Poetic Movements

Words my dive on paper and leak the seas continuously, yet they may escape attention and smile indifferently to essence. Words are proof enough there is no essence to things, just a liquid coming and going of impressions and feelings. Words, Virginia Woolf said, “ are the wildest, freest, most irresponsible, most unteachable of all things”. And as such they dissolve little vanities in the air, they consume wishes and stand straight again. Words are, more or less, like dance. They may be documented but are performed only once, because “they like us to think, and they like us to feel” , “ to pause; to become unconscious” , to move in disagreement and collapse gracefully. Words are vacant more often than not awaiting for something and afterwards escaping it. May 2018, Samothraki. Photograph: horizon in Samothraki, 25 May 2018.

Step by step, 5 May 2018, Camping Varades, Samothraki. Lately I often think that to write field notes is to challenge your future self, unaware of who it’s going to be. There are so many things that change while conducting your fieldwork; the first one being yourself. I go through unfinished poems from the past year: the summer break in 2017, my settling on Samothraki the following autumn and all that suddenly occurred, the Christmas time, the travels. All of them, potential routes that remained unfinished. In the field, there are numerous plans eventually going astray, and even more that you learn about on the way. So, while in July I was looking for […] unfulfilled quietness as yet another verse or even a prose sees the light unchallenged (from Listening to Evgeny Grinko: while writing in the mornings , unpublished), in September I was peeling off pomegranates, unaware of their good fortune and how much I would need it in the near future