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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Related quotes
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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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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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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City Man You'd Best Go Back To Town
City man you'd best go back to town
If living in the country gets you down
And though the songbirds sing with voices sweet
You'd much prefer the noisy city street.
These rural towns are quiet as quiet can be
There's so little to do and less to see
Save go into a pub and drink your fill
And come out feeling much more lonely still.
Pleasant is the music of the thrushes
And fragrant is the scent of flowering bushes
Here the air is pure and free of taint
But you would rather live midst smoke and paint.
City man you miss your city kin
You've little in common with rural men,
You've little love for peaceful country life,
You'd much prefer to live where noise is rife.
You are like a fisherman ashore
He find inland life is quite a bore
Unhappy the poor fisherman will be
Until he returns to his beloved sea.
City man the city's calling you
Go bid the lonely countryside adieu,
Your urge for city living's always strong
It is where a man is raised that he belong.
City man go back to your own kind
And leave this sense of loneliness behind
Country life it isn't to your taste
Go back home to the city in a haste.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Idiot Son Of An Asshole
He's not smart, a C student
And that's after buying his way into school
Beady eyes, and he's kinda dyslexic
Can he read? No one's really quite sure
He signs stuff and he executes people
Maybe that's why, he doesn't have any friends
Cocaine and a little drunk driving
Doesn't matter, when you're the Commander in Chief.
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Put on some make-up, turn on the 8-Track,
I'm putting a week back on the shelf,
Suddenly I'm the President, of the United States,
But then I woke up, and realized I'm still me.
He's too dumb, to eat pretzels, apparently smart enough to fix an election.
Moved boldly into the White House,
but most people voted against him.
He likes naps, He really likes naptime, A couple of naps and then a nap and then he's ready for bed,
He may be from Bush decent, but he's always gonna be the unpresident.
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
He's our president!
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The City Vs. The Country
In the city where the colours run dry,
Or in the country where the farmers grow rye.
In the city where there are fees,
Or in the country where beauty is free.
In the city where there are loud crowds,
Or in the country where you can watch clouds.
In the city where you camp out in your room,
Or in the country where you have fun dancing with a broom.
In the city where there are polluting cars,
Or in the county where you can see stars.
In the city where you seal the deal,
Or in the country where you can heal.
In the city where you say later,
Or in the country where you can see the water.
In the city where space is tight,
Or in the country where you hold their hand in the moonlight.
Written by Haley McRae,14.
poem by Haley McRae
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Romace in the moonlight
In the city where the colours run dry
Or in the country where the colour green is applied
In the city where there are polluting cars
Or in the country where you can see the stars
In the city there are gangs, all full of violence
Or in the country where there is only silence
In the city where the air, its so thick
Or in the country where you dont feel sick
In the city where you seal the deal
Or in the country where it is a place to heal
In the city every corner is a fight
But in the city the romance is in the moonlight
poem by Nicole Buckland
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The Idiot Son Of An Asshole
NoFX - Idiot Son Of An Asshole lyrics
He's not smart, a C student
And that's after buying his way into school
Beady eyes, and he's kinda dyslexic
Can he read? No one's really quite sure
He signs stuff and he executes people
Maybe that's why, he doesn't have any friends
Cocaine and a little drunk driving
Doesn't matter, when you're the Commander in Chief.
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
(***not in the video version on The War On Errorism****
Put on some make-up, turn on the 8-Track,
I'm putting a week back on the shelf,
Suddenly I'm the President, of the United States,
But they I woke up, and realized I'm still me. )
He's too dumb, to eat pretzels, apparently smart enough to fix an election.
Moved boldly into the White House,
though most people voted against him.
He likes naps, He's good at naptime, A couple of naps and then a nap and then he's ready for
bed,
He may be from Bush decent, He's always gonna, gonna be the un-precedent
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
He's our president!
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Country Girl
Written by - Jim Croce
She was just a country girl
Didn't have those New York City ways
When she hopped a bus in Ohio
Headin' for the crowded streets where no one says a word
She was just a country girl living in the lonely city
Met a man who learned her name
She became a woman on a rainy New York night
Chorus:
There's a new day dawnin' in the city
She calls her Mama collect
Sayin' Mama send bus fare back to Ohio
Have somebody meet me at the depot
She was just a country girl
Spent some time in New York City
Now she tells her friends about lonely New York City
And her lonely New York night
Chorus
She was just a country girl
She was just a country girl
song performed by by Jim Croce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Herodis Attikos
What glory, this, for Herodis Attikos!
Alexander of Selefkia, one of our better sophists,
on reaching Athens to lecture
finds the city deserted
because Herodis was in the country and all the young men
had followed him there to hear him.
This makes sophist Alexander
write Herodis a letter
begging him to send the Greeks back.
And the tactful Herodis answers at once:
'Along with the Greeks, I'm coming too.'
How many young men now in Alexandria,
in Antioch or Beirut
(being trained by Hellenism as its future orators),
meeting at choice banquets
where the talk is sometimes about fine sophistry,
sometimes about their exquisite love affairs,
suddenly find their attention wandering and fall silent?
Their glasses untouched,
they think about Herodis' fortune-
what other sophist has been given this kind of honour?
Whatever his wish, whatever he does,
the Greeks (the Greeks!) follow him,
not to criticize or debate,
not even to choose any longer,
only to follow.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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(Attention Seeking Poem) A Whisper That Wants To Be A Scream
That kind of validation should be but the silence among the lambs.
A quietness to never be heard.
A whisper that wants to be a scream but doesn't exactly know how.
As if to say I have a question, yet I'm to afraid to ask.
A game of self pity.
Beckoning for attention.
As if it's our fault of that which they did not mention.
A homeless man walking on the poorest streets of the city.
A prostitute getting in the car with another Jon in a place known for such vices.
We have to take notice and We have to stand out to be noticed.
And pessimism does nothing to farther such a cause.
Unless that is what one desires.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Country Doctors
The quiet country doctors
Of many a country town,
Whose lives are spent to service bent,
With scant hope of renown
Those sturdy country doctors,
That walk the healer's way,
At beck and call of one and all
That pain be smoothed away.
Those patient country doctors,
That journey day and night
By country roads to far abodes
To ease some sufferer's plight;
Thro' fire and flood and tempest
They make their pilgrimage
To bring release and healing peace,
The comforters of age.
Those modern country doctors,
They do not advertise;
Surcease they bring for suffering
And hope to pain-filled eyes.
These be their ends to be man's friends,
And so they shape and plan,
Divorced from greed to serve man's need,
And give their lives to man.
Those quiet country doctors,
Unsung, unknown to fame,
Refusing none what may be done
In skilful healing's name
Philosophers, friends, mentors,
Thro' pain and death and birth,
And who shall say that such as they
Are not salt of the earth?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Dear Mr. President
I'm looking outside of my windows
The view that i see
Is a child and mama
And the child is begging for money
Tell me why, tell me why
The woman is blind is she so broke
The kid's dealing crime
It's such a beautiful city
But the world is burning it down
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
It's such a beautiful city
But the world is it burning down
I go to my room to turn on the t.v
I sit myself down
And i start laughing hard
'cause this man he's asking for money
He sats "if you send me lots of cash i'll send you
Stuff to make you rich fast"
It's such a wonderful country
But the man he's burning it down
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
It's such a wonderful country
But the man he's burning it down
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
And it's burning down
And it's called the u.s of a.
One day i'm going to have lots of money
But i'll have to give up
For this rich society
Oh please mr. president will you lend me a future
'cause you'll just get it back
From the little blind woman
With the kid on the corner
And the people all over, doin' crack
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
It's such a wonderful country
But the man he's burning it down
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
And it's burning down
And it's called the u.s of a.
I'm walking outside on a sunny day
With no one around
And i wonder what's wrong
The i hear this loud piercing siren
Oh my god the bomb has just dropped
And everybody climbed right on top
Screaming, what a wonderful country
But the man he's burning it down
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
It's such a wonderful country
But the man he's burning it down
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
Yea yea yea yea yea yea
And it's burning down
And it's called the u.s of a
song performed by by 4 Non Blondes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's My Fault
Everything is my fault
I am guilty for everything
Even for loving you
Which of course was a bad thing
You broke my heart
Not only with one girl but three girls
It's my fault
I am not everything you want and need
It's my fault
I can't be like her
I am sorry
It's My fault
poem by Makayla Straight
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Beginning of destruction
pride it’s all your fault
Pride it’s all your fault we in this mess
Pride it’s all your fault we are suffering
Pride it’s all your fault people are shedding blood
Pride it’s all your fault families are destroyed
Pride it’s all your fault people are so greedy and selfish
Pride it’s all your fault people have no love
Pride it’s all your fault are so jealous of each other
Pride it’s all your fault people are so lost
Pride it’s all your fault dying from this horrible diseases
Pride it’s all your fault we have so many orphans
Pride it’s all your fault people are betraying each other
Pride it’s all your fault are dying of hunger
Pride it’s all your fault fathers are sleeping with their children
Pride it’s all your fault people are so heartless
Pride it’s all your fault there is no peace, unity and harmony in this world
Pride it’s all your fault we have all this sorrow
Pride it’s all your fault God has rejected us
Pride it’s all your fault people are so evil
And they have decided to be in love with evil rather than good
You have ruined this world
You are to blame for all this misery
If lucifer did not have pride in his heart we wouldn’t be in this mess
Pride it all your fault! ! !
Vangile Mtyali
poem by Vangile Mtyali
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To give a little
Walked they did, through the heat; the stark
Bare country they didn’t know.
Pointed they did, hungry cold guns
To faces they knew not.
Cried they did, at corpses
Belonging to those men they never met.
Yet that hell ground, that spiteful haunt
Belonging tothe Devil’s padded foot.
Got them,
Took them,
Away, from you, from life, from all.
Left them; scarred forever.
Where are they now?
You ask,
You ponder, never caring before,
Who fought, who crowed
Life’s young lads,
They took that bullet;
That fatal blast.
Some are marked with shadows
Unnoticeable to those they pass.
Others, noticed by wounds;
Of limbs long lost and skin re-sown,
Yet some you won’t meet for they are gone
Soul flown, to the land of mighty God.
Stop right there and make a mark
A token to those that have departed,
A line perhaps to the grieving gal’s
A song, limerick, even a status will do,
Give something, anything, a little will suffice
To those that gave their lives for you.
poem by Bethany Louise Chipperfield
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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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Country Girl
Livin in the country
Doesnt make me stupid
i dont just eat Fried Chicked
but i dont eat expensive squid
People say being a city rat is great,
but i love being a country mouse
It may not be a big mansion city
but hey, a box is worse then my house
So me, being a country girl, i have more skills
more skills in every category
I can drive, cook, ride a horse, drive a skidoo
and pretty much anything a 19 year old city rat can do: D
poem by Make A Wish
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Exiles
It goes on being Alexandria still. Just walk a bit
along the straight road that ends at the Hippodrome
and you'll see palaces and monuments that will amaze you.
Whatever war-damage it's suffered,
however much smaller it's become,
it's still a wonderful city.
And then, what with excursions and books
and various kinds of study, time does go by.
In the evenings we meet on the sea front,
the five of us (all, naturally, under fictitious names)
and some of the few other Greeks
still left in the city.
Sometimes we discuss church affairs
(the people here seem to lean toward Rome)
and sometimes literature.
The other day we read some lines by Nonnos:
what imagery, what rhythm, what diction and harmony!
All enthusiasm, how we admired the Panopolitan.
So the days go by, and our stay here
isn't unpleasant because, naturally,
it's not going to last forever.
We've had good news: if something doesn't come
of what's now afoot in Smyrna,
then in April our friends are sure to move from Epiros,
so one way or another, our plans are definitely working out,
and we'll easily overthrow Basil.
And when we do, at last our turn will come.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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