It Must Have Been The Spirits

Another cool poem surfaced in The New Yorker which I deemed interesting and worth noting and talking about.

I actually found it a bit confusing and difficult to get through, so I also am putting it here for some help with interpretation and understanding points. I did like it because it seemed to get into the depths of drunkenness and what occurs.

It Must Have Been the Spirits

by CP Cavafy

It must have been the spirits that I drank last night,
it must have been that I was drowsing, I'd been tired all day long.

The black wooden column vanished before me,
with the ancient head; and the dining-room door,
and the armchair, the red one; and the little settee.
In their place came a street in Marseilles.
And freed now, brazenly, my soul
appeared there once again and moved about,
along with the form of a sensitive, pleasure-bent-youth--
the dissolate youth: that, too, must be said.

It must have been the spirits that I drank last night,
it must have been that I was drowsing, I'd been tired all day long.

My soul was released; the poor thing, it's
always constrained by the weight of the years.

My soul was released and it showed me
a sympathique street in Marseilles,
with the form of the happy, dissolute youth
who never felt ashamed, not he, certainly.


When it references the spirits, it sort of has a dual meaning I think. I think it obviously has to do with alcohol because it's taking him to this new place, but when he mentions his soul multiple times, it could also have to do with a more spiritual side.

What do you make of this poem "It Must Have Been the Spirits?"