Poetic Movements

It's an oxymoron to write about dance, about movement, about bodies; because no matter the motion taken for the hands and the shoulders to write (or type), the body sits still, largely motionless. It's even a more surprising oxymoron to research with dance, to make dance and motion your research partner; abstracts, thoughts, papers, results, all end up written down on document forms. Slowly your dancing fades away, your body aches, your expression feels betrayed and captured. But yet, in these awakening moments that movement flows back through your body, consciousness grows fast; faster than usually. Touch replaces the senses back to their initial moment of birth, and as the body tires soon enough, having lost its confidence, you are grasping for breath, and when you catch it and balance again, you are starting over.  And over and over again, eyes closed and confidence regained, you relive the first time you created another you, and other tho...

Από το παράθυρο έξω τι κοιτάς· πες μου πως κοιτάς εμένα πως εμένα αναζητάς σε κάθε ξένο περαστικό κάτω απ’ το παράθυρό σου. Τι ψάχνεις και για πόσο για πόσο αλλού θα βρίσκεις πάλι εμένα· εμένα που όπως το λίγο χιόνι στο άγγιγμα της γης χάνομαι από προσώπου της. Παράθυρο μικρό, στης γης την άκρη κάθε που κει ξημερώνει εδώ βασιλεύει το φεγγάρι και δεν ξέρω πώς να σε ρωτήσω στο φως του πρωινού ποια γη ποια θάλασσα σε ξυπνά με καλημέρα. Στης θάλασσας την άλλη άκρη στης γης το μικρό νησί προβάλει ξανά το ίδιο φως· το βράδυ σιγανή φωτιά στ’ απάγκιο μιας παραλίας που όταν μαζί της ξαπλώνεις αστέρια ονοματίζεις, κι άραγε από το παράθυρο του ουρανού έξω τι κοιτάς· πες μου πως κοιτάς εμένα. 11 Φεβρουαρίου 2017, Dundee, Σκωτία.  

It is the first snow that ever covered any feeling and left a shadow instead of a sun behind.  It is the first snow I find falling without a purpose; without a purpose keep talking, sound regenerates.  It is the first snow, and the last, ‘cause there are no words to share it. Snow, and the spring still appears only far away; I never learnt to say pointless things, to cover the silence.  Snow covering the landscape and any consciousness of you; as if the heart can freeze. Snow and salty drops, unable to break its ice. First words I put on paper for you, first words that wish to reach a simple infinity.  Words without a purpose, a void of every meaning. First words that maintain the silence.   It’s February already it’s May and September; and you are still a snow in all these nights that cease to shine.   January-February 2017, Athens-Dundee.