Personal

I was strolling down the main road to the port, just right after the sunset. Last night as it was, my eyes were savouring the landscape until the next time, the next journey to the island. About an hour or less after that, miles away, in our house in Athens, my grandmother would be unexpectedly leaving me. Two hours later, I would have known, unable to react, unable to make a difference, unable to ask her why.

I spent the night doing the same things once and twice and many times; but time was not bothering to spare me. I arrived at the ship very early, and then again I had nothing to do but wait, gazing at the people entering, most of them already familiar one with the other, chatting their news.

For November it was a sweet weather. I walked up to the deck and as we were distancing on board from the island, the wind got stronger and violent. Violent was also the sun, rising above the mountain's top, the Moon as people call it, hurting my eyes with brightness. There, alone on the ship's deck, so close and yet so far away already, I let go of my grandmother free on the island's paradise. As it had happened before, a part of me was staying back to anticipate my next visit. Only that this time, it was the most vibrant and formative part. I was returning home incomplete, deficient.

It was a month and a half after my return, when my graduation ceremony was held. And my grandfather, after finding a form of strength beyond human to attend it, ran off to accompany my grandmother. In great delight, I can guess, they were - are - together as always.

With their essence surrounding every moment, internally and externally, I proceeded in living the life they had inspired in me. And as this life was proving successful and their presence was still shaping it, I realised that the people who raise us can never fade away. Pieces of them, built inside us, carry on and grow as we grow, change along with our change. I deposited pieces of my grandmother on the island, and pieces of my grandfather on the University. And by their unity, they are present at both places, simultaneously, together. Every visit then, is a return home. A home rooted in the inside of the body, of the psyche, but so distanced at times, so hard to reach.

For I cannot clearly tell if it is me or them who make the return, or if there is an actual distinction between us at all.

"But now and again on more occasions than I can number, in bed at night, or in the street, or as I come into the room, there she is; beautiful, emphatic, with her familiar phrase and her laugh; closer than any of the living are, lighting our random lives as with a burning torch, infinitely noble and delightful to her children." (1)

There they are… lighting our random lives with a burning torch, infinitely noble and delightful to their (grand)children.

And thus that November gave way to other months to come, and it is October now. And once again, I am so far away. And it feels like a risk to take each time; to leave the people, responsible for their lives, deprived of you. It is October now and nobody can tell how this November is going to be. So far away from any home I have ever built, and yet my feet feel grounded on the island, as it is fighting to surface on the sea, as it is getting too close to the sun or taking too much water in. Some days are too dry and some others too humid. But I am barely standing, disorientated as things take up their own life, just like I took up other people's existences and spread them in the world... Distinctions are a convenient illusion, I come to understand. In reality, you cannot tell where you stand and where stands another; if there is ever another.

There is, then, no escape, no place that will feel neutral if I have walked on it before. I am paving my way, leaving behind thoughts, gestures, nods, sounds, fears and aspirations, beliefs and misbeliefs, my-selves and the others' selves; a trail leading back to the initial birth; and a defiance towards death.

There can be no death; for once I stood, so vacant and so yet full (or perhaps fool?), gazing from Samothraki to the sea, and all I could see was the future.

Another was then gazing at me.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1. Woolf, V. (1976) Moments of Being. Schulkind, J. ed. London & Toronto: Sussex University Press, p. 40.

Photograph: A full/fool gaze. Platiá, Samothraki, Greece, 14 Aug. 2012.

Comments

Τι σχέση έχει ο Πάνακτος Βοιωτίας με τον Λουτρόπυργο Νέας Περάμου; Η κατάρρευση της οικειότητας

Καμία. Τα χωρίζουν 32 χιλιόμετρα, ένα όρος, ένα τεράστιο δάσος και τα “σύνορα” νομών Βοιωτίας και Αττικής. Απ’ όσους οδηγούς έχουν σταματήσει ανά τα χρόνια έξω από το εξοχικό μας στον Κάτω Λουτρόπυργο για να ζητήσουν οδηγίες, κανείς ποτέ δεν κατευθύνθηκε προς τον Πάνακτο, ή προς τα Δερβενοχώρια. Κι εμείς ποτέ δεν θεωρήσαμε ότι ο Πάνακτος ή τα Δερβενοχώρια είναι κοντά προκειμένου να πάρουμε το αυτοκίνητο και να πάμε βόλτα προς τα εκεί. Πώς γίνεται λοιπόν μία φωτιά που είχε ξεκινήσει στον Πάνακτο Βοιωτίας να βρίσκεται δύο μέρες μετά στον Άνω Λουτρόπυργο, και συγκεκριμένα δίπλα στην Ολυμπία Οδό; Και πως γίνεται άλλες δύο μέρες μετά από αυτό η φωτιά να έχει σχεδόν κάνει κύκλο περνώντας από τα Μέγαρα και να έχει επιστρέψει στην Οινόη; Βρισκόμαστε μπροστά στην κατάρρευση της οικειότητας, αντιμέτωποι με την αδυναμία πλέον να ορίσουμε τι μας είναι γνώριμο. Το γνώριμο γίνεται γρήγορα άγνωστο, ακόμα και άγονο. Οι αναμνήσεις δεν βρίσκουν τόπο να σταθούν · μετά από κάθε οριοθέτησή του

The desert island of Samothraki

Samothraki, a remote island in Northeastern Greece... 3 days without electricity as a result of the supply station in the mainland across having been damaged by the fires blazing across the East Macedonia &Thrace Region (now known to be the largest wildfire recorded on European soil in years). There used to be an independent electric station on the island which 20 years ago was closed down on the grounds of the island's population reducing. Since then, the electric supply on the island has deteriorated. Evidently, it is harder for people to remain or move to an island were electricity is not a given. See how the circle goes? 3 days with restricted access to telecommunications due to the local antennas being electrically powered. On the first day, large parts of the island had no access to water due to water pumps being electrically powered. On the first day, and while Samothraki had been for days on Amber alert for fire hazard, the sole ferry connecting the island with the m

Έγκλημα στο Κάμπινγκ

Α πρίλης 1988 – Σαμοθράκη Η άνοιξη στο κάμπινγκ έβγαζε πρωτόγονα συναισθήματα στους λ ιγοστούς ενοίκους του. Τα ξεραμένα φύλλα που είχαν συσσωρευτεί έμοιαζαν με λόφους, που οι σκιές τους στο σκοτάδι της νύχτας τους έκαναν απειλητικότερους. Αυτοί οι μικροί και από τον αέρα φερόμενοι λοφίσκοι ξεραΐλας έρχονταν σε πλήρη αντίθεση με τα πράσινα χορτάρια και τις μαργαρίτες που φύτρωναν άναρχα, σχεδόν οργασμικά, όπου έβρισκαν χώρο. Εάν άφηνες την φαντασία σου ελεύθερη, τότε εκείνη μπορούσε να σου παίξει τα πιο περίεργα παιχνίδια, ιδίως τις ώρες που γεφύρωναν τα μεσάνυχτα με το ξημέρωμα. Με τον καιρό ακόμα νεφελώδη και ενίοτε βροχερό, το κάμπινγκ της Σαμοθράκης δεν προσφερόταν για κατασκηνωτές Απρίλη μήνα. Για όσους είχαν τροχόσπιτα στον χώρο, τα πράγματα ήταν πιο εύκολα. Ωστόσο, λίγοι έμεναν για πάνω από μία εβδομάδα συνεχόμενα. Οι περισσότεροι προτιμούσαν να πηγαινοέρχονται Παρασκευοσαββατοκύριακα από την Αλεξανδρούπολη ή την Κομοτηνή ή και την Καβάλα. Είχε μόλις περάσει

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

Search This Blog