Two Poems

 This morning an online friend, a trusty source of good stuff, sent me a translation (or version) by Drew Nathaniel Keane of a poem by Cavafy that I didn't know. It's based on an anecdote about Nero in Suetonius's The Twelve Caesars...

He gave a careless shrug when he had heard 
The Delphic Oracle’s prophetic word: 
“Beware, my lord, the age of seventy-three” 
(For Delphi was renowned for verity). 
“I’m thirty now with years to plan for knives 
Before the gods’ appointed day arrives.” 
Reclining in his litter, bound for home, 
Delighted Nero journeyed back to Rome. 
 
When he returned, he felt a little drained; 
With news like this, how could he be restrained? 
Surrendering to pleasure on the way — 
To gardens and gymnasia by day, 
By night to dance and poetry and drink 
In torchlit theatres where bodies slink 
Whose dancing ever animates and soothes, 
The naked bodies of Achaean youths. 
 
Thus Nero rests, while on an arid plain 
Far to the west of Rome, in distant Spain, 
Old Galba drills his legions secretly, 
Old Galba who was spry for seventy-three. 

Historical irony hangs over this poem, for Nero was barely to reach 40 before he died, in an undignified assisted suicide (according to Suetonius), while Galba, his successor, was to reign as emperor for just seven months, before dying – in his 73rd year. 

My friend is an Emily Dickinson specialist, so I'll reciprocate with one of hers – also new to me – that I came across this morning: a fine poem about faith and doubt, and the great mystery that lies at the heart of things...

This World is not Conclusion.

A Species stands beyond – 

Invisible, as Music –

But positive, as Sound –

It beckons, and it baffles – 

Philosophy, dont know –

And through a Riddle, at the last – 

Sagacity, must go –

To guess it, puzzles scholars –

To gain it, Men have borne

Contempt of Generations

And Crucifixion, shown –

Faith slips – and laughs, and rallies –

Blushes, if any see – 

Plucks at a twig of Evidence – 

And asks a Vane, the way – 

Much Gesture, from the Pulpit –

Strong Hallelujahs roll – 

Narcotics cannot still the Tooth

That nibbles at the soul –