Poetic Movements

If you walk in between the shadows of the city that are now standing still if you let yourself stay seated on the empty benches of the park now that February nights feel like the heart of spring if from that position you notice the very few airplanes rising higher against the dark blanket that we call the night sky if you read closely the messages shaped on the dusty windscreens of old cars; I wonder will you know the shadows have grown fond of us and we have grown to resemble them? February 2021, Athens. Photograph: park scene at night ; 5 Feb. ‘21, Korydallos. 

The vibrancy in the atmosphere tonight expands and enters my mind. Cramped within its thin walls sparkles for attention flashy like Christmas lights. I’ve stopped processing details and all there’s left is space to occupy. This vibrancy tonight exploits the vacancy in my mind creeping silently inside now, to be found  omnipresent in all its buzz only when hours have passed and the city will look again a lot like its old self. There’s space tonight and more than before it’s noticeable that the city never went away. December 2020, Athens. Photo: city space detail; 22 November 2020, Athens.

Μια φωνή μες στη νύχτα ακούγεται πολύ λίγο για πολύ λίγο δισταχτικά. Ό,τι και να ζητά δεν υπάρχει μες στο βράδυ ούτε μπορεί να βρεθεί. Κάπως αντίστοιχα πριν λίγο σκοτείνιασε ο διάδρομος της απέναντι πολυκατοικίας με τη λάμπα να κρέμεται καμμένη αναντικατάστατη στο μετέωρο βήμα της νύχτας. Καμιά φορά νοητά (και μόνο) κοιτάζω μέσα απ’ το παράθυρό σου, μα έχουν ήδη περάσει πολλά χρόνια και δε διακρίνω τίποτα. Η φωνή ξανακούγεται για πολύ πιο λίγο σχεδόν κοφτά σα να κρατιέται έτσι και μόνο από την ύπαρξη · και θα μπορούσε να μου θυμίζει τη δική σου. Εγώ έχω χρόνια να πω κάτι · μόνο αλλάζω τις λάμπες κάθε όποτε καίγονται να μοιάζουν τα βράδια συντομότερα και τα παράθυρα φωτισμένα λες κι από μέσα ξεχειλίζουν ζωή. 13 Νοεμβρίου 2020, Αθήνα. Φωτογραφία: φως από αντικριστά παράθυρα · Αθήνα, 05.11.20.  

A man shows at the corner of the street, his back straight, a cap on his head and a surgical mask over his mouth. He is middle-aged; perhaps a bit older. He wears Oxford shoes, trousers and shirt both black, a sleeveless, light autumn jacket zipped on top. He holds in his one hand what looks like a leather gentlemen’s handbag and a plastic bag from the baker’s. He approaches one of the rubbish bins standing by the corner of the street, opens it with his other hand, briefly looks inside and closes again the lid. He crosses the street and opens the lid of another bin, one filled with content. His other hand still holds his leather handbag and plastic bag, and he places his head at the opening of the bin, stopping the lid from closing as he frees his hand of it. With that free hand, he searches the content of the bin. He catches something, as two cars pass by beside him. Closing the bin he stands, takes his mask down, places the retrieved content in his mouth and w...

The clouds  don't move. How can they not move anymore ? April 2020, Athens in lockdown.

Watering the plants meant I could finally think less of you and more about how this world was ending ungracefully without you. 21 April 2020, Athens in lockdown. Photograph: House lavender; 30.04.20, Athens. 

More than you, my body craved the sun.

They laid - one on top of the other one beside the other like bodies in synchronised dance - under the warming sun, their porous skin ecstatically opened up to its arrays. I touched the first hesitantly its shadow momentarily cast upon my extended arm - half expecting my palm to burn half for the orange to melt inside it instead - raised and held it steadily unmoved rounded by my fingers and further exposed to the sun resembling a well-designed light. Observing it - my eyes drawn to the promise of its infinite circles - I still recall on the days of careless youth the apples rolling on the floor in anarchy and disarray. How apples came to bear oranges though I never realised. April 2020, Athens. Photograph: The Oranges; 25,04.20.

Disaster stand for a moment! don’t overflow the towns just yet don’t burn down the years waiting for us ahead; see me facing you before you are gone see me as you kn ew me all along. Disaster what is your name these days? what do people call you as you take away what they thought it stays? – Flood or plague? Pain or hurricane? Blight or blaze? – Disaster I’ve met your waves and sounds I’ve traced them on my skin I recognise the rain in your clouds those that you hide as a sin. Disaster I’ve been scared and alone watching you pass the first time but look how I’ve grown since you’ve taken parts of mine. Disaster face me now as I am you; or more like you are the dice I once threw. 14 April 2020, Athens. Photograph: approaching storm; 10 July 2019, Samothraki.

I. Στις ταράτσες ψηλά ατίθασες στους καιρούς οι δεκαοχτούρες ερωτοτροπούν. II. Η βιντεοκλήση σπάει τα κλειστά σύνορα. III. Στις μικρές κοινωνίες ποτέ δε φαντάστηκα τόση εμπάθεια. IV. Κοιμάσαι περισσότερο · πατημασιές πάνω στα σύννεφα. V. Αύριο θα είναι μία άλλη μέρα; VI. Στο filofax καθημερινά διαγράφονται events. VII. Τις νύχτες το φεγγάρι επισκιάζει τις κραυγές των ασθενοφόρων. VIII. Κάθε μέρα είναι  μία  ακόμα εξουθενωμένη Κυριακή. IX. Η αγάπη μου για σένα γέμισε τις άδειες πλατείες. Απρίλιος 2020, Αθήνα σε lockdown. Φωτογραφία: αστικές σκιές υπό το φεγγάρι · Κορυδαλλός, 10.04.20.