A poem of 1930 by the great C. P. Cavafy; it is translated from the Greek by Daniel Mendelsohn, who explores Cavafy’s sense of beauty in his introduction to Collected Poems. He writes, “The rich, perfervid, sensuous present of most lives is lost forever to recollection: only the living memory of that past, memory that is itself alchemized into something permanent, and permanently beautiful, by poetry, ‘preserves’ them forever.” Here, the mirror plays the role of recaller and preserver, with Cavafy’s sly assistance.
The Mirror in the Entrance
In the entrance hallway of that sumptuous home
there was an enormous mirror, very old;
acquired at least eighty years ago.
A strikingly beautiful boy, a tailor’s assistant,
(on Sunday afternoons, an amateur athlete),
was standing with a package. He handed it
to one of the household, who then went back inside
to fetch a receipt. The tailor’s assistant
remained alone, and waited.
He drew near the mirror, and stood gazing at himself,
and straightening his tie. Five minutes later
they brought him the receipt. He took it and left.
But the ancient mirror, which had seen and seen again,
throughout its lifetime of so many years,
thousands of objects and faces—
but the ancient mirror now became elated,
inflated with pride, because it had received upon itself
perfect beauty, for a few minutes.
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It’s always good to be reminded of Cafavy’s mastery of an elegant melancholy. And Mendelsohn has done him justice no previous translator has. Ohnto have lived in Alexandria and to have tasted coffee at his side.
That is beautiful.
The poem by C.P. Cavafy, “The Mirror in the Entrance,” helps me recall two mirrors that faced each other in the entrance of a wonderful Italian restaurant in Agawam, Massachusetts. Those mirrors reflected me forever.
As a teen, I had the good fortune to enter that ante way each day after school and full time in summer. This was my world of awakening. The Tinti family and their restaurant immersed me in world of art, music and caring feelings, the likes of which I had not experienced before.
Those mirrors led me to a personal experience of European culture so vital that it drives my every thought to this very day. I was in heaven. A fourteen-foot high mural of Marco Polo presenting spaghetti to the people of Florence towered over me. A secret little alcove where young lovers became a part of a bucolic scene, said things that school never dared, and a grand piano helped me spin my simple melodies.
In thanks to C.P. Cavafy:
The ever-observant mirror:
The sweet beauty of youth,
A mature mind,
Reflects Love and Life,
Beyond all measure.
P.S. The restaurant is closed now, but the building is preserved as a Masonic Hall. Hopefully, those two mirrors still reflect forever.