Two winters ago, while taking part in a theatre-dance workshop, I memorized a poem called Ithaca. It was written by a Greek author who lived in the early 20th Century. The workshop attendees were asked to memorize the poem so we could incorporate it into our exercises and possibly a performance. I dived into the task with gusto because I immediately fell in love with the poem. It resonated deeply with me. I loved the fact that it was written by a Greek author, who was inspired by the Odyssey, and that the main theme was about living a life of “adventure and discovery”. It all felt connected to my own life experiences. Every morning as I headed out with the dogs, I gleefully worked at memorizing the poem while admiring the glittering sea where Odysseus’s ships once sailed. It all felt serendipitous.
The author, C.P. Cavafy, whom I had never encountered before the assignment, seemingly began to pop up everywhere. I kept coming across references to him and his poems. Also, the Odyssey had a new translation from Emily Wilson, which I had recently read and loved. She is the first woman to translate the Odyssey from Ancient Greek into English with an emphasis on simple, modern language. The result is an engaging drama that I could hardly put down.
This is what I’ve always loved about learning because it allows for connections across many subjects and enriches experiences. During college, I immediately became aware of this type of occurrence. I’d learn something in my Women in the Caribbean class, and there it was in a journalistic article. My geology class made driving across the country far more interesting, and my French Revolution class took me and my friends on an all-night tipsy tour of Paris during which we retraced Marie Antoinette’s last steps. I bought my first New Yorker magazine at the Denver Airport because I recognized an author in the table of contents that I had just read in a Latin Studies class—Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I always say that my college education was the best investment I have ever made because it continues to enrich my life daily with these types of experiences.
So it was no surprise when a few days ago I came across another poem by C.P. Cavafy—Waiting for the Barbarians. It was actually a video from a concert in which artist Laurie Anderson performed her interpretation of the poem. The concert was part of a festival devoted to Cavafy called Archive of Desire, which took place in New York City and was sponsored by the Onassis Foundation. Watching the video, I was immediately struck by the poem’s poignance and its relevance to my ongoing attempt to make sense of the world and navigate through these times.
Ever since the Presidential election, I have been acutely aware of all the “noise” that I have subjected myself to in recent years. By noise I mean information: news, analysis, debates, podcasts, and so forth. The journalists, academics, and economists that I was tuning into daily work hard to ensure that their work is well researched, thoughtful, and balanced when necessary. But I was spending too much time and energy focusing on almost one singular topic. And the thought of continuing down this path as the new administration, which tends to demand one’s attention, takes the reins of power felt overwhelming and joyless. So that morning I decided to tune out the noise, as much as possible.
Anderson’s performance of Cavafy’s poem opens with the Brooklyn Youth Chorus all talking at once, not towards one another, and not in any coherent fashion, but out into the audience—all competing to be heard. The cacophony of voices reminded me of the stream of noise—information—that has monopolized my attention for the past couple of years via my phone and computer. The poem takes place in Ancient Rome and describes the Romans as they anticipate the arrival of the Barbarians. People linger, some fearfully, others dressed to impress. Nothing is accomplished. They are too busy waiting. This reminds me of the last couple of years and the all-consuming presidential race, with its constant polls, analyses, and discussions.
One poetry website says the poem is about, “communal anxiety accompanying the erosion of civilization.” Another analysis summarizes it this way: “Cavafy encourages readers to reflect on how anticipation and fear shape our perceptions and the narratives that govern our lives.” And yet another says the “poem explores the subject of control, manipulation, and the superficiality of authority in general.” All ideas that have been swirling around in my head for the past month. Especially the superficiality of authority in general.
I remember the day after President-elect Trump won in 2016. My 11th-grade history class was studying WWII and the rise of Fascism in Europe. On that morning, I asked my Bulgarian students if they saw any similarities between then and now. I don’t remember specifics, but as always, they had a lot to share. My conclusion for the lesson was how fortunate I felt to be an American, because I had the right to be critical of the US government without fear. One of my students asked me, if I truly believed this freedom to criticize made a difference in the political process. Or was this just a story Americans tell themselves to make them feel their system of government is superior? He smiled as he walked out the door before I had a chance to answer.
Links:
Laurie Anderson's Performance of 'Waiting for the Barbarians'
“Waiting for the Barbarians” and the Government Shutdown BY Daniel Mendelsohn
