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Boughs ⋮ like ink (Egyptian).

Boughs laden with berries:
red (no!) white (no!) black (yes!) all at once.
First these fruits are lily-white, bursting with blooms;
then luscious, blush-red berries; and finally
full-ripened, glossy-black like ink (Egyptian).

An (hybrid) oracle spoken by the sorcerer Polyidus,
forged from fragments of lost plays by Aeschylus and Sophocles
to slip (silently) in among fragments of a lost play by Euripides

Κλαδί φορτωμένο με μούρα:
που μια είναι κόκκινα, μια είναι λευκά και μια είναι μαύρα.
Πρώτα βλέπεις καρπούς ολόλευκους, μες στα άνθη·
μετά μούρα ζουμερά, κοκκινισμένα· και τέλος,
φρούτα ώριμα, μαύρα σαν το μελάνι της Αιγύπτου.

ΚΡΗΣΣΑΙ – ΑΙΣΧΥΛΟΣ
[Θραύσμα 111]

λευκοῖς τε γὰρ μόροισι καὶ μελαγχρίμοις
καὶ μιλτοπρέπτοις βρίθεται ταὐτοῦ χρόνου.

ΜΑΝΤΕΙΣ / ΠΟΛΥΙΔΟΣ – ΣΟΦΟΚΛΗΣ
[Θραύσμα 395]

πρῶτον μὲν ὄψῃ λευκὸν ἀνθοῦντα στάχυν,
ἐπειτα φοινίξαντα γογγύλον μόρον,
τέλος δὲ γῆρας λαμβάνει σφ᾽ Αἰγύπτιον.

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

arkhæio
FRAGMENTS (EURIPIDES) FRAGMENTS (EURIPIDES) GATHERED

dubitanda
look ⋮ there! timeworn ⋮ tireless

Words ⋮ seem unrecognisable.

Words attract or repel or are indifferent, just like people. Everything depends on the quality of the encounter. […] A text crackles with the electricity produced by words on their “escapades” (erotic in nature). […] Whoever knows not how to conjure such encounters, to exploit that is (and in fact to reveal) the eroticism of words, knows not how to write. To write is to know how to make words seem unrecognisable.

Yorgos Maniatis, from his 1971 book
King Midas Has Ass’s Ears

Οἱ λέξεις ἕλκονται ἢ ἀπωθοῦνται ἢ αδιαφορούν, τὸ ἴδιο ὅπως οἱ ἄνθρωποι. Ἐξαρτᾶται ἀπὸ τὴν ποιότητα τῆς συναντήσεως. […] Ἕνα κείμενο σπινθηροβολεῖ ἀπὸ τὸν ἠλεκτρισμὸ ποὺ παράγουν οἱ λέξεις στὶς «περιπέτειές» τους (ἐρωτικοῦ χαρακτήρα). […] Ὅποιος δὲν ξέρει νὰ ἐπινοεῖ τέτοιες συναντήσεις, νὰ ἐκμεταλλεύεται δηλαδὴ (καὶ μάλιστα νὰ ἀποκαλύπτει) τὸν ἐρωτισμὸ τῶν λέξεων, δὲν ξέρει νὰ γράφει. Γράφει, ὅποιος ξέρει νὰ κάνει τὶς λέξεις νὰ γίνονται ἀγνώριστες.

Yorgos Maniatis (1939–2018) first published his book Midas Has Ass’s Ears [O Mídas Vassiliás Ékhi Aftiá Gaidárou] in 1972 (Athens: Kedros Books). These lines appear in footnote number twelve of the third edition published in 2018 (Athens: Stigmi Books, pp. 26–27) with its cover back-to-front – this was intentional.

Translated for (and taken from) an essay titled “Everything Depends on the Quality of the Encounter” that the documentary filmmaker Stavros Psillakis wrote for the Thessaloniki Documentary Festival publication On the Threshold (TiDF25).

The commissioned translation was not used in full.

arkhæio
ON THE THRESHOLD

All that I ⋮ back.

All that I describe
describes me back.

Argyris Chionis (2010)

Ό,τι περιγράφω
με περιγράφει.

In 2010, the poet Argyris Chionis (1943–2011) published a poetry collection that took this transpolium as its title (Athens: Gavriilidis Books).

Translated for (and taken from) an essay titled “Everything Depends on the Quality of the Encounter” that the documentary filmmaker Stavros Psillakis wrote for the Thessaloniki Documentary Festival publication On the Threshold (TiDF25).

The commissioned translation was not used in full.

arkhæio
ON THE THRESHOLD

I asked him ⋮ to dance more.

I asked him once:

“How does it feel to be called a loghotékhnis?”
[Greek akin to “wordsmith” or “litterateur.”]

His answer:

“These two words
lóghos and tékhni
[‘the word’ and ‘art’]
stuck together leave me uneasy.
I prefer the lightness of the word
kímeno [‘text’]…

“There aren’t any nice [Greek] words
to describe those who write.
Senariográfos [‘screenwriter’] isn’t nice.
Syngraféas [‘author’] isn’t nice either.

“Isn’t it tragic? To write,
but for the words
that describe what you do
to be horrible?

“Whereas khoreftís, for example,
now that’s a lovely word
to describe those who dance
– simple, with a nice ring to it,
it’s a word that only makes them
want to dance more.”

Efthimis Filippou answers a question posed by Julia Tsiakiris

Μια φορά που τον είχα ρωτήσει «Πώς σου φαίνεται αν σε αποκαλούν λογοτέχνη;» αποκρίθηκε:

«Αυτά τα λόγος και τέχνη κολλημένα μου προκαλούν δυσφορία. Μου αρέσει πιο πολύ η ελαφρότητα της λέξης κείμενο… «Δεν υπάρχουν ωραίες λέξεις γι’ αυτούς που γράφουν. Ούτε το σεναριογράφος είναι ωραίο ούτε το συγγραφέας. Δεν είναι τραγικό να γράφεις και οι λέξεις που περιγράφουν την ιδιότητά σου να είναι άσχημες; Ενώ για παράδειγμα το χορευτής είναι μια ωραία λέξη γι’ αυτούς που χορεύουν, εύηχη, απλή τους κάνει να θέλουν να χορέψουν κι άλλο».

Anecdote taken from an oral introduction to the work of Efthimis Filippou given by Julia Tsiakiris at the presentation of the Noon book collection, held at Hyper Hypo in Athens on 27 February 2025.

For Julia’s thoughts in full, see the dubitandum “coldness ⋮ complexity” (in the yellow boxes below).

Translated for the love of it.

arkhæio
NOON

dubitanda
coldness ⋮ complexity constantly ⋮ faithful documents ⋮ inaccurate

I find a plaque ⋮ fascinating.

I find a plaque of hieroglyphics and
a modern neon sign equally fascinating.

Niki Kanagini (date unknown)

Με γοητεύει το ίδιο μια πλάκα με ιερογλυφικά και
μια σύγχρονη επιγραφή νέον.

The artist Niki Kanagini (1933–2008) on the inscribed things she finds fascinating (irrespective of time). Consider in relation to her Manuscripts series.

For more context, see the dubitandum titled “neon ⋮ hieroglyphics” (yellow box below).

Translated for (and taken from) an exhibition of her work – “An Ode to Things. Niki Kanagini. Retrospective” – held at the National Museum of Contemporary Art Athens (EMST) in 2026 and curated by Tina Pandi.

arkhæio
ODE TO THINGS

dubitanda
neon ⋮ hieroglyphics

I come ⋮ cover up.

i come in(side) take off my coat take off my shoes go to the bathroom shower dry myself off. head to the kitchen eat something drink water go out onto the balcony look out. come back in lie down on the bed tuck myself in.

[or else]

come in(side) / coat off / shoes off / go to bathroom / shower / dry off / go to kitchen / eat something / drink water / go out onto balcony / take in view / come back in(side) / lie down on bed / cover up

Simon Tsakiris describing the actions
of Dimitris Papaioannou’s Inside (2011)

μπαίνω μέσα βγάζω το μπουφάν βγάζω τα παπούτσια μου μπαίνω στο μπάνιο κάνω ντους σκουπίζομαι. πάω στην κουζίνα τρώω κάτι πίνω νερό βγαίνω στο μπαλκόνι κοιτάζω έξω. ξαναμπαίνω ξαπλώνω στο κρεβάτι σκεπάζομαι.

[ή αλλιώς]

μπαίνω μέσα / βγάζω το μπουφάν / βγάζω τα παπούτσια μου / μπαίνω στο μπάνιο / κάνω ντους / σκουπίζομαι / πάω στην κουζίνα / τρώω κάτι / πίνω νερό / βγαίνω στο μπαλκόνι / κοιτάζω έξω / ξαναμπαίνω / ξαπλώνω στο κρεβάτι / σκεπάζομαι

Translated for the love of it (twice – five years apart, in 2011 and 2016, for different purposes).

This short poetic text by Simon Tsakiris (who also performed) was used to build a graphic documentation of the full (six-hour-long) Inside choreography for the installation/performance’s programme book.

Initially collaged by hand (with paper and scissors and paste) in partnership with the performers, this textual trace of bodies moving through space was laid out by Antidot Design Studio (Christopher Brellis, Eleni Mitrou) across twenty-eight pages.

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

arkhæio
DOCUMENTING INSIDE INSIDE

dubitanda
stare ⋮ absorbed

Betrayal comes from ⋮ another.

Betrayal comes
from the excessive devotion
of one to another.

Kiki Dimoula from a 2008 tee-vee interview

Η προδοσία έρχεται
από την υπερβολική προσφορά
το ενός προς τον άλλον.

The poet Kiki Dimoula (1931–2020) was speaking on the Hellenic Broadcasting Corporation (ERT) tee-vee programme Life Is Elsewhere (I zoí íne alloú), hosted by Evi Kyriakopoulou, in 2008.

Translated for (and taken from) the 2008 printed programme created for the stage work Medea(2) by Dimitris Papaioannou.

A fragment plucked from the video web and hidden away inside the folds of the book’s cover.

arkhæio
MEDEA (TO THE POWER OF) TWO MEDEA MANUAL A (FOR ATHENS)

dubitanda
enters ⋮ darkness fundamental ⋮ measure

An opportunity⋮ precedes syntax.

…an opportunity for communication
that is both seductive and mysterious,
the tenor of which lies beyond the alphabet
and precedes syntax.

Manto Aravantinou on the Manuscripts of Niki Kanagini (date unknown)

…τη δυνατότητα μιας σαγηνευτικής όσο και μυστηριώδους επικοινωνίας,
που το στίγμα της βρίσκεται πέρα απ’ το αλφάβητο και πριν απ’ το συντακτικό.

The poet Aravantinou (1926–1998) on the painter Kanagini (1933–2008).

For more context, see the dubitandum titled “neon ⋮ hieroglyphics” (yellow box below).

Translated for (and taken from) the retrospective of the artist’s work – “An Ode to Things. Niki Kanagini. Retrospective” – held at the National Museum of Contemporary Art Athens (EMST) in 2026 and curated by Tina Pandi.

arkhæio
ODE TO THINGS

dubitanda
neon ⋮ hieroglyphics

The migratory moves ⋮ immense.

The migratory moves made by my mother’s side of the family were traumatic. The culture they carried with them was boundless. The stories my grandmother and mother told always began with the words: ‘Back where we come from…’ Their longing for all they once had, for all they had lost was immense.

Niki Kanagini on longing (date unknown)

Οι μετακινήσεις της οικογένειας από τη μεριά της μητέρας μου ήταν τραυματικές. Ο πολιτισμός που μετέφεραν απεριόριστος. Οι ιστορίες της γιαγιάς μου και της μητέρας μου άρχιζαν πάντα με τις λέξεις «Στα μέρη μας…» και ο καημός για το τί είχαν και το τί έχασαν ήταν μεγάλος.

Niki Kanagini (born 1933 in Alexandroupoli, Greece) on the generational trauma and nostalgia that inspired her Displacement series.

Translated for (and taken from) an exhibition of her work – “An Ode to Things. Niki Kanagini. Retrospective” – held at the National Museum of Contemporary Art Athens (EMST) in 2026 and curated by Tina Pandi.

arkhæio
ODE TO THINGS

dubitanda
neon ⋮ hieroglyphics

Nightmarish forest of ⋮ our own.

Nightmarish forest of memory,
for those who want it,
for those who foresee,
though not for those who pay no heed.

Freed from their supports
to follow visitors about,
they move among us,
among those who want it and those who want it not,
these torsos
have no voice, they borrow our own.

Dimitris Fatouros writing in 1969,
inspired by the works of Stathis Logothetis

Εφιαλτικό δάσος μνήμης,
για όσους το θέλουν,
για όσους προβλέπουν,
πάντως όχι για όσους αγνοούν.

Αποδεσμεύονται από τα στηρίγματα τους
και ακολουθούν τον επισκέπτη,
κινούνται ανάμεσα μας,
για όσους το θέλουν και για όσους δεν το θέλουν,
οι τόρσοι
δεν έχουν φωνή, δανείζονται τη δική μας.

In the catalogue for a solo exhibition given by Stathis Logothetis (1925–1997) at the Goethe-Institut Athen in 1969, the architect, painter, and writer Dimitris Fatouros (1928–2020) introduced a series of visceral works with a poetic text.

Fatouros’ poem captures the power of pieces Logothetis created between 1963 and 1969 when presented together as a body of work.

Translated for (and taken from) the retrospective of his work – Earth to Earth – held at the National Museum of Contemporary Art Athens (EMST) in 2026 and curated by Stamatis Schizakis.

see also
Me – the material ⋮ necessity.

arkhæio
EARTH TO EARTH

Me – the material ⋮ necessity.

Phase One: me – the material,
I destroy – remake it.
Phase Two: two different materials
crashing into – repelling – attracting one another.
Phase Three: the material – the audience
reshape – reform it.
Phase Four: the material in and of itself
is altered – compressed – broken down – transformed.
My colour: red. Ever red, from very pale through to black.
My intent: humanity and its anguish, protests and conflicts, desertion and redemption.
Art is a biological necessity.

Stathis Logothetis on the four phases of his work (1971)

Φάση πρώτη: Εγώ – το υλικό
το καταστρέφω – το αναδημιουργώ.
Φάση δεύτερη: δυο διαφορετικά υλικά,
συγκρούονται – απωθούνται – έλκονται.
Φάση τρίτη: το υλικό – ο θεατής,
το μεταπλάθει – το διαμορφώνει.
Φάση τέταρτη: το υλικό μόνο του,
μεταβάλλεται – συμπιέζεται – διαλύεται – μεταμορφώνεται.
Το χρώμα μου: κόκκινο. Πάντα κόκκινο, από πολύ ανοιχτό μέχρι μαύρο.
Πρόθεση μου: ο άνθρωπος, η αγωνία του, η διαμαρτυρία, η σύγκρουση, η φυγή, η λύτρωση του.
Η τέχνη είναι μια βιολογική αναγκαιότητα.

Taken from an artistic statement – one of the few Stathis Logothetis ever made – in the catalogue for his first solo exhibition held at the Desmos Gallery in Athens in 1971.

Translated for (and taken from) the retrospective of his work – Earth to Earth – held at the National Museum of Contemporary Art Athens (EMST) in 2026 and curated by Stamatis Schizakis.

arkhæio
EARTH TO EARTH

All ⋮ in and of itself.

All materials are self-determining,
each with their own singular capacities.
My desire is always to discover
a material’s simplest functions,
and to work with the possibilities it offers up
in and of itself.

Niki Kanagini on desire (date unknown)

Κάθε υλικό είναι αυτόνομο,
με τις αποκλειστικά δικές του δυνατότητες.
Επιθυμία μου ήταν πάντα η ανακάλυψη
της απλής λειτουργίας του υλικού
και η επεξεργασία της δυνατότητας που έχει
αυτό καθεαυτό.

Niki Kanagini (1933–2008) on her work as an artist.

Translated for (and taken from) an exhibition of the artist’s work – “An Ode to Things. Niki Kanagini. Retrospective” – held at the National Museum of Contemporary Art Athens (EMST) in 2026 and curated by Tina Pandi.

arkhæio
ODE TO THINGS

dubitanda
neon ⋮ hieroglyphics

Banana falls ⋮ over.

Banana falls down, no matter.
Melon falls down, it’s over.

A proverb taken from Rosebush Pruning (2026)
written by Efthimis Filippou

Αν πέσει μια μπανάνα στο έδαφος δεν πειράζει,
αν πέσει όμως ένα καρπούζι τότε πειράζει.

A fictitious proverb made up by Edward “Ed” Taylor (1991–2024), a fictitious character made up by Efthimis Filippou for the film Rosebush Pruning (2026) inspired by a fictitious character made up by Marco Bellocchio for the film Fists in the Pocket (1965).

Translated for (and taken from) the screenplay for the film, directed by Karim Aïnouz.

For more bona fide faux wisdom by Efthimis’ Ed (via Marco for Karim), see the dubitandum “sayings ⋮ spouted” (yellow box below).

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

arkhæio
ROSEBUSH PRUNING

dubitanda
sayings ⋮ spouted

Miss! Pride and ⋮ bows.

Missolónghi! Pride and joy of History herself,
Promised Land! A century slips past…
So be it. Remembrance – timeless – down before you
ever bows.

Kostis Palamas, from his 1926 poem “Glory Be to Missolónghi”

Μισολόγγι! Χαρὰ τῆς ἱστορίας,
Γῆ ἐπαγγελμένη! Πᾶνε ἑκατὸ χρόνια,
κι ἂς πᾶνε. Ἡ θύμηση ἄχρονη μπροστά σου
θὰ γονατίζῃ.

Translated for (and taken from) the Distillery Trikené website.

These closing lines of the celebrated poem “Glory Be to Missolónghi” (“I dóxa sto Missolónghi”) were written by Kostis Palamas (author of the official Olympic Hymn) back in 1926 to mark the 100th anniversary of the Exodus.

They appear on a Collector’s Edition bottle of Ouzo Trikené designed by Laios Papazoglou and released in 2026 to mark the 200th anniversary of this major moment in modern Greek history.

Painting ⋮ with the body.

Painting forces artists to become masters of craft,
compelling the brain to work with the body.

Leonardo Cremonini, from a 2005 interview with the artist
conducted by Margarita Pournara for the Greek Kathimerini newspaper

Η ζωγραφική αναγκάζει τους καλλιτέχνες να γίνονται χειρόνακτες,
υποχρεώνει τον εγκέφαλο να συνεργαστεί με το κορμί.

Translated for (and taken from) the article “Painting in Contemporary Art – Between the Market and Museums: Greek Realities” written for issue three of Octopus, the EMST magazine.

Title of original 2005 interview: “Modernity Is a Threat to Painting” (“I neoterikótita apilí ti zoghrafikí”).

Quote translated from the Greek. Language in which interview was conducted: unknown.

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

arkhæio
OBLIQUE RESONANCES

Each night, ⋮ tears.

Each night, we kindle the fire, simmer the still,
and grind only the finest aromatics by hand,
with marble mortar and pestle:
star anise, cardamom and fennel seeds,
mastíkha resin tears…

Tásso Trikené, taken from a handwritten recipe for OUZO Trikené,
found inside his old wooden desk and dating back to 1932

Το βράδυ τσούζουμε τη φωτιά.
Σπάζουμε στη γκραφιά,
στο γουδοχέρι σα να λέμε,
σπόρια από εκλεκτό αστεροειδή,
κάρδαμο, μάραθο, μαστίχι…

Translated for (and taken from) the Distillery Trikené website.

The copper still simmers through the night and the sparkling spirit slowly distills, drop by precious drop.

By morning, the Sacred City of Messolónghi is fragrant with the sweet smell of aniseed.

A life ⋮ forever here.

A life without surprises.
Just the same old (dull) same old…
A life that’s like a film
you’ve seen before
(no twists, no turns).
Like a week that never ends,
a week without weekends…

But my darling love when I am with you,
I’m up high in seventh heaven,
somewhere in among the stars,
nestled tightly in your arms
like a sparrow in its nest,
and well there’s nothing more I need,
no, there’s nothing more I want –
oh God, how hard I love you! –
and as my eyelids flicker closed
I pray that I can stay
forever here…

Lyrics from the song “High in Seventh Heaven”
by Déspina Vandí (2004)

Μια ζωή δίχως εκπλήξεις,
βαρετή μ’ επαναλήψεις.
Μια ζωή ταινία που έχεις δει
δίχως ανατροπές.
Βδομάδα δίχως Σάββατα και Κυριακές.

Μα όταν ειμ’ αγάπη μου μαζί σου
στην αυλή του παραδείσου,
κάπου ανάμεσα στ’ αστέρια
στη φωλιά απ’ τα δυο σου χέρια
και κουρνιάζω σαν σπουργίτι,
τίποτ’ άλλο δε μου λείπει,
τίποτ’ άλλο δε ζητάω,
Θέε μου πόσο σ’ αγαπάω
και τα βλέφαρά μου κλείνω
και προσεύχομαι να μείνω
για πάντα εδώ…

Music and lyrics by Phoebus.

Translated for (and taken from) the subtitles for the feature film The Miracle of the Sargasso Sea by Syllas Tzoumerkas (2019).

arkhæio
THE MIRACLE OF THE SARGASSO SEA

An earthquake ⋮ himself.

An earthquake so great…
(What’s that?)
…shook the jail hard, to its foundations.
(The boy’s a bible basher!)
Flung open every door.
Broke every inmate’s chains.
And when the warden woke
to find every cell door open,
he drew his sword,
seeking (…desiring…) to kill himself.

Dialogue from the feature film The Miracle of the Sargasso Sea (2019)
directed by Syllas Tzoumerkas

Έγινε σεισμός μεγάλος…
(Τί λες;)
Τόσο μεγάλος που κουνήθηκαν τα θεμέλια της φυλακής.
(Είναι της Θεολογικής το παιδί!)
Κι άνοιξαν οι πόρτες.
Και τα δεσμά των φυλακισμένων λύθηκαν.
Κι όταν ο φύλακας ξύπνησε,
κι όταν είδε τις πόρτες της φυλακής ανοιχτές,
έβγαλε το σπαθί του
και γύρευε να σκοτωθεί.

Screenplay by Syllas Tzoumerkas and Youla Boudali.

This dialogue is a reworking of a biblical text that appears in the New Testament (Acts of the Apostles 16:26–27):

And suddenly there was a great earthquake,
so that the foundations of the prison were shaken:
and immediately all the doors were opened,
and every one’s bands were loosed.
And the keeper of the prison awaking out of his sleep,
and seeing the prison doors open,
he drew out his sword, and would have killed himself,
supposing that the prisoners had been fled.
(King James Bible)

Translated for (and taken from) the subtitles for the feature film The Miracle of the Sargasso Sea by Syllas Tzoumerkas (2019).

arkhæio
THE MIRACLE OF THE SARGASSO SEA

What ⋮ everyone will say.

What was I ever to you?
What were you ever to me?
The time has come for us to face the facts.
For love I lost my mind (just me),
for you I wrecked my life.
You’ll see – that’s what everyone will say.

Lyrics from the song “What Was I Ever to You?”
by Antónis Rémos (1996)

Τι ήμουνα για σένανε;
Τι ήσουνα για μένανε;
Καιρός λοιπόν για να λογαριαστούμε.
Μονάχα εγώ τρελάθηκα,
για σένα καταστράφηκα.
Να δεις που όλοι θα πούνε…

Music and lyrics by Phoebus.

Translated for (and taken from) the subtitles for the feature film The Miracle of the Sargasso Sea by Syllas Tzoumerkas (2019).

arkhæio
THE MIRACLE OF THE SARGASSO SEA

Don’t ⋮ bare, bereft.

Don’t try to build some nest
in the ruins of our home.
Your tears will go to waste –
they can’t bring back what’s gone.

Now you love me? Now’s too late.
Never again can your tears remake
our ruined home, our broken nest –
our lives left bare, bereft.

If some night you come
by the ruins of our home,
you’ll find me wild with grief
in a garden overgrown.

Now you love me? Now’s too late.
Never again can your tears remake
our ruined home, our broken nest –
our lives left bare, bereft.

Lyrics from the Greek song “Now you love me? Now’s too late”
first performed by Marinella in 1965

Στο σπίτι μας το γκρεμισμένο
μη θες να στήσεις τη φωλιά.
Θα πάει το δάκρυ σου χαμένο –
δεν ζωντανεύουν τα παλιά.

Αν μ’ αγαπάς είναι αργά.
Μην περιμένεις ξανά
να ζωντανέψεις με δάκρυ
την γκρεμισμένη φωλιά.

Στο σπίτι μας το γκρεμισμένο
σαν έρθεις κάποιο δειλινό
Θα βρεις τον κήπο μαραμένο
και μένα κάπου να θρηνώ.

Αν μ’ αγαπάς είναι αργά.
Μην περιμένεις ξανά
να ζωντανέψεις με δάκρυ
την γκρεμισμένη φωλιά.

The lyrics are by Pythagóras, the music by Vassílis Vassiliádes.

Translated for (and taken from) the texts of The Walk by Euripides Laskaridis.

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

The things ⋮ now behind.

The things we know we knew
are now behind.

Tagline written for the development and promotion of Elenit,
a stage work by Euripides Laskaridis

Τα πράγματα που ξέρουμε πως κάποτε γνωρίζαμε
είναι πίσω μας πια.

Written directly in English after a conversation (in Greek) with Euripides
– a translation (of mine) of what his still-emerging new work felt like (for him).

Elenit premièred in 2020. This tagline also appeared in the video work Here Not Here (2021).

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

arkhæio
HERE NOT HERE

Inside ⋮ its warm embrace.

Inside the penguin constellation
beside a very little fire
we’re sat in two knit beanies
playing games with bits of ice
from back when we were young.

Yesterday, we ran away from home.
Now the frozen lake lies all around us.

Hush, don’t cry…
Kaleidoscope-like, the cosmos is unfurling
in shattered colours, luminous glass shards.
Just say the word
and this night will be made a spaceship
lit bright by our secrets.

Inside the penguin constellation
in the silence of deep space
we count out dying comets
and night-echoes rising from dark planet Earth…

…that creaks away on giant cogs
with churches for invisible gods
and all around are killers and the dead
with armies, jails, insane asylums
and acts of love transacted –
but don’t you fear, we two are here.

Inside the penguin constellation
beside a very little fire
we’re sat in two knit beanies
playing games with bits of ice
from back when we were young.

Our old lives now are scattered away
and what tomorrow brings no-one can say.

Hush, don’t cry…
Tonight we’re lost in space so vast
but you and I will be each other’s nest.
Just say the word and the white bear
will come to us at midnight
and gather us two up, tight in its warm embrace…

Lyrics of the song “Inside the Penguin Constellation”
by Lena Platonos & Marianina Kriezi (1981)

Στον αστερισμό του πιγκουίνου
πλάι σε μια μικρή μικρή φωτιά
καθόμαστε με δυο πλεχτά σκουφάκια
και παίζουμε παιχνίδια με παγάκια
των καιρών που ήμασταν παιδιά.

Το σκάσαμε απ’ τα σπίτια μας εχτές
τώρα γύρω μας η παγωμένη λίμνη.

Σώπα, μην κλαις…
Ο κόσμος ανοίγει σαν καλειδοσκόπιο
με χρώματα σπασμένα, γυαλιά φωσφορικά
μια λέξη πες
κι η νύχτα θα γίνει ένα διαστημόπλοιο
φωτισμένο απ’ τα δικά μας μυστικά.

Στον αστερισμό του πιγκουίνου
μέσα σε μια σιωπή διαστημική
μετράμε τους κομήτες που πεθαίνουν
κι απόηχοι της νύχτας που ανεβαίνουν απ’ το σκοτεινό πλανήτη Γη…

…που τρίζει πάνω σε γιγάντιους τροχούς
με ναούς για τους αόρατους θεούς
και γύρω γύρω δολοφόνους και νεκρούς
με στρατούς, ψυχιατρεία, φυλακές
και την αγάπη σε συναλλαγματικές
μα μη φοβάσαι εμείς οι δυο είμαστε εδώ

Στον αστερισμό του πιγκουίνου
πλάι σε μια μικρή μικρή φωτιά
καθόμαστε με δυο πλεκτά σκουφάκια
και παίζουμε παιχνίδια με παγάκια
των καιρών που ήμασταν παιδιά.

Σκορπίσαν οι παλιές μας οι ζωές
και το αύριο κανένας δεν το ξέρει.

Σώπα, μην κλαις…
απόψε χαμένοι στο μεγάλο διάστημα
ο ένας για τον άλλο θα γίνουμε φωλιά
μια λέξη πες
κι η άσπρη αρκούδα θά ’ρθει τα μεσάνυχτα
να μας πάρει στη ζεστή της αγκαλιά…

Translated for (and taken from) a screenplay titled Northpole written by Yannis Veslemes.

The film (currently in development) is being produced by Fenia Cossovitsa.

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

Let me ⋮ never come.

Let me go see with mine own eyes
how my beloved spends his time.
Might he have found some other love
and left me all alone?

Who was it told you that, my little sapling?
Who said I love you not, my little hatchling?
Was it the sun afar? It shall not rise again.
And so the morning star shall never come.

Lyrics from a traditional Greek folk song
of the Peloponnese

Ας πα’ να δουν τα μάτια μου
πώς τα περνά η αγάπη μου.
Μην’ ηύρ’ αλλού κι αγάπησε
και μένα μ’ απαράτησε;

Ποιος σ’ το ’πε, δεντρουλάκι μου,
δε σ’ αγαπώ, πουλί, πουλάκι μου;
Κι αν σ’ το ’πε ο ήλιος να μη βγει,
τ’ αστρί να μην ξημερωθεί.

Translated for (and taken from) the script for a pilot episode of the tee-vee series Antigone’s Son, written by Adam Adamopoulos and Spiros Krimbalis.

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

This here ⋮ (from Brazil.)

This here mambo brasileiro
makes me happy, makes me chill,
makes me true-blue brasileiro
this here mambo– (from Brazil.)

Lyrics from the song “Mambo Brasileiro” (1954)
performed by Sperántza Vraná & Trio Kitára

Αυτό το μάμπο μπραζιλέρο
μου δίνει κέφι, μου δίνει στυλ
και Βραζιλιάνο με κάνει βέρο
αυτό το μάμπο– (απ’ το Μπραζίλ.)

Song written by Yorgos Mouzakis, with lyrics by Kostas Pretenteris and Yorgos Economides, for the 1954 comedy feature I Oréa ton Athinón (The Belle of Athens).

Taken from a short scene (see below) that features in Scenes by Efthimis Filippou, translated from the Greek to appear in the English-language Noon collection first published in 2022.

STREET, VERY EARLY MORNING.

A girl rides a bike with stabilisers, singing a song under her breath. She falls and hurts her left knee. She wipes away the blood with the palm of her hand. She gets back on the bike and continues on her way.

(One imagines “from Brazil” cut off when the girl takes a tumble.)

arkhæio
NOON SCENES

dubitanda
coldness ⋮ complexity constantly ⋮ faithful documents ⋮ inaccurate

Noon ⋮ lies ahead.

Noon is a bright and gentle time
when half the day still lies ahead.

Logline written for the NOON book collection
featuring six works by Efthimis Filippou (in English translation)

A Greek version only exists somewhere inside Efthimis’ head.

Written directly in English after a conversation (in Greek) with Efthimis
– a translation (of mine) of what noontime feels like (for him).

First published in 2022 as part of the Noon book collection.

arkhæio
NOON

dubitanda

coldness ⋮ complexity constantly ⋮ faithful documents ⋮ inaccurate

For better or ⋮ return.

For better or worse, it really was too late:
the poet had already set off down his lonely path,
never to return.

Yannis Soldatos on the filmmaker Takis Kanellopoulos,
concerning the release of his 1969 film Kastoria

Ευτυχώς ή δυστυχώς, είναι ήδη αργά:
ο ποιητής έχει πάρει ήδη τον μοναχικό του δρόμο
και δεν γυρίζει πίσω.

Soldatos noted this in his essay “Love and Death, Companions Everlasting…” written for the 1997 catalogue of the 38th Thessaloniki Film Festival (TIFF38) catalogue titled Takis Kanellopoulos.

Translated for (and taken from) an essay titled “Place Regained: On Takis Kanellopoulos’ Kastoria” written in 2025 by Manolis Kranakis for Blueprints, the Non Catalog of the 27th Thessaloniki Documentary Festival (TiDF27).

The Takis Kanellopoulos film Kastoria formed part of a TiDF27 tribute titled “Geography of the Gaze: Greece Off-Plan (1950–2000)”.

arkhæio
BLUEPRINTS

And ⋮ the land.

and come dawn
all shall return to their toils,
back to the land

Takis Kanellopoulos, from the narration of his 1960 film Macedonian Wedding

και σαν ξημερώσει
όλοι θα γυρίσουν στις δουλειές τους,
πίσω στη γη

Translated for (and taken from) an essay titled “In Transition” written in 2025 by Eleni Androutsopoulou for Blueprints, the Non Catalog of the 27th Thessaloniki Documentary Festival (TiDF27).

The Takis Kanellopoulos film Macedonian Wedding formed part of a TiDF27 tribute titled “Geography of the Gaze: Greece Off-Plan (1950–2000)”.

arkhæio
BLUEPRINTS

The difference ⋮ is absurdity.

the difference between
a computer and people
is absurdity

Matheo Yamalakis, heard in his 1978 film On a Little Greek Island

η διαφορά ανάμεσα
σ’ έναν ηλεκτρονικό υπολογιστή και στους ανθρώπους
είναι ο παραλογισμός

Translated for (and taken from) a film synopsis written in 2025 by Manolis Kranakis and Yannis Palavos for Blueprints, the Non Catalog of the 27th Thessaloniki Documentary Festival (TiDF27).

The film formed part of a tribute titled “Geography of the Gaze: Greece Off-Plan (1950–2000)”.

arkhæio
BLUEPRINTS

Ghost boy ⋮ killer.

Ghost boy bops on the dance floor
In among just girls
Who want boys who once were girls
Who wanted boys and wanted girls
Who are not boys and nor are girls
Dancing solo to drive the drowsy away
Slipping guns into belts as they bop
Life’s a killer

Pan Pan, taken from his song “Jolt Me Like a Bolt on the Dance Floor” (2021)

Φάντασμα αγόρι χορεύει στην πίστα
Ανάμεσα σε μόνο κορίτσια
Που θέλουν αγόρια
Που ήταν κορίτσια
Που θέλαν αγόρια
Και θέλαν κορίτσια
Που δεν είναι αγόρια
Και ούτε κορίτσια
Χορεύουνε μόνα να φύγει η νύστα
Χορεύουν και βάζουν το όπλο στη ζώνη
Ζωή που σκοτώνει

Translated for (and taken from) the essay “Our Army of Lovers” by Mare Spanoudaki that appeared in Issue One (“The Cultural and Political Memory of HIV”) of Octopus, the EMST magazine.

arkhæio
HIV MEMORY

dubitanda
before ⋮ death emotive ⋮ realm

But rejection ⋮ at night.

But rejection knows
There is no villain
Just the hand
That turns the light out at night

Kore. Ydro., taken from their song “Handshake / Gay Anthem for the New Millennium” (2006)

Μα η απόρριψη το ξέρει
Πως δεν υπάρχει κακός
Υπάρχει μόνο ένα χέρι
Που μας σβήνει τη νύχτα το φως

Translated for (and taken from) the essay “Our Army of Lovers” by Mare Spanoudaki that appeared in Issue One (“The Cultural and Political Memory of HIV”) of Octopus, the EMST magazine.

arkhæio
HIV MEMORY

dubitanda
before ⋮ death emotive ⋮ realm

It is ⋮ everything.

It is that thing whose first experience you fear.
A thing too hard to handle. A thing too hard to face.
It is that thing that when you finally give in
becomes a life essential that changes everything.

Yorgos Marinos, taken from his song “Sex” (1984)

Κι είναι εκείνο που φοβάσαι να γνωρίσεις
Να το κουλαντρίσεις και να τ’ αντιμετωπίσεις
Είναι αυτό που όταν ξέρεις να το ζήσεις
Γίνεται ουσία και σου αλλάζει τη ζωή

Translated for (and taken from) the essay “Our Army of Lovers” by Mare Spanoudaki that appeared in Issue One (“The Cultural and Political Memory of HIV”) of Octopus, the EMST magazine.

arkhæio
HIV MEMORY

dubitanda
before ⋮ death emotive ⋮ realm

I am ⋮ weeping.

I am one who knows that the new
shall meet the old amid much weeping

Nikos A. Panagiotopoulos, from his long-form poem Syssimon (The Sign Agreed Upon)

Είμαι άνθρωπος που ξέρει πως τα καινούργια
θα βρούνε τα παλιά μέσα στα κλάματα

Translated for (and taken from) a text by the director Michail Marmarinos describing his MYSTERY 0, the opening ceremony of 2023 Eleusis European Capital of Culture.

This text was written for the event catalogue Mysteries of Transition.

The catharsis ⋮ of proportion.

…the catharsis of Greek tragedy is, in essence,
nothing more than a matter of proportion…

Yorgos Himonas, from the introduction
to his 1989 version of Euripides’ Medea

…ἡ Κάθαρση στὴν τραγωδία δὲν είναι, στὴν ουσία,
παρὰ ἕνα ζήτημα ἀναλογίας…

Yorgos Himonas (1938–2000) was a psychiatrist, translator, and writer.

Translated for and taken from the 2008 printed programme created for the stage work Medea(2) by Dimitris Papaioannou.

In the book, this fragment is set alongside a wide-shot of Nikos Alexiou’s revived set design installed inside an industrial space. The words elucidate his work.

arkhæio
MEDEA (TO THE POWER OF) TWO MEDEA MANUAL A (FOR ATHENS)

dubitanda
enters ⋮ darkness fundamental ⋮ measure

Today ⋮ forever more.

Today is the final day.
Soon there will be night and only night
forever more.

Yorgos Himonas, words spoken by Medea,
from his 1989 version of the Euripides play

Αὐτὴ εἶναι ἡ τελευταία μέρα.
Θὰ νυχτώσει καὶ θὰ εἶναι πιὰ
γιὰ πάντα νύχτα.

Translated for and taken from the 2008 printed programme created for the stage work Medea(2) by Dimitris Papaioannou.

In this piece, at its end, a triumphant, bare-chested Medea swings and smashes a dangling bulb over Jason’s head, plunging him (and the audience) into darkness.

Himonas beautifully conjured this line from his own imagination – nothing like it appears in the original Ancient Greek text by Euripides (dating to 431 BCE).

arkhæio
MEDEA (TO THE POWER OF) TWO MEDEA MANUAL A (FOR ATHENS)

dubitanda
enters ⋮ darkness fundamental ⋮ measure

Are you afraid ⋮ comrade.

Are you afraid of life becoming homosexual?
And I don’t mean just sticking it
in and out and out and in again
I’m talking tenderness, comrade

Pedro Lemebel, from his manifesto “Hablo por mi diferencia” (“I Speak for My Difference” – 1986)

¿Tiene miedo que se homosexualice la vida?
Y no hablo de meterlo y sacarlo
Y sacarlo y meterlo solamente
Hablo de ternura compañero

Φοβάσαι μήπως γίνει η ζωή ομοφυλόφιλη;
Και δεν μιλάω για το να το βάζεις και να το βγάζεις
Και μόνο να το βγάζεις και να το βάζεις
Μιλάω για την τρυφερότητα σύντροφε

Taken from the essay titled “Are You Afraid of Life Becoming Homosexual?” written by Nionia Films for the Thessaloniki Documentary Festival publication Citizen Queer.

Greek translation from the Spanish by Nionia Films.

A mutilated ⋮ death.

A mutilated horse watches intently for the arrival
Of processions that shall not come again.
Others shall come instead, men in white coats
Engineers, workers, indifferent to these mysteries.
And at the fixed hour, the factories blazon
The arrival: a procession of shadows and secrets
Lost in the eyes of a horse
Holding vigil over its own death.

Jacques Lacarrière, untitled poem written after a visit to Elefsina (ancient Eleusis)

Un cheval mutilé guette l’arrivée
De cortèges qui ne reviendront plus.
D’autres viendront, hommes en blouse blanche
Ingénieurs, ouvriers, indifférents à ces mystères.
Et les usines crieront à heure fixe
L’arrivée du cortège des ombres et des secrets
Perdus dans les yeux d’un cheval
Veillant sa propre mort.

Ένα ακρωτηριασμένο άλογο παραφυλάει την άφιξη
πομπών που πια δε θα ξανάρθουν.
Άλλοι θα ‘ρθουν ντυμένοι μ’ άσπρες μπλούζες,
Μηχανικοί, εργάτες, αδιάφοροι για τούτα τα μυστήρια.
Και τα εργοστάσια να ξεφωνίζουν την ίδια ώρα πάντα κάθε βράδυ
την άφιξη της πομπής των σκιών
Και τα μυστικά τα χαμένα στα μάτια ενός αλόγου
που ξενυχτάει τον ίδιο του τον θάνατο.

This poem was published in an afterword to Jacques Lacarrière’s 1993 book L’été grec (Greek Summer).

Translated for (and taken from) the essay titled “PANIGÍRI: Live Cinema – The Working Class – Sirens” written by Syllas Tzoumerkas for the Thessaloniki Documentary Festival publication On the Threshold (TiDF25).

PANIGÍRI was a live cinema festival curated by Syllas Tzoumerkas for the Mysteries of Transition programme (2023 Eleusis European Capital of Culture – MYSTERY 84).

For the original French, see: Jacques Lacarrière, “Postface. Retours en Grèce 1976-1982: Carte d’identité grecque,” in L’été grec: Une Grèce quotidienne de 4000 ans (Paris: Plon 1993 [1975]), 426–432.

For the Greek translation from the French by Haris Papadopoulos, see: Jacques Lacarrière, Erotikó Lexikó tis Elládas (Athens: Hatzinikoli 2007).

arkhæio
MYSTERIES OF TRANSITION ON THE THRESHOLD

Like ⋮ the smell of earth.

…Like a plank off some sorry wreck,
so drifts our Old World

…Sure, it once loved
the ideals of humankind,
but the birds
were flying off ahead

Harsh, heartless world
that never once opened an umbrella
over the tree being drenched

But at night, how lovely it is,
the smell of earth…

Tasos Leivaditis, from the poem “Nighttime Redolence”
in the 1990 collection Autumntime Manuscripts
(published two years after his death)

…Σὰ σανίδα ἀπὸ θλιβερὸ ναυάγιο
ταξιδεύει ἡ γηραιά μας ἤπειρος

…Βέβαια ἀγάπησε
τὰ ἰδανικά της ἀνθρωπότητας,
ἀλλὰ τὰ πουλιὰ
πετοῦσαν πιὸ πέρα

Σκληρός, ἄκαρδος κόσμος,
ποῦ δὲν ἄνοιξε ποτὲ μίαν ὀμπρέλα
πάνω ἀπ᾿ τὸ δέντρο ποὺ βρέχεται

Ἀλλὰ τὰ βράδια τί ὄμορφα
ποῦ μυρίζει ἡ γῆ…

This Tasos Leivaditis poem was also set to music by Yorgos Tsangaris to create the 1993 song “But at Night…” sung by Vassilis Papakonstantinou and narrated by Yorgos Michalakopoulos.

Translated for (and taken from) the essay titled “I Am Nature (Who’s There?)” written by Thouli Misirloglou for the Thessaloniki Documentary Festival publication On the Threshold (TiDF25).

arkhæio
ON THE THRESHOLD

An all-round driver of ⋮ systems.

an all-round driver of relationships (all kinds)
– both out in nature and within cultures –
that destabilises all biological and social systems

description of a parasite in the mode of Michel Serres

ένας γενικός τελεστής σε κάθε μορφή σχέσης,
τόσο εντός της φύσης όσο και εντός του πολιτισμού,
που αποσταθεροποιεί όλα τα βιολογικά και κοινωνικά συστήματα

Quote translated from the Greek and taken from the back cover of the following book: Michel Serres, To Parásito [The Parasite], translated from the French by Nikos Iliadis and edited by Dionysios Kavvathas (Athens: Smili Publications, 2009).

Taken from the essay titled “Of Monsters and Men” written by Geli Mademli for the Thessaloniki International Film Festival publication We, the Monster.

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

arkhæio
WE, THE MONSTER

Rose-like ⋮ all the flowers.

Rose-like when I married you and brought you to the mill,
your petals peel off one by one to fall at each year’s fill.

Your beauty, it evaporates and mingles with the clouds,
but falls again as morning dew to perfume all the flowers.

Kavrós (Yánnis Hassapladhákis), Cretan “mantinádha” rhyming couplets

Ρόδο ’σουν όντε σ’ έπηρα και σ’ έφερα στο μύλο,
μα κάθε χρόνος που περνά σου πέφτει κι ένα φύλλο.

Τα κάλλη σου ξατμίζουνται, τα σύννεφα ’κλουθούνε,
μα στ’ άνθη δρόσος πέφτουνε, γι’ αυτό μοσχοβολούνε.

These Greek lines are spoken by the doctor Yorgos Markakis in the documentary feature The Light Inside (2015), directed by Stavros Psillakis.

They were referenced in an essay titled “Everything Depends on the Quality of the Encounter” that Psillakis wrote for the Thessaloniki Documentary Festival publication On the Threshold (TiDF25).

The commissioned translation was not used in full.

arkhæio
ON THE THRESHOLD

Plunged in ⋮ our gaze.

Plunged in moonlight, the marbles grew weightless,
like some essence liquefying along with our gaze.

George Seferis, from the novel Six Nights on the Acropolis (1974)

Βυθισμένα μέσα στο φως του φεγγαριού, τα μάρμαρα έχαναν το βάρος τους,
έμοιαζαν μια ουσία που διαλύεται μαζί με το βλέμμα.

George Seferis was awarded the 1963 Nobel Prize in Literature.

Taken from a speech given by the President of the Onassis Foundation – Anthony S. Papadimitriou – at an event celebrating the redesign of the lighting for the Athenian Acropolis and its monuments in 2020.

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

This place of ours is ⋮ sky.

This place of ours is closed, entirely mountains
capped over night and day by a low sky

George Seferis, from the poem “Mythistorema” (a kind of “mythic-history”), part 10 (1935)

Ο τόπος μας είναι κλειστός όλο βουνά
που έχουν σκεπή το χαμηλό ουρανό μέρα και νύχτα

George Seferis was awarded the 1963 Nobel Prize in Literature.

Taken from the essay titled “From Space to Place: Tracing Geographies of Coexistence” written by Orestis Andreadakis for the Thessaloniki International Film Festival publication Reflections.

A ballad ⋮ beloved.

a ballad of erotic passion
bursting from a heart on fire
or a deeply charged lament
for the loss of one’s beloved

Georgios Fedros, describing a “manéros” in his academic treatise “On the Smyrnean Amanés” (1881).

ἆσμα ἐκφράζον πάθος
ἐξ ἔρωτος φλεγομένης καρδίας
ἢ βαρεῖαν λύπην
ἐπὶ ἀπωλεία προσφιλοῦς ὄντος

Taken from a text written for the Stella with a Sigma album Up and Away, produced by Redinho and released by Sub Pop in 2022.

The full text can be found in the dubitandum “pangs ⋮ raptures” (see yellow boxes below).

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

dubitanda
deserts ⋮ overseas pangs ⋮ raptures razor ⋮ riffs worthy ⋮ wait

Look now ⋮ and grow tame.

Look now oh just look, 
at the amaranth, all look! 
At that never fading flower, 
how it roots up on the peaks!

Look just how it roots, 
how it roots where none dare tread. 
Takes root where none dare tread, 
in among the stones and scree.

Never, oh no never… 
No never is it watered! 
Oh never is it watered 
nor its tender tips clipped.

Eaten, oh ’tis eaten 
by mild deer that drop down dead. 
Deer eat it and drop dead, 
wild beasts eat it and grow tame.

Lyrics taken from the traditional Soufli Greek folk song titled “Amaranth” (date unknown)

Αχ, για ιδέ καλέ για ιδέ
για ιδέστε τον αμάραντο!
Για ιδέστε τον αμάραντο
σε τι βουνό φυτρώνει καλέ!

Αχ φυτρώ καλέ φυτρώ
φυτρώνει μες στα δύσβατα.
Φυτρώνει μες στα δύσβατα,
στις πέτρες στα λιθάρια καλέ.

Αχ, ποτέ καλέ ποτέ.
Ποτέ του δε ποτίζεται!
Ποτέ του δε ποτίζεται
και δε κορφολογιέται καλέ.

Αχ, τον τρών’ καλέ τον τρών’,
τον τρών’ τα λάφια και ψοφούν.
Τον τρών’ τα λάφια και ψοφούν,
τ’ αγρίμια κι ημερεύουν καλέ.

A choral version of this song is heard in Takis Kanellopoulos’ feature film Glory Sky (1962), orchestrated by Kostas Vogiatzis. This same version also features in The Last Spring (1972) by the same director.

Taken from the essay titled “The Never-fading Cinema of Takis Kanellopoulos” written by Manolis Kranakis for the Thessaloniki International Film Festival publication Reflections.

Down on the ⋮ floor.

Down on the daisy’s little threshing floor, 
honeybees have set to madcap dancing.

Sweat slicks the sun, waters shimmer. 
Soaring stalks of wheat flex the dusky sky.

Yonder in among the golden durra 
girls – tomboys – slumber.

Their sleep smells of blazes. 
In their teeth, the sun thrashes.

Down on the daisy’s little threshing floor.

Odysseus Elytis, from the collection “Sun the First” (1943)

Κάτω στης μαργαρίτας τ’ αλωνάκι,
στήσαν χορό τρελό τα μελισσόπουλα.

Ιδρώνει ο ήλιος, τρέμει το νερό.
Στάχυα ψηλά λυγίζουνε το μελαμψό ουρανό.

Πέρα μέσα στα χρυσά νταριά
κοιμούνται αγοροκόριτσα.

Ο ύπνος τους μυρίζει πυρκαγιά.
Στα δόντια τους ο ήλιος σπαρταράει.

Κάτω στης μαργαρίτας τ’ αλωνάκι.

Odysseas Elytis was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1979.

Poem set to music by Yiannis Markopoulos, in a song first performed by Maria Dimitriadi in 1969.

Taken from the screenplay of a feature film in pre-production: Summer Spell by Rinio Dragasaki.

see also
(this transpolium lives alone)

arkhæio
SUMMER SPELL