Words in sorrow (about the eviction of the Stone Warehouse at the port of Piraeus)

I write being at the moment unsure, numb and bitter. I write being emotionally implicated, but trying to take a step back and consider the situation.

I have heard tremendous things since yesterday, which I am not going to recycle here. But I believe most of them, because they were told by people who have also dedicated a, bigger or smaller, part of their life to being there daily, contributing, helping. They are my people; and I am theirs.

Refugees came today, the 14th of July, for breakfast as always. Less people though. And it was quite, too quite for what we are used to. My little girl ran to me for a hug, insecurity and confusion shadowing her eyes. The kids' inexhaustible energy that we usually find hard to deal with was not there today. We finished the distribution fast at E1, having nothing to say one to the other.

The Stone Warehouse evicted and locked since yesterday, 13th July 2016.

I walked to the Warehouse, where the distribution was not finished yet. Also very quite. The building itself is no locked, and some tents remain only outside, at the back of the Warehouse. People were taking their breakfast and were walking towards their tents; the "lucky ones" whose tents yetserday were not considered standing in an "unsuitable place". Only then I realised that within the coming days I will start noticing absences during the food distribution, I will be expecting to see faces that I will more probably never see again.

I was not at the port myslef yesterday. I found out what happened at the evening from friends, outraged and speechless most of them. The Warehouse was never a good place for people to live in, but for the past six months, in a state of "emergency", it was hosting around 300 refugees. Yesterday they were obliged, without a former notice, without time to pack their belongings, to evacuate it. They had the alternative to be moved to another camp - Oinofyta from what I would hear later, some tents in the fields away from Athens... Were they informed, did somebody explain to them the reasons, did anyone guarantee that there the conditions would be better? Eventually, afraid and disorientated, most of them tried to find shelter elsewhere at the port, between burning sun and dry concrete. Word spreads that many people lost important legal documents during the procedure.

The tents allowed to remain at the "suitable place", at the back of the Stone Warehouse.

There is a limit to what you can witness; and I have started to cross mine. Six months of volunteering and working at the port, finding balances between these two, I have seen and heard a lot; terrible and miraculous things simultaneously. You become stronger and stiff yourself in order to endure the pressure and do what you are supposed to no matter the conditions: help the people. But yesterday and today, for the first time, I feel helpless myself. I have no answers for anyone who might be asking "why", "what's happening", "what's to come next". I have no excuses and no understanding anymore. Whoever is in chanrge is not around to inform and reassure the people. We are seeing ships departing and returning daily, but the refugees are stuck there; an image of irony. Travellers are coming and going all day, but they are just waiting for the relocation or resettlemet process to conclude, for someone to responsibly update them on their current situation and future options. So many people and yet noone is truly there for them. The port should have been evacuated months ago, before summer's arrival. Right now extreme heat and travelling congestion make the living conditions there unhealthy and dangerous. We are stuck and once in a while selectively evicted.

It is subhuman to deprive someone's last goodbye to people who have been helping them for months, to the ones who built a routine with them. I am already thinking of the possible faces which I am not going to see again and a worry is growing inside of me about the others; when is going to be the last time to see them too? My smile has faded, and I have no way to explain this to the kids when they will come running to me in the evening, asking for some play. I feel a little bit subhuman myself today. Witnessing this fate without being able to make a change. Witnessing without believing in my own powers anymore. Witnessing without being able to stand any longer.

Almost a month ago, at the 22nd of June, the gate E1 was also evacuated, though not forcefully. The 600-700 refugees hosted there had to move their tents under the bridge facing the Stone Warehouse, the new "suitable place". Many of them have left the port on their own since then.

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Έγκλημα στο Κάμπινγκ

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Οιωνοί

Στα φύλλα των πλατάνων που χάνουν τη δύναμή τους και πέφτουν πρώιμα, στα φύλλα το φθινόπωρο που βιάζεται. Στα κύματα που αδιάκοπα χτυπούν το σώμα τους ενάντια σ’ αυτό της γης, στα κύματα οι μέρες που χάνονται. Στα μαλλιά μου που ασπρίζουν - και στα δικά σου – το χιόνι που θα πέσει, το χιόνι που θα λιώσει στην θάλασσα. Τα βράδια του καλοκαιριού αεροπλάνα διασχίζουν τον ουρανό μ’ ιλιγγιώδεις ταχύτητες κι εγώ τα καταλαβαίνω · καταλαβαίνω τον χρόνο που κυνηγούν τους αστερισμούς που έχουν να προσπεράσουν τα σύνορα που οφείλουν να διαγράψουν – τα καταλαβαίνω. Ο άντρας που στέκεται εδώ και ώρα στην ακροθαλασσιά έχει ξεχάσει να κινηθεί, και το βλέπω τώρα πως τα πέλματά του τα έχουν καταπιεί τα βότσαλα, οι αστράγαλοί του δεν ξεχωρίζουν στην σκοτεινή στεριά, και τώρα που το φως έχει επιτέλους χαθεί φαίνονται όλα πεντακάθαρα – το κάθε χιλιοστό που η θάλασσα τον τραβά μέσα της, το κάθε μικρό κύμα στ’ ανοιχτά που διογκώ

Time

Warm earth homecoming warm body a storm beyond the sea warm hands – your hands are warm at summer’s end. Your hands are warm amidst the ashfall your hands are real. Warm earth cold water – the goats descend . Sept. – Oct. 2023, Kipoi, Samothraki.

Έγκλημα στη Σαμοθράκη

Συγκλονιστικές είναι οι εξελίξεις σχετικά με το μέχρι στιγμής ανεξιχνίαστο έγκλημα στη Σαμοθράκη. Η σωρός του Μολδαβού επιχειρηματία βρέθηκε τελικά σε δύσβατο κομμάτι του βράχου Βρυχού, περιφερειακά του οικισμού της Χώρας. Η αστυνομία κάνει λόγο για δολοφονία, αλλά δεν έχει δώσει προς το παρόν λεπτομέρειες για τυχόν υπόπτους ή για τον τρόπο που αφαιρέθηκε η ζωή του θύματος! Ρίγος στην τοπική κοινωνία εν μέσω καλοκαιριού! Θα επιστρέψουμε κοντά σας μόλις έχουμε νεώτερα... Ο αστυνόμος Μακρής έκλεισε το ραδιόφωνο με αργές, σχεδόν θεατρικές κινήσεις. Όχι πως ήταν λάτρης του σανιδιού · μάλλον το αντίθετο. Τον επιβράδυνε περισσότερο η σκέψη της τελευταίας φράσης που άκουσε. Θα επιστρέψουμε κοντά σας μόλις έχουμε νεώτερα... Ήξερε τι σήμαινε αυτό. Το τηλέφωνο θα χτυπούσε σύντομα. Στην Αλεξανδρούπολη επικρατούσε πνιγηρή ζέστη. Ο απογευματινός παραλιακός περίπατος περισσότερο είχε αυξήσει παρά ανακουφίσει τη δυσφορία που ήδη ένιωθε. Βέβαια δεν ήταν μόνο ο καιρός. Στην πρα

Bosphorus

In their cracky voices the seagulls talked – they truly did talk – about things that parted continents and seas. The crowd moved in a mass dance a choreography of nothing momentarily interrupted by streetcars. And the waters howled underneath they howled like a heartbeat soon (any moment now) to cease. Souls passed me by; some lost some wandering and some mine. Jan. 2024, Istanbul.

April’s fools

I All our traumas sat around the table to dine courteously and with crooked smiles (too civilised for their own good). They exchanged words superfluous and untherapeutic. They drank until it was late and memory appeared to dissolve into nothingness. II Sometimes even after all this time, when the restaurant is empty and the music has stopped, I hear them trying to re-emerge from the surfaces that surpassed them the flowers that outlived them the lights that fooled them – intoxicated and vindicated by no one – into the shadows. I ask myself, sometimes, what will happen if they ever escape the shadows only to find that the dining table has since been replaced and most of their torturous attachments have ceased to be? What hidden and unresolved traumas will we have then? April 2024, Athens. Photograph: March 2024, Loutropyrgos.

Mountain stars (a collection of irregular haikus)

I Your dreams are lately red. In the defiant light of the sun we appear less clean. What if I hide underneath the surface of the sea? Love was supposed to be effortless at start. Same songs same rain all the things you are doing with others. Storms unleashed threads pending cuts; your dreams are red. II Night butterflies fill the room night flowers drop tears reflections of us populate the walls underneath the sky I inhale the stars. The sea will expand to the world’s end (I know now) mountains will for once retract is it possible is it thinkable to stand here still? May 2024, Samothraki.

Sharp objects

Incapacitated words as spoken hit fully unequipped against the hard surfaces of objects across the room. They roll each surface until they meet the floor, or are forced by their velocity to an abrupt, deep fall. Some – very few – cling on to sharp edge s where accidentally they made contact and attempt to stand breathless and silent expecting this to postpone their demise. But the edges are cutting so the words become torn apart as they hang helplessly above the ground and letter by letter they lose the fabric of their sense. Poor words, the poorest words ever spoken, result demolished on the floor their letters illogically spread across space, their meaning irreparably deranged. Athens, July 2023. Photograph: words colliding against each other; Dundee West End, Scotland, June 2022.

Poetic Movements

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