by C. P. Cavafy
Translated by Aliki Barnstone
This room, how well I know it.
Now they rent it and the one next door
as commercial offices. The whole house became
offices for agents and merchants and companies.
Ah. this room, how familiar.
The couch was near the door, here;
in front, a Turkish rug;
near the couch, two yellow vases on a shelf.
On the right, no, across from it, was an armoire with a mirror.
In the middle, the table where he wrote
and three wicker chairs.
Next to the window was the bed
where we made love so many times.
These sad things must still be somewhere.
Next to the window was the bed;
the afternoon sun spread across halfway.
...One afternoon at four o'clock, we separated,
just for a week....Alas,
that week became forever.
Picture-A-Day:
Listening to Phantogram.
There is also something fascinating about the other female of Gothic romance, the dark ladies, the femme fatale, the corrupted innocent, purity driven mad...
