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Impressing and powerful his poetry... Kavafis, greek poet. He was born on April 29, 1863 and died on the same date in 1933 in Alexandria (Egypt).

He wrote about himself:

"I am from Constantinople by descent, but I was born in Alexandria -- at a house on Seriph Street; I left very young, and spent much of my childhood in England. Subsequently I visited this country as an adult, but for a short period of time. I have also lived in France. During my adolescence I lived over two years in Constantinople. It has been many years since I last visited Greece.

My last employment was as a clerk at a government office under the Ministry of Public Works of Egypt. I know English, French, and a little Italian".

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No, no dejéis cerradas las puertas de la noche, del viento, del relámpago, la de lo nunca visto.

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Citim:

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Po citoj ato që tha mona
Why you have to keep Ithaka in your mind , Darke ???

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A young poet visited me," he wrote. "He was very poor, lived by his literary work, and it seemed to me that he was grieved to see the good house I was living in, my servant who brought him a nicely served tea, my clothes made by a good tailor. He said: what a horrible thing it is to have to struggle for a livelihood, to hunt subscribers your periodical, and purchasers for your book.

I didn't want to leave him in his delusion, so I said a few words, more or less as follows. His position is difficult and disagreeable-- but how much my little luxuries cost me. In order to obtain them I departed from my natural course and became a government servant (how absurd!) and I spend and lose all those precious hours a day-- to which must be added the hours of weariness and sluggishness that follow-- what a loss, and what a betrayal! While this poor fellow doesn't waste a single hour; he's always faithful to his duty as a child of Art.

How often during my work a fine idea comes to me, a rare image, and sudden ready-formed lines, and I'm obliged to leave them, because work can't be put off. Then when I go home and recover a bit, I try to remember them, but they're gone. And it's quite right. It's as if Art said to me: 'I'm not a servant, for you to turn me out when I come, and to come when you want. I'm the greatest lady in the world. And if you deny me-- miserable traitor-- for your wretched "nice house," and your wretched good clothes and your wretched social position, be content with that (but how can you?) and for the moments when I come and it happens that you're ready to receive me, come outside your door to wait for me, as you ought to every day.'

June 1905."

__________________
No, no dejéis cerradas las puertas de la noche, del viento, del relámpago, la de lo nunca visto.

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...¿y qué pasa con las elecciones? ¿yo elijo mi Ítaca, o ella me eligió a m�_?... o quizás me fue asignada? Aquiles gritaba: Héctor sal!!!! Hectorrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!
Aquiles no teme a la muerte. Héctor lo tiene todo por perder... a veces me siento Héctor, y la vida -Aquiles- me clama: cobarde sal!!!
el secreto que nadie sabe, es que Héctor ama a Aquiles, ama su fama, la admira, y en su encuentro, su lucha Héctor se hace Aquiles, y por eso lo deja todo... porque solo por amor se puede dejar todo.

__________________
No, no dejéis cerradas las puertas de la noche, del viento, del relámpago, la de lo nunca visto.

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