At dawn one August morning in 1966, I stood beside my aunt Margaret on the deck of a small ship called the Elli, entranced by my first glimpse of Mykonos harbor. We would soon enter the harbor's two-armed embrace, sheltered between its long stone jetties. I was a troubled seventeen and Margaret, artist, painter, mentor, offered to bring me to her home in the Cyclades Islands when I decided not to go to college after graduation. Under her tutelage I read Eastern philosophy, practiced Gestalt therapy, read Russian novels, Hesiod, Homer, Beckett, kept a sketchbook, fell in love with Vivaldi and the power of long walks -- when we were not in the sea, or adopting stray cats. In honor of Margaret, who is now 89 and fiercely battling cancer since this May, I want to share this poem, by C.P. Cavafy, tucking some pictures of her between the text. Margaret, the seas are rough just now. I know you will reach Ithaka. Again. (Watercolor above, by me, 1972 home-made calendar.)
ITHAKA
| As you set out for Ithaka hope the voyage is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Laistrygonians and Cyclops, angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them: you’ll never find things like that on your way as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body. Laistrygonians and Cyclops, wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them unless you bring them along inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up in front of you.  May there be many a summer morning when, with what pleasure, what joy, you come into harbors seen for the first time; may you stop at Phoenician trading stations to buy fine things, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, sensual perfume of every kind— as many sensual perfumes as you can; and may you visit many Egyptian cities to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.  Arriving there is what you are destined for. But do not hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you are old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you have gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.  Without her you would not have set out. She has nothing left to give you now. And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean. | ||
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(note: if you ordered my poetry chapbook and haven't received it yet, e-mail me at cathylarsonsky@hotmail.com)
