Poetic Movements

 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 t...

  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...

Few days ago I joined a yoga nidra class a friend had suggested. Lying on the floor, eyes closed, listening to the instructor’s guidance and r eaching deeper and deeper into consciousness, the body is supposed to fall in an asleep state. I have practised yoga nidra few times before, but this time my body didn’t exactly respond as previously . Instead, motionless on the floor, I started feeling my thumbs locking, my knees aching and my ankles heavier than all the luggage I have carried thus far across places. I was meditating, but at the same time I was also fully aware of my body’s tensions; sort of a dual awareness. I realised that it wasn’t just me reconnecting with my consciousness down there. M y body was also seizing the chance to reconnect with me, finally grasping my attention to show me all the things I had to take care of but was for long ignoring. Awaken afterwards, I was inevitably conscious of all the aching muscles in my body and immensely grateful. I brea...

Afterwords undersurfaced talked through hard-breathed bubbles; whose water is this that I am moving under tonight again? Limbs light lighter than my very soul if I suppose to have a soul or some piece of it still dry still hanging from some steady surface. I’ll fight with the bitterness slipping underneath my tongue the bitterness resembling coffee aftertaste when overdosed in the morning cup the bitterness that in reality is a first taste of death. November 2019, Athens.

Θυμάμαι τα δελτία καιρού ως παιδί (δεκαετία ‘90 – αρχές 2000), να παίζουν μετά τις ειδήσεις, σύντομα και κάπως αδιάφορα. Καμιά φορά τα βλέπαμε για να επιλέξουμε τα ρούχα της επόμενης ημέρας, αν και συχνότερα αλλάζαμε κανάλι χωρίς να τα δούμε καθόλου. Αυτή η εποχή έχει παρέλθει οριστικά μαζί με την παιδικότητα, λες και επρόκειτο περισσότερο για την παιδικότητα του κόσμου ολόκληρου. Και τώρα όλοι παρακολουθούν τις – όλο και τακτικότερες – ενημερώσεις του καιρού με μεγαλύτερη προσήλωση απ’ ό,τι τα πολιτικά δρώμενα του δελτίου των οχτώ (που πάει κι αυτό, έχει πλέον μετακομίσει σε διάφορες άλλες ώρες). Θυμάμαι ακόμα τις φθινοπωρινές πλημμύρες της Αθήνας, συνεπείς κάθε χρόνο στα ραντεβού τους και τακτικές στις ζημιές που προκαλούσαν. Σπανίως ή και ουδέποτε μας έπιαναν off guard ( ελληνιστί, στον ύπνο). Τώρα είναι αλλιώς. Τώρα δε πλημμυρίζουν μόνο υπόγεια και ισόγεια, αλλά καταρρέουν βουνά και μαζί τους παρασύρουν ολόκληρα σπίτια. Αυτή είναι η Αθήνα· κι ας υποφέρ...

As I have packed up the Christmas tree and decorations and time is approaching for packing up clothes and notes, departing on the next flight, a long postponed reflective post-fieldwork blog entry is fighting its way in my schedule. My fieldwork experience on Samothraki started with Seamus Heaney and ended with Yannis Ritsos. Undoubtedly, among other things, it was a poetic voyage. The Chora of Samothraki; fieldsite. December 2018 . Following the flood in autumn 2017 , I was unconsciously muttering (to myself, to my memories, to my worries): “ And was angry that my trust could not repose In the clear light, like poetry or freedom Leaning in from sea. I ate the day Deliberately, that its tang Might quicken me all into verb, pure verb.” -Seamus Heaney, ‘Oysters’. For a fieldwork that had started with an evacuation from my house due to a flood, it was only fair to end with an evacuation from the island itself due to the breakdown of the conn...

I wanted to become a barista when I was younger. For real! The type who makes coffee so elegantly, like art; who is fast enough but also seems not to be bothered with time; who strikes the best foam milk temperature for cappuccino and then pours it in the cup making all crazy, crafty shapes; who looks stylish wearing the barista apron; and who serves you such a good coffee that your day on takes a liquid, balanced, aerial flow and eventually this person becomes your ‘fix my day’ person. But, to be honest, I am a better at sipping than making coffee. So, at some point, I had to let go of this fantasy of mine. Yet, I never stopped admiring and (shoosh! secret secret!) envying these divinely perfect baristas . However, this is not a post about the coffee artists (yes, I mean the baristas ). This is just a short – well, perhaps longer than short – intro to explain my attentiveness to the subject. It’s an ordinary autumn evening in Samothr...

Balconies empty clouds heavy lights lesser a wind mesmeriser. Chopped wood and roses cut. Fire in the vase. And the view is seen through hoods' ends; winter comes. 13 Oct 2018, Trapeza, Samothraki.

Goats are of the smartest animals; they must be. Think that in the driest land, they can find food and they can drink water from the sea. And smart as they are, they don't trust easily. At first, they emerge from shadows and trees, or use the light to hide their characteristics... And gaining their trust is a ritual of inestimable joy to the anthropological eyes, as it makes you think of movements, signals and meanings (I am guiltily hiding the word 'symbols' here!). I had a professor at the first year of my undergrad studies in Anthropology, who said that Anthropology is to know what it means to wink in each culture. Perhaps in the overpupolated and uncompromising society of Samothracian goats, the wink of the head of the 'delegation' means approval. Or, I have taken it completely wrong. Either way, see a depiction of the ritual below!  Nonetheless, after the 'wink', goats started showing up and e...