En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Of Dimitrios Sotir

Everything he'd hoped for turned out wrong.
He'd seen himself doing great things,
ending the humiliation that had kept his country down
ever since the battle of Magnesia
seen himself making Syria a powerful state again,
with her armies, her fleets,
her big fortresses, her wealth.
He'd suffered in Rome, become bitter
when he sensed in the talk of friends,
young men of the great families,
that in spite of all their delicacy, their politeness
toward him, the son
of King Selefkos Philopator-
when he sensed that in spite of this there was always
a secret contempt for the Hellenized dynasties:
their heyday was over, they weren't fit for anything serious,
were completely unable to rule their peoples.
He'd cut himself off, indignant, swearing
it would be quite different from the way they thought.
Why, wasn't he himself full of determination?
He would act, he would fight, he would put it all right again.
If he could only find a way of getting to the East,
only manage to escape from Italy,
then all this inner strength,
all this energy,
he'd pass on to his people.
Only to be in Syria!
He was so young when he left his country
he hardly remembered what it looked like.
But in his mind he'd always thought of it
as something sacred that you approach reverently,
as a beautiful place unveiled, a vision
of Greek cities and Greek ports.
And now?
Now despair and sorrow.
They were right, the young men in Rome.
The dynasties resulting from the Macedonian Conquest
can't be kept going any longer.
It doesn't matter. He'd made the effort,
fought as much as he could.
And in his bleak disillusion
there's only one thing in which he still takes pride:
that even in failure
he shows the world his same indomitable courage.
The rest: they were dreams and wasted energy.
This Syria -it almost seems it isn't his country
this Syria is the land of Valas and Herakleidis.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Syria Stop Crying Blood

Syria your name I adore,

Syria my heart for you is crying out blood,

Syria how they could hurt you and destroy,

Syria with prayers your name we always honor,

Syria the peace again will surround you all around,

Syria stop crying blood,

Syria the most peaceful country at the world,

You always were how they could hurt you my earth,

Syria like a careful father you always have been for all of us,

Syria with love you always hugged us,

With opened arms always you hugged the painful and the lost and became their house,

When your neighbors were in pain and foist,

You always gave them your best support,

Syria you are the sign of the honesty and the trust,

Syria with you we always were proud,

My precious ground you are our pride,

Syria how can I praise your name and pride,

Syria for us you will always stay the same,

In our hearts you are at the best place,

Your blue sky will again shine proud,

The darkness will soon fade away and the clouds,

Syria your sun Will shine once again my pride,

Again pure and bright like always was,

The darkness never lasts forever I do believe and trust,

Soon the light will surround you my pride,

May crown angels with prayers save your grounds.

Syria with prayers we will always honor your name and pride.

My heavenly Father you may protect and save our country from all these hurts!

poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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To Have Taken The Trouble

I'm practically broke and homeless.
This fatal city, Antioch,
has devoured all my money:
this fatal city with its extravagant life.

But I'm young and extremely healthy.
Prodigious master of Greek,
I know Aristotle and Plato through and through,
poets, orators, or anyone else you could mention.
I have some idea about military matters
and friends among the senior mercenaries.
I also have a foot in the administrative world;
I spent six months in Alexandria last year:
I know (and this is useful) something about what goes on there-
the scheming of Kakergetis, his dirty deals, and the rest of it.

So I consider myself completely qualified
to serve this country,
my beloved fatherland, Syria.

Whatever job they give me,
I'll try to be useful to the country. That's what I intend.
But if they frustrate me with their manoeuvres-
we know them, those smart operators: no need to say more here-
if they frustrate me, it's not my fault.

I'll approach Zabinas first,
and if that idiot doesn't appreciate me,
I'll go to his rival, Grypos.
And if that imbecile doesn't appoint me,
I'll go straight to Hyrkanos.

One of the three will want me anyway.

And my conscience is quiet
about my not caring which one I choose:
the three of them are equally bad for Syria.

But, a ruined man, it's not my fault.
I'm only trying, poor devil, to make ends meet.
The almighty gods ought to have taken the trouble
to create a fourth, a decent man.
I would gladly have gone along with him.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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They Should Have Provided

I have almost been reduced to a homeless pauper.
This fatal city, Antioch,
has consumed all my money;
this fatal city with its expensive life.

But I am young and in excellent health.
My command of Greek is superb
(I know all there is about Aristotle, Plato;
orators, poets, you name it.)
I have an idea of military affairs,
and have friends among the mercenary chiefs.
I am on the inside of administration as well.
Last year I spent six months in Alexandria;
I have some knowledge (and this is useful) of affairs there:
intentions of the Malefactor, and villainies, et cetera.

Therefore I believe that I am fully
qualified to serve this country,
my beloved homeland Syria.

In whatever capacity they place me I shall strive
to be useful to the country. This is my intent.
Then again, if they thwart me with their methods --
we know those able people: need we talk about it now?
if they thwart me, I am not to blame.

First, I shall apply to Zabinas,
and if this moron does not appreciate me,
I shall go to his rival Grypos.
And if this idiot does not hire me,
I shall go straight to Hyrcanos.

One of the three will want me however.

And my conscience is not troubled
about not worrying about my choice.
All three harm Syria equally.

But, a ruined man, why is it my fault.
Wretched man, I am trying to make ends meet.
The almighty gods should have provided
and created a fourth, good man.
Gladly would I have joined him.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Philhellene

Make sure the engraving is done skillfully.
The expression serious, majestic.
The diadem preferably somewhat narrow:
I don't like that broad kind the Parthians wear.
The inscription, as usual, in Greek:
nothing excessive, nothing pompous—
we don't want the proconsul to take it the wrong way:
he's always nosing things out and reporting back to Rome—
but of course giving me due honor.
Something very special on the other side:
some discus-thrower, young, good-looking.
Above all I urge you to see to it
(Sithaspis, for God's sake don't let them forget)
that after "King" and "Savior,"
they engrave "Philhellene" in elegant characters.
Now don't try to be clever
with your "where are the Greeks?" and "what things Greek
here behind Zagros, out beyond Phraata?"
Since so many others more barbarian than ourselves
choose to inscribe it, we will inscribe it too.
And besides, don't forget that sometimes
sophists do come to us from Syria,
and versifiers, and other triflers of that kind.
So we are not, I think, un-Greek.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Orophernis

The figure on this four drachma coin
who seems to have a smile on his face
his beautiful, delicate face
this figure is Orophernis, son of Ariarathis.

A child, they threw him out of Cappadocia,
out of his great ancestral palace,
and sent him to grow up in Ionia,
to be forgotten there among foreigners.

Oh those exquisite Ionian nights
when fearlessly, and entirely in a Greek way,
he came to know sensual pleasure totally.
In his heart, Asiatic always,
but in manners and language, a Greek;
with his turquoise jewellery, his Greek clothes,
his body perfumed with oil of jasmine,
he was the most handsome, the most perfect
of Ionia's handsome young men.

Later, when the Syrians entered Cappadocia
and made him king,
he became fully engrossed in his kingship
so as to enjoy himself in a new way each day,
greedily hoarding gold and silver,
delightedly gloating over
the piles of wealth glittering before his eyes.
As for worrying about the country and running it-
he had no idea what was going on.

The Cappadocians quickly got rid of him,
and he ended up in Syria, at the palace of Dimitrios,
where he spent his time amusing himself and loafing.

But one day unfamiliar thoughts
broke in on his completely idle life:
he remembered how through his mother Antiochis
and that old grandmother Stratoniki
he too was connected with the Syrian crown,
he too almost a Selefkid.
For a while he gave up lechery and drink
and ineptly, half dazed,
tried to start an intrigue,
do something, come up with a plan;
but he failed pitifully and that was that.

His end must have been recorded somewhere only to be lost;
or maybe history passed over it
and rightly didn't bother to notice
anything so trivial.

The figure on this four drachma coin,
something of whose young charm can still be seen,
a ray of his poetic beauty
this sensuous image of an Ionian boy,
this is Orophernis, son of Ariarathis.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Whose Country Is This?

Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land with the biggest cemetery in the wolrd!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of desert;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of trees;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant teenagers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of timber;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hatred;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of love;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of care;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of peace;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of smokers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of businesses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of harlots;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of wise people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of idiots!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of gold;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of cocoa;
Whose country is this?
It is a alnd full of crabs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of evil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of rainfalls;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ants;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of horses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pigs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of statues;
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of birds;
And so on, and so forth!
Because nature had made them so as we see them around us,
But the wise and fool live together on this earth.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Syria is a terrorist state by any definition and is so classified by the State Department. I happen to think Iran is too. Iraq, Iran, Syria, they're all involved.

quote by Alexander Haig
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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America s Strength (series #2)

As a youngster I began to wonder “ how this great nation came to be”.
People from all over the world looking for a new life to escape tyranny.
This became AMERICAS history.

Then we had our civil war and we fought as state to state.
We all became UNITED and that made this nation great.
So we put the two together and the UNITED STATES was formed.
Little did we know- that this would be the “ norm”.

Look around you, and you will see
Every ethnic group, that’s how we came to be.
AMERICA is not just a country, but a land
Where the bell of freedom rings
And from every country, its people it will bring.

AMERICA is a dream- a vision, a quest- if you must
But in this great nation we put all our trust.
So give us your humble, your poor, your weak
If freedom is what they seek.

This is what made this nation, and gave dreams to all mankind
For we will fight for this country, our lives we’ll put on the line.
We will get stronger, and you will weaken and die
For you can not break our spirit, no matter how you try.

“ now many will say I’m a dreamer”
But that’s how this world came to be
Every small dream has become a reality.

We wanted to hide the pictures and videos
From our children of what you had done.
Because we had felt that they was much to young.

Now we’ve decided to teach and show them about
This cowardly act, and to give them knowledge
And show them all the facts.

poem by Louis Rams
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Regarding Syria, we already call for dialogue between Syria and all parties concerned, in order to avoid any kind of escalation in the region which may expose the whole area to chaos.

quote by Ali A. Saleh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Syrian

Syrian, Syria, rain, in, an, as, say, ray! !
But, the bullets of war are now falling on the people like rain!
Killing everybody on the way;
But, who is ready to stop this war in Syria?

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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It Is Now Night In Syria

It is now night in Syria!
And i pray that the freedom of the people;
Oh, freedom fighters! !
Fight on for your freedom,
For this world needs peace than the bullets of war!
As i see fallen faces gone too soon.
Shot and killed by the bullets of war,
Because my people asked for freedom;
Yes, this world is really not at rest! !
But, let us hope for peace everywhere;
For, it is now night in syria.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Citizens

citizens...
of America, of Russia,
of Africa, of China,
of Syria, of Israel,
of France, of Italy....

no more!

citizens of the world!

no longer can one country
make it at the expense
of all others....

the walls between us were lies,
and they have fallen....

now we are a people
whose homeland is family!
there's no other way
humanity can survive!

citizens of the world!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Decisions On Syria Played Out?

now Obama election
confirmation America
is official policy

decisions on Syria
are soon about
to be played out?

hope pray real peace
is on international agenda
this time as always

innocent families
will be caught
in war cross-fires?

not until an equivalent
amount of seed money
is spent on establishing

peace as
was spent
on war war?

will real solutions
start to emerge?
primary mitigating

factors against economic
sanctions from block outside
world are Russian al-Assad

support Iran's
close trade ties
with oil Syria?

Iran's purchasing
of Syrian crude
oil Iranians deny it?

hydra head problems
haunt Burma Syria
internal ethnic issues?

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sophist Leaving Syria

Eminent sophist, now that you are leaving Syria
with plans to write a book about Antioch,
it's worth your mentioning Mevis in your work—
the famous Mevis, unquestionably
the best looking, the most adored young man
in all Antioch. No one of the others
living his kind of life, no one of them gets paid
what he gets paid. To have Mevis
just for two or three days, they often give
as much as a hundred staters. I said in Antioch;
but in Alexandria as well, in fact in Rome even,
you can't find a young man as attractive as Mevis.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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God's Country

God’s country is a place between,
The two great seas.
God’s country is a forest,
Of evergreens and pines.
God’s country is a homeland,
Not tarnished by incredulity,
But shined by hospitality,
God’s country is a hunting ground,
And a young boy’s home.
God’s country is a masterpiece,
Of smelted man and nature,
And of pride, love, and sacrifice.

poem by Christian Allen
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Conflict Syria A Cut Of Pie

now Obama has been elected
waiting for possible planned
NATO invasion interaction

in conflict Syria
deals have been cut
die is pact cast?

sadly with negotiated
Russian deal back off
it looks like NATO is

about to play ball again
a few days or weeks weeks
after Obama reelection?

before estate invasion
green light is given?
just a matter of covert

or tracked
heavily by media?
interested

to see if Kurds
get a slice of Syria
pie or repeat cut

from invasion equation
again like post war Iraq?
Syrian Kurds receiving

military training
from their Iraqi brothers
but beware divide

and conquer is a proven
formula for interventions?
for preparation invasions

Syria's chemical weapons
stockpiles an ominous serious
issue who gets control play?

poem by Terence George Craddock
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In 200 B.C.

"Alexander son of Philip, and the Greeks except the Lacedaemonians--"

We can very well imagine
that they were utterly indifferent in Sparta
to this inscription. "Except the Lacedaemonians",
but naturally. The Spartans were not
to be led and ordered about
as precious servants. Besides
a panhellenic campaign without
a Spartan king as a leader
would not have appeared very important.
O, of course "except the Lacedaemonians."

This too is a stand. Understandable.

Thus, except the Lacedaemonians at Granicus;
and then at Issus; and in the final
battle, where the formidable army was swept away
that the Persians had massed at Arbela:
which had set out from Arbela for victory, and was swept away.

And out of the remarkable panhellenic campaign,
victorious, brilliant,
celebrated, glorious
as no other had ever been glorified,
the incomparable: we emerged;
a great new Greek world.

We; the Alexandrians, the Antiocheans,
the Seleucians, and the numerous
rest of the Greeks of Egypt and Syria,
and of Media, and Persia, and the many others.
With our extensive territories,
with the varied action of thoughtful adaptations.
And the Common Greek Language
we carried to the heart of Bactria, to the Indians.

As if we were to talk of Lacedaemonians now!

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Andrew Jackson

On the life of Andrew Jackson,
Now dear people I will write,
And in sketches, I will tell you
His career with great delight.
His career on earth is ended;
But his name is ever bright,
And his memory is cherished
As a great glorious knight.

The early life of Andrew Jackson,
Its marked in high renown,
As a lover of his country
He proved steadfastly profound,
Through kind teaching of his mother,
That patriot lady brave;
His mind strengthened by her wisdom,
Ere she sank into her grave.

Ah, in manhood, Andrew Jackson,
Was a daring fearless man;
With a strong iron will commanding,
He was loved throughout our land.
He was kind and generous hearted
In his military acts,
Yet was stubborn, while commanding,
And no courage did he lack.

At middle age, Andrew Jackson
Was a noble warlike man,
And was capable of handling
The army at his command.
You can see it by the battles
Of his Indian campaign,
Or the battle of New Orleans,
Where so many men were slain.

The dauntless energy of Jackson,
Oh, should never be forgot,
Or the battle of New Orleans,
Where he diligently fought.
Where he fought to save his country,
From the British fleets of fame;
Through coolness and courage
The victory he did gain.

As commander, Andrew Jackson
Was a soldier of great skill,
And he nobly done his duty
To his country, with good will.
Yet in life his acts were censured,
Ah, by men both great and small.
One the acts that made him trouble
Was the arresting of Judge Hall.

Oh, that act cost Andrew Jackson
Many heart pang in after life,
For he thought it was his duty
In that hard cruel strife
That his soldiers should obey him
And fulfill every command,
As he knew no other method,
He could save his native land.

The people loved Andrew Jackson,
"Old Hickory" was their friend.
As a President o'er our country
He proved faithful to the end.
His career on earth was ended
Eighteen Forty Five; is seen
As a star his name is shining
The "hero" of "New Orleans."

poem by Julia A Moore
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Craftsmen of Wine Bowls

On this wine bowl—pure silver,
made for the house of Herakleidis,
where good taste is the rule—
notice these graceful flowers, the streams, the thyme.
In the center I put this beautiful young man,
naked, erotic, one leg still dangling
in the water. O memory, I begged
for you to help me most in making
the young face I loved appear the way it was.
This proved very difficult because
some fifteen years have gone by since the day
he died as a soldier in the defeat at Magnesia.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Boy From The Country

This song appears on two albums, and was first released on the an evening with john denver album as a live track, and has also been released on the some days are diamonds album as a studio versi
R
Because he called the forest brother
Because he called the earth his mother
They drove him out into the rain
Some people even said the boy from the country was insane
Because he spoke with fish in the creek
He tried to tell us that the animals could speak
Who knows, perhaps they do
How do you know they dont
Just because theyve never spoken to you
Boy from the country, he left his home when he was young
Boy from the country, he loves the sun
He tried to tell us that we should love the land
We turned our heads and laughed
And we did not understand
Sometimes I think that the boy from the country
Is the only one who sees
Because the boy from the country
Doesnt want to see the forest for the trees
Boy from the country, he left his home when he was young
Boy from the country, he loves the sun
Words and music by michael murphy

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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