He grew old between the burning of Troy
and the quarries of Sicily.
He liked the caves on the beach and the sea’s drawings.
He saw the veins of people
as a net in which the gods catch us, like animals;
he tried to cut through it.
He was surly, his friends were few;
the time came, and the dogs tore him to shreds.
George Seferis
Translated by Pavlos Andronikos