transpolia (fragments re-set)

TRANSPOLIA dot com houses SPOLIA – elements transplanted from their original contexts into new structures. Fragments found when TRANSlating for others. Disparate texts discovered inside disparate texts, pulled out and placed here. Imbued with traces of their origins, in this space they are (together) new.

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

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

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

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

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)

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

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.

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

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

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.