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Showing posts from July, 2013

To be a bluesman

"...to be a bluesman you must be a man, you must have been the son of a slave, you must have sung the gospel in church, you must have collected cotton in a Mississippi  plantation and you must have done some time in prison, preferably for having killed a white man who insulted you. This is why there are no more new authentic blues singers. As there are no more "rebetes" in Greece ! How can you sing rebetica songs if you are not  a "rebetis" ?"

Today I finally watched Robert Manthoulis's film "Le blues entre les dents" ("Blues under the skin"), released in 1972. I had previously watched a documentary on ERT about Manthoulis, and found him very interesting and intriguing, so I decided to find this film and hopefully others, and see some of his work. Here is an interview of his, though written in bad English (perhaps because it is a translation from Greek?), the points he makes are still interesting: http://blues.gr/profiles/blogs/an-…

To the world

All I have to offer:  a gentle, quiet, piercing poem.

When going through a rough patch

When going through a rough patch in life,
when you have doubts
and fears for the future,
when nothing seems to be going right
and you are sad,
put on some high heels
and a glass of wine,
and dance to Nancy
in your living room.




Come on life, give yourself to me

Revelation

And then, suddenly,  out of dirt and shit and nothing, my identity emerged:
I am a Poetess!

Άτε, ήρτεν!

This is a poem from back in 2010, when I still attempted to write poetry in Greek. More than ever, I needed to find this and read it, and remind myself that being young (at heart) means being willing, ready and excited to change the world.

Αναδύομαι μέσα απο τα χρώματα
και τις μυρωδιές της νιότης. Το δέρμα μου. Τα χέρια μου ζωντάνια, μύες που πάλλονται και αγάπη. Πατώ με δύναμη και σαλτάρω πάνω απο τους φράκτες και τα κάγκελα΄ το χώμα διαλύεται κάτω απ'τα πόδια μου η σκόνη σηκώνεται, διαλύεται γύρω μου χτυπώ τα χέρια και φωνάζω. Τινάζω το κεφάλι άλογο νεύρο περήφανο ζηλέψτε, εγώ που ζώ τώρα ακούτε εμένα! Οι φωνές μου, τα τραγούδια φτάνουν και σας βρίσκουν από μακριά, κι εδώ κάνω θρύψαλα τα φτωχά τύμπανά σας τώρα εγώ σα ζωή, γυρίζω σαν Γκοντζίλα στην πόλη σας και σπέρνω πεταλούδες. Καταπίνω τις γραμμές και φτύνω ιδέες τραβώ απ'τη γή το ουράνιο τόξο μαζί και τζίτζικες και το τεντώνω απο άκρη σε όμορφη άκρη αερογέφυρα να περνούν οι πεζοί. Χτυπώ τα σύννεφα το ένα με το άλλο σαν θεό…

Lost Rainbows

Where, where, where have all the rainbows gone?
What cloud has hid them,
what nasty twist of fate has shunned the light away from them,
what hopeless particle of dust has dulled their shine,

what God has gone depressed and lost the plot,
sitting atop his creation with his head in his palm,
weeping.

Or is it that our eyes have glued together
or our heads bowed down forever
or we forgot that rain, then sun, can signal hope?