TL;DR
The author shares how poetry, particularly C.P. Cavafy’s “Ithaca,” has shaped their perspective on life as a journey. They emphasize the importance of savoring the journey and its experiences, rather than fixating solely on the destination. The message encourages readers to appreciate life’s adventures and personal growth along the way
One of my favourite books is Darrel Huff’s How to Lie With Statistics. I particularly liked the section in which he argued that because the average could be the mean, the mode or the median, people tend to use whichever suits their argument the most. I found myself thinking along the same lines when I recently tried to pick my favourite poem. What should be “favourite”? Should it be the poem that stirs the fire in my belly in a manner akin to Walt Whitman’s O Captain! My Captain! as portrayed in Peter Weir’s Dead Poet’s Society? Should it be a poem that immortalises like John McCrae’s In Flander’s Fields, one that I can cling to in hard times like Ernest William Henley’s Invictus, or one just something that is beautiful like William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 33?
Before I answer that, I hope you forgive my seemingly vainful obsession with “meaningless” poetry. Until recently, my rather materialistic mind could not stand someone who wrote such things as I have written above. Time has, however, changed a lot about me. I realised at some point that one had to stop filling the cup and try to taste of whatever amounts of water the cup already holds. Each time I read Western philosophy, it always felt like there was more, yet more to be said and unsaid. On the other hand, Eastern philosophy felt so different; so little was being said in a manner that encouraged reflection and some healing consumption of ideas. Consider, for example, the start differences between Sun Tzu’s Art of War and Carl Von Clausewitz’s equally great On War.
Poetry has been, for me, a vehicle through which I see the world more reflectively. Sometimes, I randomly remember a section of Rudyard Kipling’s If on a bad day. Then, I catch myself smiling, reciting sections of a poem that speaks deeply to me about what virtue there is in a strong character.
So, what is my favourite poem?
My favourite poem is C.P. Cavafy’s Ithaca. It captures my philosophy of life both in the long and short term. Throughout my short lifetime, I have known the fire of pursuing a goal and the emptiness that comes from getting the things we want. In one bout of emptiness, I remember writing to a friend that perhaps human beings were created to be better off wanting than having. Therefore, you will bear with me that I should deeply love a poem emphasising the value of the journey.
Cavafy is one of many literary giants who drew inspiration from Homer’s Odyssey and Odysseus’ seemingly supreme aim of trying to return to his homeland, Ithaca. Picture yourself as Odysseus for once, seeking your own Ithaca; the journey you undertake is of such importance that the outcome should very well cause you to question your purpose. Yes, the destination is important, but what about the journey itself? Are we to enjoy it? Or are we to be so obsessed with getting to Ithaca that as we sail through the waters, we do not catch sight of the beautiful birds and enjoy the vastness of the sea? What is Ithaca? Where is Ithaca?
I have no answers for you and do not wish to have all the answers myself. What I seek and wish for you is an adventurous life of enjoying the journey as you try to determine where or what Ithaca is.
What or where is Ithaca?
C.P. Cavafy, true to his Greek roots, wrote his poem in Greek. What we, therefore, have are only translations of that original that I should think more beautiful. Here is my favourite, as shared by The Ithacan Philanthropic Society.
When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon - do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.
Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.
Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.
Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithaca means.
I hope that this is a poem that you have for a lifetime. Refrain from thinking of this poem as one whose rapid and accurate critical analysis should prove you a worthy scholar among your peers. It is a poem for all seasons that should guard your soul against the vice sly vice of over-seriousness that eventually leads to egotism and is the hallmark of the zealot and the jobsworth. Whenever Ithaca seems all-important, remember that while Ithaca will be but a moment, the journey will be a lifetime.