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Στον Παράδεισο έχω σημαδέψει ένα νησί
απαράλλαχτο εσύ και ένα σπίτι στη θάλασσα.
Με κρεβάτι μεγάλο και πόρτα μικρή
έχω ρίξει μες στ’ άπατα μιαν ηχώ
να κοιτάζομαι κάθε πρωί που ξυπνώ.
Nα σε βλέπω μισή να περνάς στο νερό
και μισή να σε κλαίω μες στον Παράδεισο.

(Ελύτης Το Μονόγραμμα)

Monday morning

Monday morning
echoes still softly playing in your ears
made-up stories still sleeping next to you
waiting for more life
let them sleep for now; don’t think twice

water the daffodils,
and look outside the window,
the sun is somewhere behind the clouds
‘spring is coming, I am telling you’
‘can you predict the future?’
listen to the birds
how I wish

put the kettle on,
coffee and milk,
put your papers in order, turn on the computer,
and choose between yellow, green, pink and orange,
wonder what the blue beast is
but leave it for the moment,
smoke the first cigarette,
check your diary and plan the week ahead
how I wish

water is boiling,
think what needs to be done;
‘careful, right moves and patience’,
‘just let go; it’s alright’
burn your hand- ready.

One more cup of coffee before the start.
Monday morning; smile if you can.

Another piece

almost like a jigsaw
the more you look at separate pieces,
struggling to make them fit
and connect
the more you get confused.
only when you abandon the jigsaw for a while,
and then look at the bigger picture from far away,
you might be surprised-
another piece reveals itself
actually missing
but could somehow fit in,
another piece
another step.
will it ever be finished though?

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

people standing on the train
closed in their little bubbles
reading free newspapers
guarding their stuff
avoiding to look at each other
closing their eyes
I whisper
who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?

I get back home
lock the door
turn on all the lights
the big bad wolf
the big bad wolf

keep the evil eye away
who’s afraid?
the dark
put some music
the big bad wolf
the big bad wolf
have a warm bath
talk on the phone
smoke a cigarette
and then another
make a drink
cranberry and oranges
who’s afraid?

read a fairy tale before sleeping
telling the same story again
warming up your feet
get your childhood’s teddy bear
squeeze it
until you can’t breathe
who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?

close your eyes
no tears
who’s afraid?
bring the memory of a face
bring the image of the sea
drown in it
what you’ve become
where will you go
who’s afraid?
the big bad wolf?

who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?
who’s afraid of the big bad?
who’s the big bad wolf?
I am afraid of him

True Men Part II

Back in the day, I had promised to go on with this topic.
And here he is, tonight.: the one and only Ralph Fiennes.
In spite of what other people might say, after this film, every woman in the planet would love to call her 'Catherine' (said in his distinctive, slow way).

My most favourite, almost archetypal man!

2046

‘Why can’t it be like it was before?’

2046, a year that nothing happens, nothing changes. Like embarking on a train that never arrives at its final destination. Can you escape from there? Do you want to? And if you do, what story are you going to say to explain why you left at the first place?

In 2046 (2004), a beautiful, sensational and thought-provoking film by Kar Wai Wang, a writer is writing a novel, making up a story about a future moment when all memories can be captured and in a new context relived. Throughout his many encounters/fragments with different women in an old hotel in Hong Kong in the 1960s, he travels between past and future, illusion and reality, cigarettes, red lipsticks, mirrors and sliding doors and the number 2046. A film about love, loss, remembering and forgetting- a film about a future moment somewhere in the past. Definitely, a must-see.

Ceasefire

‘ο έρωτας του κορμιού
ο έρωτας της ψυχής
πρόσεξε μην τ’ αναμίξεις’
[‘the love of the body
the love of the soul
careful; don’t blend them’]

your face on the window
on the train
travelling at night
no-not night
late in the evening
faster and faster

rehearsing words
‘have to be witty
have to be smart’
closer and closer

for the battle
under the hill
‘bring out your sword
I’ll count up to three’
‘I don’t want to fight you- walk with me’
the streets turn
like a labyrinth
a black shadow is following
but you cannot see her
where is the end of the line?

the library
smell of rotten paper
and old books
the first light of day
déjà-vu
covered with flowers
drops of water
falling

two little bottles
a dark blue
and a white
‘don’t blend them’
too late
the colour of the sword
was now light blue

(notes for a Saturday,

borrowing from G.S. always

and the faces of the Fayum, Egypt)

A thought a day

How many thoughts cross your mind everyday?
I dont know; never counted them.
One thing leads to another.
the 'association game'.
in the middle of a thought, something breaks.
something is lost.
another comes.
and the journey goes on..
But eventually, I don't care how many thoughts I have a day
as long as I have one.
But what is the colour of (my) thought?

Once more

a white piece of cloth
a red ribbon
a blue beast
an old hanger
two people
no sense of home
travelling ‘flying Dutchmen’

a smile in Latin characters
the face of a woman
popping a pink chewing-gum
the smell of oranges in November
and fires burning in the night

first material
for something
that travels on its own
despite me
like a cheek pea
that might never grow
but I will carry in my pocket

Will the Greek remain..?

Ξύπνησα με το μαρμάρινο τούτο κεφάλι στα χέρια
που μου εξαντλεί τους αγκώνες και δεν ξέρω που να
τ’ ακουμπήσω
έπεφτε στο όνειρο καθώς έβγαινε από το όνειρο
έτσι ενώθηκε η ζωή μας και θα είναι πολύ δύσκολο
να ξαναχωρίσει.

Γιώργος Σεφέρης. Μυθιστόρημα

[I woke up with this marble head in my hands
and it exhausts me, I don’t know where to put it down
it was falling into a dream as it was coming out of the dream
so our lives became one and it will be very difficult to break.]

remembering of olive trees

and beautiful first lights of dawn

and summer sunsets in open air theatres

and the image of the city from the hill

nostalgia but unavoidable some times..

Technology or Nervous Breakdown?

This might seem like a change of tone for this blog but I will allow myself to do it for once.

Today, I want to write about something that might seem small and trivial which, though, is extremely important for me and makes my life a lot easier. I am referring to ‘my precious’ laptop that for the last couple of days, it’s been going crazy, turning itself off for no obvious reason, and making my life difficult. This IT crisis is about to lead me to a nervous breakdown…
Because when you are stuck somewhere in the suburbs of London, without many things to do, and you want to survive these ‘rainy days’, at least what you need is a computer in order to stay in touch with the world. I do not want to list how many things I am doing through my computer, because I know that I am not the only one who lives and works in this way. But just because, I am not the only one in the flat who suffers an IT crisis, I wonder whether the technology breakdown is a sign.
Perhaps, I should stop living that much through the laptop and start spending more time in the real world. Perhaps, I should understand whether I have a software or hardware problem and get it fixed..

Suspension

the moment before
stands still
in the stillness
a million potential of movement enclosed

the moment before
about to make a decision
which direction to take
which line to draw

halas! the direction already there

the moment before
any decision
any choice

‘regarde! the Foucault’s pendulum’
embrace the delicate and harmonious
perpetual movement
beauty, for
stillness and movement become one

Quo vadis?

insatiable and never-ending

take the wrong turn
'do not hurry the journey at all'
and ask: what's next?
and 'pray that the road is long'
and nobody gives me a map

Reflections

and wonder who you are but accept you anyway
and tell you about the tree angel enchanted forest boy
who flew across the ocean because he loved you

and tell you the truth when I really don't want to
and try to be honest because I know you prefer it
and I think it's all over
but hang on in for just ten more minutes
before you throw me out of your life and forget who I am
because it's beautiful learning to know you
and well worth the effort

New Year's resolution: Find your reflection in other people's eyes...

(borrowing words from Sarah Kane's Crave, painting by Paul Cezanne)

Fragments, places, words

Every year
same old habit
putting the baggage of a year aside
the ritual
remembering
good
bad
moments
of the year that is about to go away

every year
same old habit
spending the last 24 hours
of the last day
of the year
playing the game
which word describes each month?
which colour?
what was the best moment of the year?

every year
same old habit
on the pages of green diaries
the review of the year
classifying it
a ‘good year’
a ‘bad year’
‘productive’
‘a year to forget’

every year
same old habit
now on the page of this blog
fragments
pictures of places
each place
a story/stories
to remember
or to forget

but again only fragments

fragments
words that were said
others that were silenced
dreams that came true
those that lasted only for a night
moments of joy
of frustration
loneliness
at a loss
for words, for things, for eyes
brief unexpected encounters
surprises
stories to put myself to sleep
fragments
of myself
a year before
a year after
a year in review
not as easy anymore

pigments of colour on white canvas
and blank spots
and roads that I walked
and roads that I missed
and those that wait for me
in the New Year
and places that I dreamt of
those that I’ve been
and those that I will not return
and people
and moments

all fragments
my fragments
my 2006.

What makes one a grown-up?

A blurred image.
I have spent years wondering
'how and when am I going to grow up?'
A blurred image.
Of my first Christmas tree,
away from what I used to call home.
Now here is what I call home.
And this is the first time I will spend Christmas
at this home.
Is this the end or a new beginning?
Have I grown up after all?
A song
A tear of joy
A smile in spite of pain
A blurred image
of gold, silver and red Christmas lights.
This is adulthood for me tonight.
Merry Christmas to all of you.

The fate of the romantics

-all romantics meet the same fate someday
cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark café
You laugh.
You think you're immune, go look at your eyes, they're full of moon
You like roses and kisses and pretty men to tell you
all those pretty lies
When you gonna realize they're only pretty lies
just pretty lies?
-you haven't really changed
it's just that now you're romanticizing some pain that's in your head
you got tombs in your eyes, but the songs you punched are dreaming
listen, they sing of love so sweet
when you gonna get yourself back on your feet?
love can be so sweet.

(painting by Magritte

words by Joni Mitchell)

What keeps me company

Alone..after such long time.
Stuck in front of a computer..working constantly.
Memories of the summer return.
Days without meeting anyone.
Strange, stong feeling.
Silence.
And the sounds of the songs that keep me company.
Like this one:

I lost myself on a cool damp night
I gave myself in that misty light
Was hypnotised by a strange delight
Under a lilac tree
I made wine from the lilac tree
Put my heart in its recipe
It makes me see what I want to see
And be what I want to be
When I think more than I want to think
Do things I never should do
I drink much more that I ought to drink
Because it brings me back you
Lilac wine is sweet and heady,
Like my love
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady,
Like my love
Listen to me, I cannot see clearly
Isnt that she, coming to me
Nearly here
Lilac wine is sweet and heady,
Where's my love?
Lilac wine,
I feel unsteady,
Where's my love?
Listen to me,
why is everything so hazy?
Isn't that she, or am I just going crazy, dear
Lilac wine, I feel unready for my love
Feel unready, for my love.

This is what keeps me company tonight. And the memory of dear friends- like you with whom I first heard this song in a cool, damp night last year and then you got me Jeff Buckley's Grace as a birthday present.
Now that you're so far away and we cannot drink wine together, at least I have the song to keep me company and remind me of you..

Memoirs of a Week II: The Playmobil City

Living with a six-year old boy for six days
with no adults
no internet
no blog
can it be that I ended up hallucinating or
is it really that I saw playmobils walking
drinking coffee
eating du canard in restaurants?
Find out for yourself:
visit Nantes in Loire Antlantique
and perhaps you will see
playmobils waiting for the green traffic light..
Otherwise, this is my private hallucination
thanks to my lovely nephew.

Advice of the day: if you feel that your life is not that good and you get disappointed or miserable at times, spend some time with a child..this will definitely make you change your mind and see things in a brighter way. Even playmobils can walk in the streets then..and you will sleep as a child..sweet dreams μωρό μου.

Memoirs of a Week I: Brief Encounters

Paris, Charles de Gaulle Airport. Saturday afternoon, second day of December. Sitting on a red couch, drinking gin and tonic, waiting for the flight after the one I missed, the flight after, I am watching people coming and going.
A sound like the music that used to play when I was a baby, sleeping in my cradle. Departures, arrivals, the sound of baggage, bags, trolleys rolling..
Watching the crowd, looking at the bar in front of me: a woman in her early forties, beautiful eyes and make-up that reminds me of an aunt that used to visit us every December before Christmas, is talking with a man. They are strangers, I think. After all, she was sitting already atthe bar when he came, asked for a lighter and ever since then they started talking.
Twenty minutes are past, they are chatting as if they’ve known each other for ages. I go on observing them: she is smiling while he is trying to hold her hand-could they’ve known each other or is it a brief unexpected encounter in an airport, where strangers can become friends in a very short time because they need company? Sound of departures and arrivals, I am looking for the sign of brief unexpected encounters.
A man is staring at me for some time now- or is he staring at me? or is he wondering what I am writing? You see, the problem with writing is that it is active and attracts attention, especially in places like this bar in a big airport in the centre of Europe, where everyone is either reading or chatting with a stranger, or at least staring at other people doing different things. The sound again.. I am staring at the man too- he starts writing.
I am stopping for a moment, ordering coffee, lighting a cigarette, looking around, waiters are serving people, smiling, with some of them they are rather friendly. The woman and the man go on talking, they are laughing loudly now. Last sip of gin, first sip of espresso, a sweet nostalgia for an unexpected, brief encounter, somewhere in the past or the future. I pick up the pen again and get ready to go on writing:
‘Strangers at airports can’/but.. hold on a minute.
The man and the woman are getting ready to go, he is helping her put on her coat- perhaps they knew each other after all? They are walking to the exit together and, then, he is helping her with the suitcase, she is kissing him. No.. this was not an unexpected ‘airport’ encounter, I was wrong. That was a moment of life that I only happened to witness in an airport. So much about unexpected circumstances and brief encounters…
Final sip of the espresso, the sound of departures reminds me that I should get ready, no more writing. I am walking to the exit, I am looking at the man (he stopped writing when he saw me leaving), he is vaguely smiling at me, I am smiling back and start walking fast- I am almost running away.
‘I have to catch the flight after/after the one I missed’, she said.