Sunday, 1 March 2009

c. p. cavafy


Ideal and dearly beloved voices
of those who are dead
or of those who are lost to us like the dead.

Sometimes they speak to us in our dreams;
sometimes in thought the mind hears them.

And for a moment with their echo
other echos return from the first poetry of our lives-
like music that extinguishes the far off night.

trans unknown

1 comment:

Roxana said...

oh. I was just thinking about smell, yes, very proustian indeed, how the smell of lost people stays with us forever. but then the voice, too. I love this simplicity here.