafy's essay "A Few Words on Versification," written in 1891: "Imagination, style, great ideas, in other words, divine inspiration are gifts flowing directly from nature" (Cavafy 1963b: 28). Inspiration, Cavafy believes, arises from nature, beyond the control of the poet's consciousness. During the process of composition, his will is suppressed and the muse's mystical powers take control.

Cavafy eventually renounces this romantic account of composition, as indeed he questions the very necessity of inspiration. The poem "Kaisarion" (1918) illustrates the emergence of a different understanding of composition in that it dramatizes the process of poetic creation. (For another reading of this poem see Chapter 3.)

    Partly to verify the facts of a certain period,
    partly to kill an hour or two,
    last night I picked up and read
    a volume of inscriptions about the Ptolemies.
    The lavish praise and flattery are much the same
    for each of them. All are brilliant,
    glorious, mighty, benevolent;
    everything they undertake is full of wisdom.
    As for the women of their line, the Berenices and
    Cleopatras,
    they too, all of them, are marvelous.
    When I'd found the facts I wanted
    I would have put the book away, but a brief
    insignificant mention of King Kaisarion
    suddenly caught my eye ...

    There you stood with your indefinable charm.
    Because so little
    is known about you from history,
    I could fashion you more freely in my mind.
    I made you good-looking and sensitive.
    My art gives your face
    a dreamy, appealing beauty.
    And so completely did I imagine you
    that late last night,
    as my lamp went out — I let it go on purpose —
    I thought you came into my room,
    it seemed you stood there in front of me, looking just as you
    would have
    in conquered Alexandria,
    pale and weary, ideal in your grief,
    still hoping they might take pity on you,
    the scum who whispered: "Too many Caesars."

(Continues...)

---

Excerpted from The Poetics of Cavafy by Gregory Jusdanis. Copyright © 1987 Princeton University Press. Excerpted by permission of PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---

Table of Contents

• FrontMatter, pg. i
• Contents, pg. vii
• Acknowledgments, pg. ix
• Introduction, pg. x
• 1. POET, pg. 1
• 2. AUDIENCE, pg. 38
• 3. POETRY, pg. 64
• 4. LANGUAGE AND WRITING, pg. 114
• 5. TRADITION, pg. 136
• 6. WORLD, pg. 156
• Afterword, pg. 176
• References, pg. 181
• Index, pg. 191