Ithaka

Sending them off again

I just wrapped up year twenty-four in the classroom, and this time was another round of teaching seniors. (Our seniors finish up pretty early.) On their last day of class—as I always have for seniors—I read them the Greek poet C.P. Cavafy’s most famous work, “Ithaka.” It’s one of my favorite poems, and it has always spoken deeply to me about the nature of life as pilgrimage journey.

In theory, it should resonate with students graduating from Canisius High School, because The Odyssey and its themes of journey and transformation anchor our sophomore curriculum. The poem revisits those themes with seniors a couple years later at a juncture when they might understand them more acutely. And it’s a chance to remind them that life is, in so many ways, essentially a journey “there and back again,” to lean on Tolkien and Joseph Campbell in equal measure, among others.

I share it with them to encourage them to journey far and well and at least a little bit wildly, as Cavafy suggests a young person should: “…hope that your journey is a long one / full of adventure, full of discovery…” To urge them to engage deeply with the world, confronting its challenges with virtue and courage and immersing themselves in its beauty. Not with reckless abandon, but with love and a liberal appetite for genuine joy. To find what matters more than just happiness, and live in joyful service to it, and therefore discover peace and happiness as a byproduct of that devotion—to lean on St. Paul and Viktor Frankl in equal measure, among others.

I encourage them, as Cavafy does, to be wise about monsters, but not to cower before them. And that the real threats—the most dangerous Laestrygonians and cyclopes of this world—are the ones we harbor within. I remind them that if the monsters become real, they should seek help from their crew or those who have journeyed longer, not go it alone. And, if ultimately need be, to remember that guidance and help await back home. That coming home to regroup does not preclude setting out once more. (I know this from personal experience.)

As Cavafy’s closing lines implore, I beg of them not to forget “Ithaka,” this place from which they so energetically set forth. I encourage them, as Cavafy does, to bear no resentment for the people and place that gave them so much, even if it has (as is natural) exhausted what it has to offer them. Their desire to leave is only natural; such eagerness to set forth should accompany their readiness. Isn’t that the work we begin on the day of their arrival?

And finally, I remind them that by setting forth, they really are embarking on a journey home. I say this knowing full well there’s no way they can really understand that in this moment of departure. And that’s okay. That’s the point of the journey, after all. The Irish novelist George Moore said, “A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.” To set out from Ithaka, then, is to set out for Ithaka, too.

The text of the poem is below. But if you really want to enjoy it, watch the video to listen to Sir Sean Connery read it, accompanied by Vangelis. Personally, I can’t watch it without a reliable welling up of feelings. I’d like to think that any teacher who really loves the work, who really lives it on a vocational level, might feel some of the same.

Ithaka

C . P . C A V A F Y

As you set out for Ithaka

hope that your journey is a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery.

Laistrygonians and Cyclopes,

angry Poseidon—do not be afraid of them:

you’ll never find things like that on your way

as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,

as long as a rare sensation

touches your spirit and your body.

Laistrygonians and Cyclopes,

wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them

unless you bring them along inside your soul,

unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope your journey is a long one.

May there be many summer mornings when,

with what pleasure, what joy,

you come into harbors you’re seeing for the first time;

may you stop at Phoenician trading stations

to buy fine things,

mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,

sensual perfume of every kind—

as many sensual perfumes as you can;

and may you visit many Egyptian cities

to learn and learn again from those who know.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.

Arriving there is what you’re destined for.

But do not hurry the journey at all.

Better if it lasts for years,

so that you’re old by the time you reach the island,

wealthy with all you have gained on the way,

not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you would not have set out.

She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.

Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,

You will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

C. P. Cavafy, “The City” from C.P. Cavafy: Collected Poems. Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard. Translation Copyright © 1975, 1992 by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard. Reproduced with permission of Princeton University Press. Source: C.P. Cavafy: Collected Poems (Princeton University Press, 1975)