Stathis Intzes is a poet and an editor. He has published two poetry collections Gadium (Thraka, 2017) and Σεληνάκατος [Lunar Module] (Mandragoras, 2013), and a novella Οι τελευταίοι φανατικοί της στρωματσάδας [Τhe last lovers of bedding on the floor] (Thraka, 2014). He is the editor of “Thraka” Literary Magazine and Editions. His novel Οι ανειδίκευτοι δεν βγάζουν κιχ [The unskilled make no sound] is expected soon by Melani Editions.

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Stathis Intzes spoke to Reading Greece* about Gadium, a poem structured in seven parts and Οι ανειδίκευτοι δεν βγάζουν κιχ, “a humorous story, surreal and post-modern, ending up in a dystopic environment”. He notes that “Thaka” was born out of “love for books and especially poetry”, commenting that “the time when publishing houses were large companies offering a wide range of books is long gone” and that “specialization restores readers’ relationship with the publisher”. He concludes that “our era will bring to the fore some great writers. We just have to be patient and leave books do their ‘job’”.

Your new poetry collection Gadium was recently published, while your novel Οι ανειδίκευτοι δεν βγάζουν κιχ is expected soon by Melani Editions. Tell us a few things about both books.

Gadium is not exactly a poetry collection. It’s a poem structured in seven parts. It’s about an heirless traveler chronicling instances in seven distinct historic eras. It is seven poems, seven ‘snapshots’ of every era, from that of Phoenician prosperity to the Spanish civil war. As for the novel Οι ανειδίκευτοι δεν βγάζουν κιχ, which will be published soon, it tells the story of an unskilled factory worker who suddenly realizes the supernatural strength of his left hand. From then on unfolds a humorous story, surreal and post-modern, ending up in a dystopic environment.

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Together with Thanos Gogos, you are the editors of “Thraka” Literary Magazine and Editions. How did you decide to embark on such a publishing venture amidst the crisis?

It was our love for books and especially poetry. We wanted to create a medium (either through the magazine or our editions) in order to promote the work of writers worthy of having their voice heard.

What is to be expected from Thraka in 2017?

The new poetry collections of Yiorgos Lillis and Petros Golitsis will first be published, followed by newcomers Eva Spathara and Panagiotis Dimitriadis. As for prose, the new novels of Olvia Papailiou and Petros Birbilis are underway.

How do you respond to those that argue that the crisis has broken the ties that connect readers with the choices and orientation of traditional publishers, creating an aesthetic and intellectual space that remain to be filled?

I believe that the so-called era of the “crisis” Greece is currently going through has also had some positive side-effects, which is the establishment of some new publishing houses with expertise in specific fields. For instance, you could say that "Thraka" specializes in poetry, another publishing house in prose, yet another in essays etc. It seems that the time when publishing houses were large companies offering a wide range of books (from children’s books and literature to scientific books) is long gone. In this framework, I believe that specialization restores readers’ relationship with the publisher as well, given that they know what to expect and by whom.

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In recent years, there has been an extraordinary burgeoning of poetry in every form: graffiti, blogs, literary magazines, readings in public squares to mention just a few. How is this trend to be explained?

Poetry is an art whose expression doesn’t cost much (as e.g. in the case of a professional camera for an aspiring director). It can take form by noting down some simple verses which a person of average intelligence has the ability to produce. As for the over-abundance of poets that is noted lately, it has to do with current adverse conditions resulting in the need for poetic expression. Besides, as is often said, Greeks have poetry in their blood.

What about contemporary Greek literature? Does the new generation of Greek writers have the potential to attract readers both in Greece and abroad?

I was informed that many books by Greek writers translated in French were on display at the recent International Book Fair in Paris. That is more than encouraging. As for the new generation of Greek writers, there are many promising voices both in prose and in poetry. I believe that our era will bring to the fore some great writers. We just have to be patient and leave books do their ‘job’.

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*Interview by Athina Rossoglou

 

David Mason, Poet Laureate of the state of Colorado (2010-2014) and teacher at Colorado College, is the author of the award-winning poetry collections: The Buried Houses (1991), Nicholas Roerich Poetry Prize; The Country I Remember (1996), Αlice Fay Di Castagnola Award; and the verse novel Ludlow (2007), named best book of poetry in 2007 by the Contemporary Poetry Review and the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum. He has edited and co-edited several anthologies and has authored dozens of poems, essays, reviews, translations, stories and memoirs.

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In 1980 he came to Greece, where he lived for just over a year in Kardamyli, Greece, in the Mani district of southernmost part of the Peloponnese. He returned to Greece on a Fulbright fellowship in 1996-97. He has written extensively about his experiences in Greece: a book of poetry Arrivals (2004) and a book of memoirs News from the Village: Aegean Friends (2010). As a librettist, Mason collaborated with Lori Laitman on her opera The Scarlet Letter and on an award-winning opera adaptation of Ludlow. His one-act opera with composer Tom Cipullo, After Life, won the 2017 Dominick Argento Prize for Best Chamber Opera from the National Opera Association.

David Mason spoke to Reading Greece* about the main themes his poetry touches upon, noting that “the scars and abrasions of a vagabond life have given me subjects”, adding that he wanted to write “what it feels like to live in a body even when the body does not happen to be [his] own”. He comments that much of his consciousness “is heavily laden with Greek mythology and literature”, explaining that the “tragic sense of life”, which came to him via the Greeks, is the way he views life on this earth.

Asked about the role of poetry in times of crisis, he quotes Shakespeare’s MacBeth that in dire times we must “give sorrow words”, concluding although human being may not be capable of eliminating conflict altogether, “we can find language to help us grieve and even laugh together, to help us memorialize our time on earth”.

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A poet, essayist, librettist, translator and editor with a major contribution to the rejuvenation of meter and narrative in American poetry. What is the binding thread?

This is a very generous description as well as a question. I suppose I have done many kinds of writing, but none of them were ever planned. What event in my life sent me in all of these directions? I wanted to write. I was interested in theatre and performance, and I loved poetry. One follows the threads where they lead. Friendships with figures like Dana Gioia, Yiorgos Chouliaras, Katerina Anghelaki-Rooke, Patrick Leigh Fermor offered me opportunities for kinds of work, from poetry to translation to memoir. An introduction to composer Lori Laitman led to commissions to write libretti, which I have now also done with composer Tom Cipullo. I may even be returning to my roots in drama and fiction writing—we shall see. Meanwhile, essays and reviews get written in an effort to make money as well as to clarify my thinking about all of these things. Perhaps one day I will find the connections between these interests. For now, I feel lucky to have the opportunity to pursue them.

Always preparing to arrive/ I suffer the deaths of many friends, / survive, surprised to be alive. / My story’s told, but never ends”. What are the main themes your poetry touches upon?

I’m grateful to you for quoting that poem, “The Dream of Arrival,” which is a fanciful retelling of a scene in Homer, rather as Greek poets sometimes revise myth and history. It was Seferis who said the poet had only one subject: his living body. Or her living body, as the case may be. So the scars and abrasions of a vagabond life have given me subjects. But I’m also not satisfied with the letter “I,” and want to write about people other than myself. I want to acknowledge our common trials, as well as the inconclusiveness and ephemerality of our experience. I want to write what it feels like to live in a body even when the body does not happen to be my own.

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Greece in Mason’s poems is both Epicurean and Homeric; it is an image of intense sensual presence and unreflective vitality – part of his drive to “feel more alive in [his] own skin”. What does Greece represent for you? How is the Greek experience imprinted in you literary work?

I love Greece. I love the Greek people—their history, their struggles, their language, their vitality. Greeks have been generous to me in more ways than I can possibly list, and I have also written about Greek immigrants in America and Australia. There is an element of unreality in that I have often been footloose while in Greece—unfettered in ways I feel fettered in America. So you might say even my years of contact with Greece include a kind of cultural sampling. But I plead love as my excuse, and hope I have been a loyal and truthful lover of Greece. Also, my own native tongue, English, is partly made from Greek, and much of my consciousness is heavily laden with Greek mythology and literature. Ellenismos is unavoidable to me. The “tragic sense of life,” to borrow Unamuno’s phrase, comes to me via the Greeks, and it really is the way I view our life on this earth.

Fearing he has lost Greece and everything it has meant in his life, Mason goes back again and again to the country he knew as a young man”. Tell us a few things about your memoir News from the Village.

It is the book I most wish I could rewrite, yet I was writing and revising it for many years, trying to get it right. When I returned to Greece in 1996 after a 15-year absence I suddenly felt I had a story to tell. Whether my story of coming of age and growing in relation to a village of which I was only very marginally a part is useful or not I cannot say. It’s a story in some sense of youthful delusions and trying to grow into an adult awareness of reality and responsibility. But the big problem in the book has to do with a relatively small number of its pages. I was lying in the book about my personal life, unwilling to do what the bravest memoirists do and really openly talk about their lives. I should either have been more honest about my private life or cut it out altogether. The pages about other people—Yiorgos, Katerina, Paddy and others—are the best parts of the book.

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One of the main characters in Ludlow, Louis Tikas, is from Crete and his Greekness and that of others in the miners’ camp is a main feature of the story. How are the themes of roots and uprootedness dealt with in your poetry?

My father grew up in a small Colorado town near Ludlow, Colorado. The river that flows through that town was named by Spaniards El Rio de las Animas Perdidas en Purgatorio—The River of Lost Souls in Purgatory. Having grown up with that name in my mind, I have always felt that my people were rootless wanderers. America may be a nation of immigrants, but not all Americans acknowledge that truth and not all of them understand what it means to live with more than one identity. My family come from Scottish and Danish immigrants—my maternal grandmother arrived first in Canada, then in America, from a small village near Aberdeen, Scotland. In America she became a drug addict, and she was later lobotomized, and I never met her. That is another kind of exile—psychic as well as geographical. I feel these alienations at my core, and perhaps that helps me sympathize with immigrants like Tikas.

What about poetry in times of crisis? Could poetry offer new ways to imagine what can be radically different realities?

Someone in Shakespeare’s MacBeth says that in dire times we must “Give sorrow words.” That is what we must do, along with everything else we do to bring a bit more civility to our lives. And yes, I think literature is a way of humanizing ourselves and others. Empathy is a civilizing activity. These things don’t put bread on the table, and they don’t save Syrian children from a gas attack, but they might convince some soldiers to disobey evil orders, and that would be a good thing. Poems intended as marching songs are usually not very good. But poems that help us feel and experience life in its complexity cannot be a bad thing. I don’t believe human beings are capable of eliminating conflict altogether, but perhaps we can find language to help us grieve and even laugh together, to help us memorialize our time on earth.

*Interview by Athina Rossoglou

donatella della porta2Donatella Della Porta is professor of Political Science and Dean at the Institute of Human and Social Sciences at the Scuola Normale Superiore (Italy, Florence), where she directs the Center on Social Movement Studies (Cosmos). Between 2003 and 2015 she has been Professor of Sociology at the Department of Political and Social Sciences at the European University Institute

The main topics of her research are social movements, political violence, terrorism, corruption, the police and protest policing. Between 2008 and 2013 she has co-edited the European Political Science Review (ECPR-Cambridge University Press) as well as the Contentious Politics series at Cambridge University Press. Since 2015 she co-edits the European Journal of Sociology (Cambridge University Press). In 2011, she was the recipient of European Consortium for Political Research Mattei Dogan Prize for distinguished achievements in the field of political sociology. In August 2017 she will be Plenary Speaker at the 13th Conference of the European Sociological Association: (Un)Making Europe: Capitalism, Solidarities, Subjectivities in Athens, Greece.

Professor Della Porta is the author of 85 books, 130 journal articles and 127 contributions in edited volumes. Her recent publications include Social Movements in Times of Austerity: Bringing Capitalism Back Into Protest Analysis (2015), Late Neoliberalism and its Discontents in the Economic Crisis - Comparing Social Movements in the European Periphery (2016), Where Did the Revolution Go? Contentious Politics and the Quality of Democracy (2017), and Movement Parties Against Austerity (2017).

delaportabooksDonatella Della Porta spoke to Rethinking Greece* about social movements in times of austerity and electoral democracy, their cultural effects and partial institutionalization,  as well as their moral critique on the corruption of representative democracy. She comments on the differences and similarities between the movements of the European South and underlines their heterogeneity and their concern for national sovereignty, while she also stresses the need for a cosmopolitan vision and transnational alliances between them. She believes that those who are able to develop alternative forms of governance, or cosmopolitan/pan-European identities are those who come from these movements. On an international level she anticipates that there will be a stronger and stronger struggle between progressive and regressive forces with an uncertain result. As far as Greece is concerned, she believes that it still is a laboratory for the progressive forces, asserting that the mobilizations of the previous years have produced important outcomes.

Can you talk to us about your latest book “Movement Parties against Austerity”?

The book grew out of the observation of the increasing relevance of electoral politics for social movements. This became very visible in Greece with the electoral victory of Syriza but also in several other places: Podemos in Spain, Bloco de Esquerda in Portugal; we also have the Left-Green Movement in Iceland, and more recently “La France Insoumise” with Mélenchon in France. So we see an unexpected return of the “Left-Left”, as the French call it, in the electoral arena, which is very much related to social movements' mobilizations. Even if none of these parties can be seen as the only and direct expression of the movements, there are nevertheless many overlaps in terms of the types of claims these parties and movements put forward, the forms of action taken and the importance given to political participation.

These parties developed from movements that were very dissatisfied with representative democracy and electoral politics; in the beginning they seemed not to be interested in becoming an alternative type of political party. So, I wouldn’t have expected hat, for instance, the Indignados of 2011-2012, people who were outraged with the corruption of participatory democracy, would also start thinking in terms in electoral alternatives. And this is just one of the expressions and outcomes of social movements in terms of their impact on electoral democracy. We are also seeing campaigns and referendums, like the ones in Scotland and Catalunya, or the referendum against the privatization of water in Italy -which has grown with from very dynamic social movements. We are also witnessing the development, within established parties, of a sort of left-wing opposition, like Sanders and the Democratic Party in the United States, like Corbyn in the UK, and also a change in established parties, like the Socialist Party in France, where totally unexpectedly, a left-wing candidate won the primary election. These are some expressions of the interaction between movement politics and electoral politics that we analyze in the book.

The movements that developed after 2011 in Europe seem to have died down. What is your take on this?

Research shows that movements tend to develop in cycles or in waves: people cannot stay in the streets or in the squares forever. The evolution of these cycles could bring about, in the declining phase, a radicalization of fractions of the movements that start using a violent repertoire of actions, like what happened in the 70’s in Italy and in Germany. On the other hand, and sometimes at the same time, we have a sort of institutionalization of parts of the social movements. It is no by chance that these kind of effects develop when mobilization is declining, as the activists experiment with many different tactics and repertoires in order to come up with solutions to the diminishing turnout in protest events.

02 768x226Furthermore, we have the cultural effects of the protest movements, effects on worker unions, like the “white wave” or ‘marea blanca’ that was organized in Spain from health-care professionals against cuts to the budget of the country’s public health services, or the development of alternative citizen-run health clinics, food centres, kitchens and legal aid hubs that came along with the movement of the squares in Greece. So there are various ways through which the people that had protested in the streets keep trying to change the future.

Also, parties themselves change because of mobilization in the streets. It happened with the labour movements of the 19th century, or with the environmental movements with the emergence of the Green parties. What we are seeing today is quite common after the end of protests: when activists stop being in the streets, they often try to develop parties which they believe could help achieving the aims of the movements.

What is interesting at this particular moment is that these parties grow so fast and become so big, up to the point where they are entering positions in government, after national or local elections like in Greece, Portugal or Spain. So the unusual development that we address in our book, is not that parties emerge from movements, but that these parties become so competitive and powerful in the electoral arena.

What do you believe has been the impact of social movements in party system politics? Has it brought something new to the way parties operate and are organized?

In the book we compare three parties that in many ways were related to social movements, Syriza, Podemos and the Five Star movement, and then we compare them with similar parties in Latin America, some of which started on a similar type of dynamics. Ιn Latin America, this happened much earlier than in Europe, so we can see the long term effect of these parties being in power. And what we see are different things.

In the beginning these parties tend to adopt some of the movements' principles. So, we have parties that are more participatory than traditional ones, more engaged in attempts to open up beyond the members and that attempt to incorporate the criticism of the top-down organization.

However this is not always easy to do, because movement parties have to take into account different types of arenas: on one hand you have the movements, which they take ideas from, and on the other the electoral arena, the party system. And they sort of adapt to both, developing different alternative tactics and adopting general trends, like the personalization of politics. Furthermore, as parties evolve the type of members changes: they tend to include disappointed members and even leaders of other parties, with very different perspectives and priorities than the activists and supporters of the beginning. This brings about changes and even creates tansions within the parties themselves, like in Podemos, where a controversy devoloped between those who pushed towards the original relations with social movements and those stressing the constraints of electoral politics.

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Also, these parties have different and this is reflected in their evolution. For example, SYRIZA and Podemos are often referred to as twin parties but they developed in different ways. However, SYRIZA grew from a previous wave of protests during the global justice movement, while Podemos developed from the 2011 Spanish protests against austerity.

Could you briefly describe the similarities and differences between protest movements across South European countries?

We see both similarities and differences. So in terms of the type of capacity of mobilization, forms of action, actors involved and so on, in Southern Europe you have these two constellations: on the one hand movements in the squares, very innovative and active in Spain and Greece, and on the other hand, more traditional forms of protest in Italy and Portugal. What was similar in all countries is the fact that there was a criticism of neoliberalism, of social injustice and of increasing inequalities. Also all  the movements were very pluralist, involving different social groups, from the precarious workers to retired people, from workers in the big factories to civil servants. They also involved different generations. Young people in particular were very much present and one can say that these movements spark the development of a very committed generation of young people.

Another thing protest movements accross South Euroopean countries have in common is that the criticism of neoliberalism is a political as well as a moral, addressing the corruption of representative democracy and the lack of capacity of representative institutions to live up to their own standards, to deliver what they promised. In all countries the conceptions of social, political and civil rights were so very deeply rooted that the attempt to take them away produced an indignant, outraged reaction.

Which broader social and economic transformations does the emergence of protest movements reveal? Are we witnessing the emergence of a new political identity?

The creation of collective identities is a long process; it usually takes a lot of time, even more so in this case because these movements are very heterogeneous. Their heterogeneity is reflected in how difficult it is to find a shared term for them. For example in Spain protesters were called 15 de Mayo, 15M, or Real Democracy, journalists called them Indignados; the multiplicity of names testifies to the fact that there is not yet a specific collective identity those participating in the movements. There is however a search for an identity, reminiscent of what Ernesto Laclau called “populist reasoning” in the sense of attempting to create a new definition of the people.  This attempt has produced a sense of empowerment; particularly in Spain or in Greece there are generations of people that took politics into their hands and became deeply politicized during the mobilization in the streets. As of yet there is however no strong common collective identity, and I think there couldn’t have been yet one: a common identity, as we can see  from previous movements, can take years and even centuries to form. However, this sense of empowerment, of political participation, of search for a combination of justice and freedoms is spreading. This also explains why, not withstanding some decline in mobilization, these are movements that didn’t die: they keep re-emerging in different countries. So, in 2011 there was Spain and Greece, in 2013 it was Gezi Park in Turkey, protests in Brazil and other countries, and, less than a year ago the “Nuit Debut” in France, which showed a strong capacity to mobilize the people. Thus, a common identity does not exist yet, but it is in the making.

Is there a transnational or cross-European interconnectedness between anti-austerity movements?

There has been a difference in the way European issues and global issues have been addressed by the global justice movement, the World Social Forum and European Social Forum in the beginning of the years 2000 on one hand, and the movements and anti-austerity protests of 2011 on the other. In the previous wave, protest started globally and then it shifted to the local and national level. The recent wave of protests that developed in Europe was very rooted in the characteristics and the timing of the crisis at a national level. You had the 2008-2009 crisis in Iceland, and then it moved to Ireland and Portugal, Spain and Greece, nowadays in France.  Also, the issues of national sovereignty are more directly addressed by these movements. At the same time, these movements develop ideas for a different type of Europe, so they are not nationalist in terms of an exclusionary type of nationalism. They are moreover trying to develop European and transnational linkages, even though, while in the previous decades this was more straightforward and easier, now it is a challenge. However, it is something that is starting to happen now: you have pan-European union protests and campaigns against TTIP and so on, even if they are still not well developed.

European social protest movements sometimes seem to call for a return to national sovereignty and to classical social democracy, instead of calling for a more radical alternative to capitalism. What is the political vision of those participating in the protests?

As I mentioned earlier, the movements are quite heterogeneous: you find different positions within the same movement. For sure, there is a much more concern, compared to the past, with the issue of national sovereignty. This is understandable, given the characteristics of the crisis, which was very much driven and then controlled at a transnational level. So people think, given the democratic institutions at a national level, it is unfair that unaccountable institutions, like Ecofin, European Central Bank and so on, make decisions for us. At the same time, in most of the cases there is still an understanding that it is not sufficient to go back to national sovereignty, that you need to develop a cosmopolitan vision and transnational alliances between the movements.

1146936 589913084398244 1493797047 oIn terms of an alternative to capitalism, again the movements are quite heterogeneous. There are those that claim a return to old laws and rights and welfare state protection; this is also understandable in a situation where these rights have been taken away -the first claim is give us back what is our rights. But at the same time, there are some innovations, like the idea of the commons, of creating a space for something which is neither in the form of top-down welfare state, nor in that of the privatization or commoditization of services. It is an attempt to develop ideas about how citizens could participate in the management of common spaces and common goods. These are not ideas which are easy to establish. Likewise, initiatives like the alternative clinics or welfare services in Greece and the mareas in Spain are searching for a more radical alternatives but this search requires time; it is not a moment where you say, oh, I got the right idea. It’s a process of testing, adapting, transforming, searching for the right way.

Can this movements contribute to solving the problem of  democratic deficit in EU?

Yes, I think that this is an achievement already. The democratic deficit of Europe is very clear: what is not clear yet is if those who are in charge at the European level understand the danger for them. I believe that those who are able to develop alternative forms of governance, or cosmopolitan/pan-European identities are those who come from these  movements. But they need to be listened to, because otherwise, those that refuse any form of Europeanization on the basis of an exclusionary and nationalist, xenophobic identity,will become more and more powerful. It happened in the UK, it happened in Hungary, it is also happening with the increase of illiberal regimes all over the world -take Turkey as an example.

How do you see this issue evolving in the future?

A social scientist never predicts. A reason why it is difficult to make a prediction is that right now there are intense conflicts between progressive and regressive visions. The old establishment is in crisis, but the new one is to be born yet, like Antonio Gramsci said. So, what you see is the development of strong conflicts and all possibilities are quite open. Take the United States as an example, we have Trump now, but it could have been Sanders. Take the French election. Anything can happen in a few days in France. It could be that in the second round you have two right-wing candidates, but it could also be that a left-wing candidate wins. So, overall, the only thing that we can predict is the capacity of the people to mobilize and at this momoent that there isiindeed an understanding that it is important for people to act. However, at the same time, powerful regresive forces also tend to organize. So the prediction is that there will be a stronger and stronger struggle between progressive and regressive forces, with an uncertain result. If I want to end this conversation on an optimist view, my understanding is that right now regressive forces do not have a strategy, so they are taking a high-stakes gamble. Take Erdogan in Turkey, Trump in the US, Orban in Hungary. They are daring a lot and I don’t think that they will succeed. rdogan has been resisted by progressive forces, Trump has caused a lot of damage already, but he has also generated a lot of movements; there was the March of Women in Washington, there is the March for Science on April 22. These movements seem to be able to mobilize people, to create a convergence between different social strata and I really hope that they will successful.

How you comment the political situation in Greece now?

I think that the situtation is not easy, but at the same time Greece is still a laboratory for the progressive forces. From what I can say from my limited knowledge of the country, what we see, even in the refugee crisis, is that those new values like solidarity, like empowerment, daring to take the destiny in your own hands didn’t decline with the end of mobilizations. Or are least didn’t disappear. The movements, the different moments of mobilizations since 2008 and then in 2011, produced important outcomes, they were not for nothing. But as an activist in Egypt once told me, “we thought that the revolution was a moment, we realize that it is a process”,  and I think this is the case for Greece also.

*Interview by Ioulia Livaditi

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Vana Manasiadis was born in Wellington, New Zealand, and she divides her time between Greece and New Zealand.  As co-editor of the Seraph Press ‘Poetry in Translation Series’, she edited and translated from the Greek the first bilingual volume Ναυάγια/Καταφύγια: Shipwrecks/Shelters (Seraph Press, 2016).  Her poetry has been widely published including in Jacket2 (University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, 2017), and Essential New Zealand Poems (Penguin Random House NZ, 2014), and she is the author of acclaimed verse biography/poetry collection Ithaca Island Bay Leaves: A mythistorima (Seraph Press, 2009).  She regularly performs her work, and teaches Academic Literacy and Creative Writing at the Centre for Creative Writing at the Auckland University of Technology.

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Vana Manasiadis spoke to Reading Greece* about Shipwrecks/Shelters: Six Contemporary Greek Poets, which introduces Greek poetry in New Zealand, commenting on how “so much current artistic practice in Greece epitomises this backwards and forwards movement between light and dark” and how the poems she chose speak to “this trajectory from struggle and mourning towards transference, collectivism, and emergence”. She notes that in times of crisis, “art should bear witness and not go quietly into the night”, adding that there is more to crisis than top level meetings and protests, “there’s craft, creativity, conversation, and composition”.

She explains that “there are in fact a few New Zealand writers with connections to Greece” and that in her case, “the idea of ‘being here and there’ is the most appropriate ongoing frame of reference”. She concludes that “the immigrant experience is often bookended by disruption and fragmentation”, explaining that this is the reason she returns to the notions of movement and reinvention in her writing, “trying to glue the fragments by writing in fragments”.

You edited and translated Shipwrecks/Shelters: Six Contemporary Greek Poets recently published by Seraph Press. How did you decide to embark on such a venture? What about the title Shipwrecks/Shelters?

The first motivation came after I returned to Aotearoa/New Zealand and didn’t see much locally published poetry in translation. After being in Greece, and Europe generally, the largely anglophone – albeit very vibrant – literary community made me feel the country’s distance from the rest of the world quite acutely. Were there many translations of non-English poetry being undertaken by local poets? I was keen on finding the antidote to the dislocation I was feeling, (a first experience of ‘shipwreck’), and simultaneously keen on introducing a little Greek poetry in English because I’d often been disappointed with the English translations I’d come across. Together with the translator and lecturer Marco Sonzogni, and Helen Rickerby, of Seraph Press, we committed to beginning the press’s Translation Series conceived as a series of marriages between New Zealand poets and languages other than English.

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Then, during a day on a beach called Huia, we came across the display of the mast from the 1863 Orpheus which lost 189 of its crew when it sank. And I started to think of the relationship of shipwreck to shelter and the idea that shipwrecks do eventually house marine life, and can – like the many ancient shipwrecks in the Aegean – safeguard treasures. In my own life, if I was experiencing something like shipwreck then I was also experiencing sanctuary after a very difficult period: I’d lost my mother to cancer, experienced a breaking Greek health system, grief, financial plummet, ill health and depression. (On the other side:my neighbours in Athens, the urban landscape and its ability to rejuvenate and reinvent itself, our refuge in Heraklion and the sea five minutes from the house).

I was also thinking about how so much current artistic practice in Greece epitomises this backwards and forwards movement between light and dark. So I decided I particularly wanted to translate poems that spoke to this trajectory from struggle and mourning towards transference, collectivism, and emergence. I wanted to introduce this zeitgeist in Greek poetry to a new and receptive audience.

You have stated that in editing and translating the poems in Shipwrecks/Shelters, you considered, among other things, Maurice Scève’s idea that ‘translation, like love or music, involves being apart together’. Could you elaborate on that?

I was inspired by the essay ‘Ensemble Discord’ by translator Richard Sieburth. The quote in its entirety is, ‘translation like love or music involves being apart together, mutually ingathered by an interval or caesura that…renders us ensembles discords’. Doesn’t love work better if two individuals exist in a mutualistic push and pull as separate agents, connected but uncompetitive? Isn’t music often made with many instruments forming a body, or made by only one body – the musician’s breath, or touch – combined with air, gravitational pull, perhaps friction? Translation itself also embodies this motion from separateness to unity and inhabits the caesura between two independent spaces.

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In the meantime, the very act of translating is analogous to eros and desire. The translator tries to get under the skin of the object, translate the poem/poet into something recognizable, reflect, surrender. As essayist Eliot Weinberger argues, translation is an act of self-abnegation, subordination; of the putting aside of ego. And longing was ever-present while I was working on the translations, longing for Greece and for the Greek language. (But I had to find my own caesura or ‘place to stand’ – ‘turangawaewae’ in Māori – before I could make contact, and luckily wind and water don’t trade in borders.) Essentially, the project was very personal and entwined with my own moving between worlds, spaces, identities.

What is the role poetry is called to play for a country in crisis? In this respect, how important is to get this poetry into the world?

Poetry is everything, or was so for thousands of years, as information, record, witness, bridge. And epic poetry was of course passed down orally from parent to child, communities connecting over music and rhythm of sound and sense. This oral aspect of poetry, its percussion and cry, is vitally important to me. But poetry is more than the news. It is deeply connected to our humanity, creativity, generation. It is graffiti, the I am here, we are here, this is what we feel, how we survive. Art should bear witness and not go quietly into the night. During the Documenta 14 hosted public talk ‘Athens Social Economies: Deinstitutionalizing Alternatives, Global Capitalism, and Local Knowledge’, philosopher and writer Max Jorge Hinderer Cruz posed questions such as: How does an individual or a community counter the removal of rights and securities by a dominant power matrix? What is the response when the status of a political or native entity changes from legitimate to other, from included to excluded?

Shelters/Shipwrecks is a small-in-size collection, but the poems are all calls, unapologetic and determined. ‘Muscle’, ‘borders’, ‘bodies’, ‘gaze’, ‘armour’, ‘multiplicity’: one word can call to attention, to action. There’s more to crisis than top level meetings and protests, there’s craft, creativity, conversation, and composition. In other words: imagination and breath. For all these reasons it was also very important to have contemporary Greek urban art on the cover, and Cacao Rocks the prolific Athenian street artist, who exhibits and participates in festivals all over the world, gave us the gift of his beautiful, iconoclastic ‘Dominique, 2016’.

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What about your first poetry collection Ithaca Island Bay Leaves: A mythistorima? Why did you choose to use the word “mythistorima” to describe a poetry collection?

I’d read Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red: A novel in verse while working on the first draft, and her title was an early inspiration. Like Carson’s work, Ithaca Island Bay Leaves tells a story, and is essentially a single narrative poem. I decided to adopt ‘mythistorima’, the Greek word for ‘novel’, because of the semantic combination of ‘myth’ and ‘history’. Seferis, the Greek modernist poet, stated a similar motivation behind his use of the word in his author’s notes, (although I hadn’t come across those at the time of writing the book), but I had especially wanted the combination to allude to the time when people communicated myths and histories by mouth. As I said at the time of publication, in an interview with writer and editor Tim Jones, ‘I wanted to assume oral language, with its tangents, fillers and pauses, as the governing concept’. Speech, performance and exchange have long embodied the freedoms of expression and movement. I like very much that Adamantios Korais, eighteenth century liberal scholar who believed in liberty and equality, coined the term ‘mythistorima’ during the Greek Enlightenment.

Exploring the ex patria feeling of ‘being here and being there,’Vana Manasiadis sews together Greece and New Zealand to create a playful and deeply moving journey". Is there an identifiable tradition of Greek-New Zealand writing, or New Zealand writing about Greece, and if so, do you see Ithaca Island Bay Leaves as part of this tradition?

Michael Harlow is one of New Zealand’s most respected veteran poets, and of Greek-Ukrainian descent. Mary McCullum, writer and independent publisher who descends from Rethymno, has published two novels with Greek connections, and I was one of the first novel’s early readers, (Maggie Rainey-Smiths novel Daughters of Messene, about a Greek family from Peloponnesus, soon to be translated and published also in Greece). There are in fact a few New Zealand writers with connections to Greece, and Mary and I have even discussed collecting some of this work into an anthology, which I would love to do.  

In terms of my own contribution, I can say that I’m one of those writers who writes what they know, and splitting time between Greece and New Zealand, does define me in many ways. But perhaps the idea of ‘being here and there’ is the most appropriate ongoing frame of reference for me. Lynley Edmeades writing for Jacket2 offers this opinion: ‘Manasiadis’ reference to Greek and classical traditions, and her borrowing of forms from her poetic forebears, lets her cultivate a poetic voice relatively peculiar to these shores…her work acts as a conduit between her ancestors and this New World, between classical and colloquial Greek and her New Zealand English, between mythology and reality, between the past and the present, between her last poem and her next.’

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You have stated that as “an immigrant’s daughter for whom multiculturalism is crucial, you can’t help but recoil at the idea of borders, restriction of the freedom of movement, refugees floating in water or limbo, or purgatory or hell”. How are the notions of disruption, fragmentation, mobility, departure and home imprinted on your job?

The immigrant experience is often bookended by disruption and fragmentation. As an immigrant and single parent, my mother was stuck financially, spiritually and geographically, and experienced otherness every single day. She was intensely literary, a writer herself, but pre-internet had no access to Greek language texts in New Zealand. She was essentially cut off from herself; lost her selfness. And, having married a New Zealander, she didn’t get what she needed from the Greek community in Wellington – her peers were almost all in monocultural marriages, married to other Greeks and wary of the New Zealand culture outside their gates.

Suspicion of otherness is dangerous, and as such, the origins of racism can be surprising. As children, my pale and red-haired sister and I experienced the most prejudice from members of the Wellington Greek community despite our identification, fluency, Greek family-history-home. The criteria of inclusion were missing: we didn’t look stereotypically Greek. Even in adulthood, the only experience I have had of this kind is from another New Zealand Greek woman who has said I’m not really Greek; and ironically, she is an anti-racism advocate. I find this curious. But it also speaks to deep wounds and the desire for home and identity that so embodies the immigrant experience, even generations after migration. There is trauma, and it finds ways to express itself. The play between inclusion and exclusion is complicated and ongoing. Perhaps this is why I return to the notions of movement and reinvention in my writing. I’m trying to glue the fragments by writing in fragments, employing parentheses, conflating chronologies and suggesting gaps. I am always interested in the porousness, and in the uncertain space.

I also recoil a little at the idea of categories in writing (and like very much that writing from my earlier collection has been catalogued variously as short fiction or poetry in library catalogues). And I’ve been describing the collection I’m hoping to finish soon – with its references to earlier work, its connections, and combinations of forms – ‘a sequel’. However definition is not always helpful. We have only been stationary a short time in the 200,000 years on this planet, and have experienced shifting selfhoods for millenia. My grandfather arrived in Athens a refugee in 1922, today’s refugees find themselves in similarly terrifying and unfamiliar territory. There is a continuum and we are all along it somewhere. Perhaps departure and home are points on a circle rather than on a straight line. And the circle is shot full of holes.

*Interview by Athina Rossoglou

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Argyris Papadimitropoulos was born in Athens in 1976. His latest film, “Suntan” (2016), after a comedy titled “Bank Bang” in 2008 and 2011’s “Wasted Youth”, is his most personal one and premiered at the Rotterdam Film Festival and SXSW's Narrative Spotlight. Suntan has won the Best Foreign Film award at the Edinburgh International Film Festival (UK) and the Mamers en Mars (France), the youth jury award in Brussels and Best Screenplay at the Belgrade International Film Festival (Serbia). It has won Best Global Film award at the Oaxaca International Film Festival (Mexico), as well as Best Film, Best Director, Best Cinematography, Best Screenplay, Best Supporting Actress and Best Actor at the Hellenic Film Academy – Iris Awards.

“Suntan” is about the obsession of Kostis, a loner in his 40s, working as a doctor on the island of Antiparos, with Anna, a young and beautiful tourist on vacation there with friends. Their encounter will open Pandora’s box for Kostis, who gradually loses grip with reality. Greek News Agenda interviewed* Argyris Papadimitropoulos on why some bronze while others burn in this “coming of middle age” film. Papadimitropoulos also talks about how he builds an invisible narration in his film, open to the viewer to produce his own meaning. Asked about contemporary Greek cinema production, he stresses that Greek film production is blooming, but the term weird wave is doing injustice to the artistic product of his generation.

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How do you react to various readings of your film?

I take delight in them. I love the idea of the spectators working on my film and being producers of their own meanings. I don't want my texts to be "locked". I like it when my films spark disputes and passion.

Why doesn't the film (anti)hero stop? Why does he have to fall so low? Is he being punished for something (not realizing where he stands or for his obsession) or is it just the way life is?

It’s not that he has to fall low. He just happened to fall. Some people fall, others don΄t. By no means am I a moralist. Neither do I say that when you get older you aren’t entitled to sensual pleasures anymore. I am saying exactly the opposite: any one is entitled to as many pleasures as possible. But you can't always get what you want. That’s life. The problem of Kostis, the hero, is that he cannot decode the messages he receives. Anna, the woman he desires, is a free spirit that doesn't want to commit and that is clear from the beginning. He doesn’t seem to understand that.

Now as regards why he doesn’t go away, Kostis is not the kind of person that stops. He has never been in a similar situation in his life; he has never tasted pleasure at the right time. He gets at the lowest point of his existence, in a situation he can't get out of. But this is the point I want to make, that people can resurface even at the last moment.

Suntan revolves around contrasting concepts (youth versus decay, the hard working villagers as opposed to the hard partying tourists, the bright summer against the dark theme of the film etc). What attracts you to contrasts?

Contrasts compose my everyday life, the mercurial ups and downs of my own emotions between joy and sorrow, an alternation which constitutes a part of the human condition. So they help me say more things, form my characters and show their internal conflicts. What I'm trying to do as a director is to say what I want to say without words. I don't like didactic films or preachy directors.

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The starkest contrast is between Anna and her young and privileged lot and Kostis, the one who is lagging behind both sexually and socially. Why do you embrace both sides?

I'm interested in both sides of the story. There is indeed a sociopolitical dimension in their divide. Kostis is not and will not become one of them. I try to depict life as it is and I am a firm believer that no matter how bad things are, you can subvert it and change it.

The way you depict life on the island creates a sense that you don't interfere in filming.

I like to have this effect in my films. Actually, the truth is the exact opposite. Everything is fiction that I place in a real environment with real people instead of background actors. The final outcome is the product of meticulous preparation in order to look spontaneous.

Has your career in commercials helped you in that?

Advertising offers me the possibility to continuously practice the use of cinematic language. For me, directing and choosing what lens to use comes very naturally. I also have close cooperation with Christos Karamanis, Director of Photography in the film, with whom I have been working for many years. We both make decisions regarding the film. Another helpful element for me is that I deal with situations I am well acquainted with and film in places that are very familiar to me. To be honest, few things are more familiar to me than a forty year old partying in Antiparos.

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Apart from Kostis being a doctor, the film deals almost medically in its anatomy of loneliness and the feeling of rejection. Which techniques did you use to achieve this effect?

Loneliness is an issue that existed before the economic crisis. It will exist after the crisis, and surely worsens with the crisis. Most humans do not know how to handle rejection. Human beings want to be loved the way they want and this is where tragedy comes from. I believe that Anna loved Kostis in her own way, in the way that the feeling of power stemming from her youth and beauty imposed. Everything turned badly when Kostis tried to impose his own rules. As regards how I created this ‘anatomy’, the answer is by observing people. That's what I mostly do in Antiparos. I observe the people crossing the street or sitting next to me, contemplating what their story might be.

What do you think about contemporary Greek cinema production?

I think it's exquisite, despite the size of the country and the indifference of the state. Many and great films are produced each year.

Why is there is an increased presence of Greek films at international Film Festivals?

I think that after the success of certain Greek films at international festivals, Greek productions entered into their radars.

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In that sense Giorgos Lanthimos had an important role to play.

Of course. He has made excellent films and through those films he has created a strong trademark for Greek film abroad.

What do you think of the term “Weird Wave”?

I don't mind that term. I just don’t think it does the films justice. What my generation does is much better than simply weird. I think the stories our films say are beautiful, too beautiful to be weird. And there is no weird wave, because there no common stylistic, aesthetic and thematic traits. Every artist does as he pleases, so there is no wave. Nevertheless, we closely collaborate and help each other.

One last question: How do you think people overcome their traumas?

I don't know. I haven't overcome mine yet.

* Interview by Florentia Kiortsi

Read also: Variety’s film review, Movie Maker: Lonely Island: Argyris Papadimitropoulos on Middle Age Frustration and Shooting Suntan Without a ScriptNew York Times Review: Seduced by Youth in ‘Suntan,’ and Refusing to Let GoVillage Voice: From Greece, 'Suntan' Plunges the Madness of Old Schlubs Pursuing Young Beauties 

 

Carolina Merminga was born in Athens in 1957. She studied Law and worked as a lawyer and a journalist. She has published two collections of short stories In Love (Hestia, 2005) and Today I Will not Die (Melani, 2010), and a novel Kin (Melani, 2013) and has translated Greece's Odious Debt by J.Manolopoulos (2012) and The Second Chance by Henry James (2014). Her most recent book The Greek Doctor has been shortlisted for the European Union Prize for Literature 2017.

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Carolina Merminga spoke to Reading Greece* about The Greek Doctor noting that through the life and personal experiences of a Greek doctor (1874-1941) “Greece’s entire history of that period unfolds”. She comments that “we have not come to terms with our history”, that is Modern Greek History, adding that “following the creation of the Greek state in 1833, most historical events are linked with deep social rifts and intense political conflicts, and even today writing about them seems to mean, for many, having to ‘take sides’”.

She explains that “the large form requires commitment from both writer and reader”, while short stories equally “require huge talent if t they are not to be simply an easy-write and an easy-read”, and notes that “both forms should serve that which the story requires: the way it should be told, fully and honestly”. She comments that “writing a book means listening and devoting and abandoning oneself to an inner voice and then, afterwards, checking it: re-reading it, as a reader”, and concludes that “real writers don’t turn to writing because there is a crisis. But I hope that the crisis will make people turn to real writers”.

Your latest novel O Έλληνας Γιατρός [The Greek Doctor] is included in the shortlist for the European Union Prize for Literature 2017. Tell us a few things about the book.

It is the story of a Greek man, a doctor, who was born in 1874 and died in 1941. Through his whole life and personal experiences, Greece’s entire history of that period unfolds. Beside fictional characters appear real historical ones (kings, prime ministers and politicians, military men, writers and poets, doctors and nurses) and main historical events are depicted: four major wars, a national catastrophe, elections, civil riots, executions, etc.

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In Greece, If you decide to deal with History, it’s as if you enter a minefield”. How demanding is it to write a historical novel? Where is the meeting point between history and fiction in your writings?

I believe we have not come to terms with our history –I am referring to what is known as “Modern Greek” history, because as far as Ancient Greece and Byzantium are concerned we relate to them as to a “sure thing”, safely tucked away and frozen in time. But following the creation of the Greek state in 1833, most historical events are linked with deep social rifts and intense political conflicts, and even today writing about them seems to mean, for many, having to “take sides”. But of course the difficulty of writing a historical novel depends, as with every other kind of novel, on what the writer demands of himself: If it is to be, for instance, a light “period piece”, history serves easily as a harmless, sterilized and lighty blurred canvas. A bit like choosing the right costumes and settings. If it is to be an, as close as possible, depiction of a time, then one must be familiar not only with real facts but also with the under-currents, the stories behind-the-scene, the atmosphere.

Mostly though, I believe that the tags we add to the word “novel” (historical, political, mystery, etc.) are mainly for marketing purposes. One either writes a novel, or not; The Greek Doctor is just that, a novel. So the demands I put upon myself (and what every reader should demand) are those required for a good novel: in short, that it should be well-written. The fact that my subject matter was related to history gave me the added concern of having to be very careful with my data: I started by reading a lot of history, so that I could move my characters easily and effortlessly in it. It is important, I think, that the “seams” don’t show, and by that I mean the way with which the general History is joined with the fictional part. In such a novel, “history” is, after all, the air that both the characters and the reader must breathe, effortlessly.

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Would you say that modern Greek history is a taboo issue in literature?

In the sense I mentioned above I would say it is, at least, a “sensitive” issue, filled with controversial aspects. The writer has to tread carefully if he/she does not have an “agenda”, i.e. a set opinion he/she wishes to put across.

It has been noted that in the last few years, Greek writers have turned to short form and that short story collections have outweighed novels and longer narratives. How would you comment on this trend?

I hadn’t really noticed! But because The Greek Doctor is 576 pages long, I can say this: I didn’t want to write such a long narrative because, as a rule, I am wary of the large form. One is not Tolstoy, and in novels I dislike, above all, useless chatter. But sometimes the story itself needs width in order to unfold properly, to breathe in the right space, to allow the characters to grow and become real characters. The general rule is a simple one: the story has to be told, and has to be told right. And that was the case, I believe, with The Greek Doctor –in fact it could have been even longer, I consciously restrained myself.

But all that is not to say that the short form is easier: quite the contrary, as we all know from the great writers of short stories. And I am equally wary of those short stories that remind me of an “impression of the moment”, or a video-clip; they require huge talent if they are not to be simply an easy-write and an easy-read, pandering to the laziness of readers who also tend to skim through books (“been there, read that”). The large form requires commitment from both writer and reader: you plunge into the story, you delve in it, you live in its cosmos. So, to answer you, both forms should serve that which the story requires: the way it should be told, fully and honestly.

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Book writing and book review constitute two completely different ways to serve literature”. Tell us more.

Writing a book means listening and devoting and abandoning oneself to an inner voice. And then, afterwards, checking it: re-reading it, as a reader. That last part is very exacting, because it resembles an out-of-body experience, where you have to examine and evaluate a part of you as someone else. The only real help for a writer, in order to do this well, comes from reading a lot of other books. Because reading is a sort of training too; an experienced reader is usually a better writer than a non-reader.

Doing a book review also requires, certainly, being an experienced reader. And it entails a certain very particular talent: incorporating the book into a larger context of expertise, of educated perception, so as to give to the reader of the review the best possible “keys” to understand it and appreciate it –or avoid it! Any sensitive and careful book review is of infinite value to literature. It acts as a lesson, as an enjoyable read, and as an incentive to regard literature as something larger: as a universe in which diverse stars scintillate in different but equally exciting ways. The reviewer is the Observatory through which we better see and appreciate their twinkle.

How do things stand as far as literary production in Greece is concerned? Has the crisis been a stimulus for artistic creation?

I am extremely hesitant in commenting on this. I think people still buy books, because it is an inexpensive gift for oneself and others. And I think people write, more than ever. But because I don’t consider literature as simply “a means of expressing oneself”, although a period of crisis may help some to vent out certain feelings, it probably doesn’t help literature. Real writers don’t turn to writing because there is a crisis. But I hope that the crisis will make people turn to real writers.

*Interview by Athina Rossoglou

Kostas Akrivos was born in Glafyres, Volos, in 1958. He has published novels, short story collections, and has participated in collective editions and anthologies. His novels have been translated in Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Poland, and his short stories have appeared in many European languages. He was the editor of the series A City in Literature by Metaichmio Publications and teaches modern Greek in secondary education.

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Kostas Akrivos spoke to Reading Greece* about his latest book Τελευταία νέα από την Ιθάκη [Latest News from Ithaca], noting that it comprises “stories inspired by characters from the Odyssey, which however take place in recent times of Greek history”. He comments that only literature “may bring out and accurately depict behaviors and people whose remains fertilize the never-ending field of great history”, adding that in the book it was necessary to “forge the individual voice of each of the characters” in order to achieve accuracy and plausibility.

Asked about the preference of contemporary Greek writers for short form, he explains that short form allows them to “better and more effectively depict a wide range of personal quests and concerns”. He notes that the literary texts written for a city “constitute the best compass not only to enter a city but to leave a city relatively unscathed” and concludes that much needs to be changed in the Greek educational system so that school becomes attractive and acquires a meaningful role.

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Your most recent book Τελευταία νέα από την Ιθάκη has received rave reviews. Tell us a few things about it.

The book comprises 26 stories inspired by characters from the Odyssey, which however take place in recent times of Greek history: Penelope is a newly-wed woman who lost her husband during the German Occupation; Achilles is an army officer who fought in 1922 and deserved to remain immortal; Calypso is the mistress next door; Telemachus is a gypsy boy who yearns for his father; Athena is a mother-protector of her children; Helen is the archetypal beautiful woman always stirring up trouble; Laertes is Kolokotronis mourning for his killed son; Elpinoras is an unfortunate lad from Crete in the Balkan wars; Polyphemus is a ravenous monk; Tiresias is a resourceful fortune teller… And Odysseus is captain of this voyage as well, although an unexpected Odysseus.

In his review of the book, Giorgos Perantonakis comments that you use the myth as a way to approach History in a trans-historical, inter-temporal framework. How is history inscribed in your writings?

I’m interested in history as the framework within which a country’s past is inscribed; yet I am mostly attracted by unwritten history, meaning events and individuals that remain lost in obscurity and anonymity. I am of the opinion that literature – and only literature – may bring out and accurately depict behaviors and people whose remains fertilize the never-ending field of great history.

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What about language? How important is language in its multiple variations and dialects for the accurate depiction of both time and space?

I am an inhabitant of a great – in every respect – language. My language is my country. Within it and with it I express myself, communicate, write and dream. By writing a book like this, where polyphony was imperative, it was necessary to listen attentively and then forge the individual voice of each of my characters. I thus decided to crack the homogeneity of narration, allowing the characters instead to express themselves in their own distinctive way so as to achieve both accuracy and plausibility.

It has been noted that in the last few years, Greek writers have turned to short form and that short story collections have outweighed novels and longer narratives. Having written in both genres, how would you comment on this trend?

For a novel to be successful, it is crucial that its central theme moves beyond the boundaries of individuality or local collectivity, to embrace a universal idea. As Herman Melville eloquently put it, the theme is everything! If contemporary Greek writers feel an inadequacy in this respect, they quite successfully turn to short form, where they can better and more effectively depict a wide range of personal quests and concerns.

We need the literary profile of cities in order to be able to delve into their deepest spirit”. Tell us more.

History and Geography may be good and useful, but I believe that the best way of opening up the gates to a city is to feel its scratches, to know its paths and people, both contemporary and long gone, to familiarize with its sins, both explicit and concealed, to impress it in literature. The literary texts written for a city, meaning its literary map, constitute the best compass not only to enter a city but to leave a city relatively unscathed.

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What about the Greek educational system? How could literature become attractive to students? What role should teachers play in this respect?

There is lack of progress in many fields in contemporary Greek schools: mistakes that are repeated, indistinct and pointless objectives, ailments that remain uncured. The study of literature unfortunately remains one of the weaknesses of the education system. Much needs to be changed (books, teaching methods, priorities etc) if we really want students not to graduate semi-literate or functionally illiterate. Literature could help this change. The state however must respect literature and books, and all that is related. Only then could there be hope for school to become attractive and acquire a meaningful educational role.

*Interview by Athina Rossoglou

Elsa Korneti (1969) is a poet and essayist. She has published eight books of poetry, one of translations and one of essays, while she has translated from English, German, Italian and Spanish significant poetry works by Alda Merini, Homero Aridjis, Herta Mueller, Pieter Handke, Jochen Kelter, Margaret Atwood, Anne Sexton, Luise Glueck. Two of her poetry collections have been distinguished as shortlisted: Α bouquet of fish bones (2009) and the Pearl Tin (2011) both nominated for the National Award of Poetry. She has been awarded first prize in a national short story competition (Prize Ta Nea) and a significant national prize for an unpublished poetry collection (Prize George Karter) under the title Normal people with a plume and a brindled tail.

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Her poems, short stories, book reviews, essays and translations have appeared in numerous domestic well-known literary magazines. Her poetry has been translated into several languages and is also featured in various foreign anthologies and magazines. She organized several successful Poetry Slams and also inspired, organized and brought on stage high spirited poetic performances.

Elsa Korneti spoke to Reading Greece* about her latest poetry collection Αγγελόπτερα noting that she enjoys “experimenting incessantly in order to reach a renewed hybrid genre that resembles a poem en prose”. She comments that “Poetry and Philosophy, when in close collaboration, can lead man to nothing less than a molding of the self”. As for language, it is “the primary tool for words to become poignant and influential”, and her personal bet is “to break away, where and when functional, from rules”. She concludes that in times of crisis, poetry is “the reconstruction of a kind of moral intelligence and global conscience, the sharpening of critical thought, the evolution and progress of society”.

Your latest poetry collection Αγγελόπτερα has received rave reviews. Tell us a few things about the book.

The use of angels in Art is as old as humanity itself. I tried to imagine them as the metaphysical material filling the void between Heaven and Earth, as mediators to a reconciliation between the reality of earth and the vision of heaven - or even as an attempt to free oneself from the shackles of myths. Where it’s impossible to know who is hostage to whom. Is reality captive to the imagination or is the imagination captive to reality? Winged beings - some of them identifiable whilst others figments of my imagination - liberate themselves from their narrow confines by means of a transformation, or maybe a deformation, vanishing with angel flights inside the metaphysical poetic space. Through this elevation, they achieve some kind of catharsis and redemption, a release and deliverance from a world of filth, violence and stagnation, from a non-poetic world.

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From H αιώνια κουτσουλιά in 2007 to Αγγελόπτερα almost ten years later, what has changed and what has remained the same in your poetry?

My technique has possibly evolved and may still be evolving and I hope that this game never ends. I enjoy experimenting incessantly in order to reach, as experts call it, a renewed hybrid genre that resembles a poem en prose. My themes have also changed and no longer refer to the usual subjects of love, death, time, but rather focus on modern life issues such as the benefits and damages brought about by the electronic revolution and the ‘mashing’ by globalization.

George Steiner regarded philosophy and literature as the theoretical constructions of the exchange between the word and the world. Are poetry and philosophy communicating vessels? Where does poetry meet philosophy in your writing?

Poetry and Philosophy are indeed closely interrelated in my work; because Poetry and Philosophy, when in close collaboration, can lead man to nothing less than a molding of the self, to use Plotinos’ words, a never-ending process that leads man into becoming a sculptor and creator of his own cast, his own self. Working untiringly on the form of a poem is like molding yourself diligently and this process is unrelenting, perpetual and at the same time fascinating.

What purpose does language serve in your poetry? Is language a means towards unconventionality?

Language in poetry constitutes one of my preoccupations. My personal bet is to break away, where and when functional, from rules. Language is the primary tool for words to become poignant and influential. The more you “sharpen” it as a knife or an axe, the more powerful the blow to break the ice.

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Since the crisis began in 2008, there has been an extraordinary burgeoning of poetry in every form: graffiti, blogs, literary magazines, readings in public squares. How would you comment on current literary, and more specifically poetic, production in Greece?

Dreamers line up against technocrats –the age-old conflicting parties in battle position.

A poem is something living, a palpable act of consciousness. The modern human condition is essentially one of mistrust with the world, as is the connection between life and existence. Poetry defends existence, as existence likewise defends poetry. “I am part of my work” the poet seems to say, given that he is indeed an integral part of his poems, together with the whole palette of the human condition.

Poetry is the most peaceful manner of demonstration, a way of demonstrating the right to defend existence. Poetry is the gun which shoots a rose when you pull the trigger.

I want poetry to return by all means: practice, observation, loneliness, speech, image, rebellion”, as Jannis Kounellis aptly put it. What is the role poetry is called to play in times of crisis?

In times of crisis, Poetry constitutes a direct response from the consciousness of the world as it plunges into the depths of existence. It is the reconstruction of a kind of moral intelligence and global conscience, the sharpening of critical thought, the evolution and progress of society.

*Interview by Athina Rossoglou

Theodoros Chiotis is a poet and literary theorist. His work has appeared in print and online magazines and anthologies in Greece, the UK, the US, Australia, New Zealand, Sweden, Turkey, Poland and Croatia, amongst others. He is the editor and translator of the anthology Futures: Poetry of the Greek Crisis (Penned in the Margins, 2015). He has translated contemporary British and American poets into Greek and Aristophanes into English. He has published critical work on contemporary poetry, digital literature and autobiographical discourse in academic volumes in Greece and the UK.

Chiotis StavrosPetropoulos edited

©Photo: Stavros Petropoulos

He is a member of the editorial board of the Greek literary magazine [φρμκ], contributing editor for Hotel magazine, contributes Rhizosome, an ongoing narrative to the aglimpseof platform and has acted as associate editor for Litmus. He has been invited to read and perform his work in festivals both in Greece and abroad. His project Mutualised Archives, an ongoing performative interdisciplinary work unfolding throughout the whole of 2017, recently received the Dot Award by the Institute for the Institute for the Future of the Book and Bournemouth University. He is the Project Manager of the Cavafy Archive (Onassis Foundation). Screen, a collaborative book with London-based photographer Nikolas Ventourakis, is coming out from Paper Tigers Books in April 2017 with more projects coming out later in the year.

Theodoros Chiotis spoke to Reading Greece* about Futures: Poetry of the Greek Crisis noting that “the poets included in the book belong to, for lack of a better term, a ‘younger’ generation of poets writing, overtly or covertly, about how a significant political and fiscal upheaval impacts on society” and that “there was a very conscious decision to investigate how this experience of uncertainty and precarity carries across language and cultures”. Asked about his decision to use financial terms as titles in all of the anthology’s sections, he comments that “it felt important that poetry would approach these terms cribbed by economists from very different backgrounds and reclaim them”.

As for the current generation of Greek poets, he explains that it is “a generation that had to negotiate with their relationship with modernism and postmodernism, identity politics and notions of national and ethnic authenticity”, “a generation of multitudes”, “often challenging the concept of cultural and national boundaries on a micro and a macro level”. He concludes that “this particular historical circumstance might be a once-in-a-generation opportunity for contemporary Greek literature to be diffused outside Greece”, which means that all interested parties should “rethink the cultural, social and political implications of the translation of contemporary Greek poetry and what it might ferry across languages and cultures”.

Futures

How did the idea of Futures come up? On which criteria was the selection of the poets included in the anthology based?

Τhe anthology gestated over the period of two years. The initial seeds of the book were sown in October 2012; a two-and-a-half-year period of research and translation followed with the eventual publication of the book in November 2015. It is fair to say that the final selection of poets included in the book was dictated by a variety of factors; primarily, the poems included in the anthology tackle, engage and experiment with Greek and non-Greek poetic tradition in ways unforeseen up until now. The poets included in the book belong to, for lack of a better term, a “younger” generation of poets writing, overtly or covertly, about how a significant political and fiscal upheaval impacts on society. It was fascinating to see how this societal transition into uncertainty and precarity is reflected on both a political (personal and collective) and literary context and how these poets reflect on and mine this situation for material; furthermore, there was a very conscious decision to investigate how this experience of uncertainty and precarity carries across language and cultures.

Hence, I decided to also include poems written by poets who might not be native Greeks or second generation Greeks but have some other sort of connection with Greece. It was very important for me to explore the boundaries between languages and concepts of personal and collective identity and how these are affected and altered in times of crisis. The poets included in the anthology all experiment in fascinating, often provocative, ways with these very ideas. The anthology is a snapshot of a specific point in contemporary Greek poetic production. I am very satisfied with the selection of poets and poems included in the anthology but I certainly have regrets about the poems and poets that were left out for reasons that were purely practical. Unfortunately, a printed book is a finite product by its very definition.

Both the title of the anthology and the section titles “reflect the vocabulary of a supposedly bloodless fiscal war”, to use Adrianne Kalfopoulou’s words, while ‘Futures’ as a title is “slyly hopeful in this irony”. How did you choose these titles? And to what end?

The anthology is divided in five sections all of which derive from financial terms (Assessment, Adjustment, Implementation, Singularity, Acceleration). When researching the book, I found it fascinating how these very technical, abstract terms cribbed from a variety of disciplines have seeped into everyday language and have change how we perceive and think about certain things. I was thus very interested in seeing how one can reclaim language and how poetry can help us do that.

It also needs saying that the poems included in Futures: Poetry of the Greek Crisis form an oblique narrative laid out in the book by the use of financial terms. The fiscal and attendant social and political crisis tends to simplify and impoverish our discourse about current events. It felt important that poetry would approach these terms cribbed by economists from very different backgrounds and reclaim them; it felt not only timely but also necessary to try and reconsider how complex the quotidian really is at times like these.

How do you respond to those that talk about a “Greek poetry of the crisis” and “a new generation of Greek poets” that in a way resembles the generation of the 1930s?

I am wary of comparisons in general, if only because comparisons tend to flatten out complexity and circumstance. I would refrain from comparing any generation, including this one, with the generation of the 1930s which was a very heterogeneous group of poets and writers in its own right. The historical significance of the generation of the 1930s and its relevance to current poetic production is not only addressed but also recalibrated in certain poems included in Futures; the generation of the 1930s is certainly part of the poetic makeup of the current “generation” (again, a term I feel that is inadequate at this point) but it is also fair to say that the poets writing at the moment are also engaging with the interwar poets, the generation of the 1970s but also with non-Greek, non-Western poetic traditions that the generation of the 1930s did not.

On top of this, this is a generation of poets that had to negotiate with their relationship with modernism and postmodernism, identity politics and notions of national and ethnic authenticity. This is a generation of poets proficient in many languages, a generation which has lived (or still lives) outside Greece and carries with it strains and traces of this life experience; this is a generation of multitudes, a generation born in the diaspora or forced into becoming diasporic; this is a generation which engages and dabbles in many different art forms (music, painting, performance art, amongst others), and converses with its fellow non-Greek poets on an equal footing not only in person at various international poetry festivals and workshops but also in their work, often challenging the concept of cultural and national boundaries on a micro and a macro level.

The advancement of communication technologies has certainly altered the cultural landscape of the poets writing at the moment in ways that the generation of the 1930s could not have envisioned or experience. It is therefore very important to move beyond such binaries and comparisons and acknowledge the sheer complexity and richness of the work produced by the current crop of poets. We need to contextualise the current poetic production not in relation to what has gone before but what is happening in the present on a broader, transnational scale. Otherwise, we are doing the poets and ourselves, as readers, a great disservice.

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As Vassilis Lambropoulos notes “of all the arts, poetry has been identified as the most representative of the current national crisis. It constitutes the major cultural domain where the Greek emergency and/or exception are being negotiated”. Does poetry constitute a way to talk about the present? To what extent can it be used to debunk stereotypes related to our ancestry, our national identity and our glorious but long gone past?

Vasilis Lambropoulos’ comment is acute in its observation and I agree with it; indeed, poetry seems to have made a significant comeback but I feel that we also need to go back to thinking poetry and art in general not as means of self-expression (which I have many problems with both as a concept and a modus operandi of art) but more significantly as a toolbox. Poetry can be seen as a toolbox which one sees the world with, a toolbox one can use to understand without simplifying the complexities of the current state of the world. Poetry is an opportunity to organise and rethink how consciousness works and how it is organised and how it might work.

In these times, poetry can be a way of thinking about the new parameters of our everyday life: poetry can circumscribe, narrate and navigate the New Normal, no matter how terrifying it seems. Poetry will help us understand what is this New Normal we find ourselves living in. The current narrative about contemporary Greek poetry rightly emphasises the velocity of its response to public events and their impact on a personal and a collective level. The poems written now chart and map a rapidly changing world where poetic style and intent literally conjure personal and communal identities which are multiple, hybrid and radically other. The poems written now often force us into acknowledging long received notions of ancestry and identity as non-linear ideological constructs in need of reassessment, reframing and reshaping.

In the field of literature and especially poetry, translations of younger poets are scattered. Has the crisis ignited the interest of foreign readers for Greek literature?

It is probably fair to say that the interest of foreign readers for Greek literature has been ignited by the crisis but we should be very vigilant about this renewed interest and in what ways it might be appropriated. This is a very crucial moment for contemporary Greek literature regarding its potential promotion to a non-Greek speaking audience; in fact, this particular historical circumstance might be a once-in-a-generation opportunity for contemporary Greek literature to be diffused outside Greece. Of course, this means that translators working on contemporary Greek literature are not just mediators across languages and cultures but also ambassadors of contemporary Greek literature.

It is therefore very important for all interested parties to rethink the cultural, social and political implications of the translation of contemporary Greek poetry and what it might ferry across languages and cultures. Translation might carry its own voltage but it is both a gesture and a practice of cultural openness and hospitality. And as such, its sustainable growth and evolution needs to be supported and nurtured first and foremost by a consistent state cultural policy.

*Interview by Athina Rossoglou

Michaela Prinzinger was born in 1963 in Vienna, Austria. She studied Byzantine and Modern Greek Philology as well as Turkology in Vienna (1981-86). An academic assistant at the Free University of Berlin from 1990 to 1995, she was also a Post-Doc Fellow at Princeton University (1997-98). Since 1999, she has been a free-lance literary translator (from Greek to German), a project leader and a moderator. In 2005, she became an officially authorized translator and sworn interpreter for the Greek language.

Michaela Prinzinger Kanella Tragousti Edited

She has translated the works of Petros Markaris, Rhea Galanaki, Ioanna Karystiani, Loula Anagnostaki, and many others. In 1995, she was awarded the Joachim Tiburtius Prize, followed by the Greek-German Translators’ Prize in 2003. In 2014, she created diablog.eu, German-Greek encounters, a bilingual communication and exchange platform that aims to contribute to the proximity of Greek and German people through culture. In 2015, she received the Austrian State Prize for Literary Translation for the entirety of her work.

Michaela Prinzinger spoke to Reading Greece* about diablog.eu, German-Greek encounters, noting that “a true cultural policy should stem from civil society and not from the senior ranks of cultural institutions” and that diablog.eu has somewhat become “an alternative, unofficial Greek-German cultural institution” with a cultural policy that “comes from the base, from the center of civil society, where art and culture actually belong”. She explains that the next project underway is "the promotion of a cultural dialogue between the North and the South" through a nonprofit association in Berlin "which will aim at the development of new ideas and projects that will open up unprecedented and unexpected prospects". 

She comments that the way for Greek literature to be perceived as good literature without the need for folklore arguments is “through the development of tools that will strengthen literary translation” adding that “the Greek-German translation funding program needs an innovative approach which should go beyond unilateral, national support for translation projects”. She concludes that Greek writers are faced with almost insurmountable problems in order to have their voice heard abroad, given that, among others, “a coherent policy for the financing of current cultural transfers abroad, i.e. in the field of literature, is nonexistent”. “Yet, when there is a will, there is a way […] ideas do exist, which of course should be further spread. It’s high time the Greek state does away with its current stance”.

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diablog.eu constitutes a bilingual communication and exchange platform that aims to contribute to the proximity of Greek and German people through culture. What’s the story behind it? What are its main fields of focus and its targets?

diablog.eu, German-Greek encounters, is an online project of understanding between nations. Our motto is: culture connects; much more than money or economics. The project has sprung from the - somewhat strained in recent times - relationship between Greece and Germany. This dialogue can serve as a model for future co-operation in Europe. Up to now, diablog.eu has been a voluntary project, working only with the symbolic capital of knowledge, education and culture.

The aim is to establish a network between people, rather than institutions. To build a solid bridge, we need two pillars: the German and the Greek language. The site started as a low-budget project that draws upon the co-operation of interested and engaged people. The next step is to set up a nonprofit company. In this respect, diablog.eu will act as a laboratory of ideas and a networking tool; a starting point for many initiatives.

diablog.eu has been online since August 2014, and we also have a social media presence on Twitter and Facebook, including the Facebook group diabloggers.eu (more than 3000 members, which represent a perfect German-Greek target group). Via our social media profiles, we are reaching up to 10.000 users weekly, while our website has recorded over 250.000 visits although we have deliberately decided against news and political reporting. Our project is broadly political and we are always open to any social issues that the cultural sector is grappling with.

What led me to the creation of the bilingual cultural website diablog.eu, German-Greek encounters, was actually the response I received from German publishers and media every time I proposed a Greek issue: Nobody here is interested. I refused to accept this unconditional conviction. I had friends who had repeatedly asked me to recommend Greek writers, musicians, artists. That’s how I came up with the idea to start a platform, a knowledge base, a source of information, which would promote cultural exchange.

What motivates us is not just the idea of a network, but the involvement of civil society as well. A true cultural policy should stem from civil society and not from the senior ranks of cultural institutions. Meanwhile, we have somewhat become an alternative, unofficial Greek-German cultural institution with a more human touch, while our cultural policy comes from the base, from the center of civil society, where art and culture actually belong. Our approach is at a personal level; we do not constitute an impersonal business project but we are rather active citizens showing solidarity.

The question is: Who is responsible for a country’s culture? The state? Individual maecenas and private sponsors? Or maybe all of us, the citizens right in the center of civil society, who do not want art and culture to be considered distant, elitist phenomena?

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Would you say that, in times of crisis, culture constitutes the most effective way of communication and understanding among European countries, and especially between the countries of the South and the countries of the North?

Europe needs the concept of diablog.eu. The idea could be applied to many other North and South regional relationships, where economic decline dominates the discussion. For us, creative economy means a culture of exchange, of give and take, of gift and counter-gift.

We want to open up a channel of dialogue for people who have, up to now, depended upon mainstream media coverage. To this end, we rely on help from bridge-building translators. Our common wealth is the culture we can all share. This potential could be perfectly fulfilled through the internet. Diablog.eu is not about our differences but about our similarities. Its aim is to finally cast off this outmoded philhellenism, an idealization of the Greek heritage cultivated up to the 70s and to define anew the image of Greece through a more political perspective, i.e. stemming from resistance to the Junta (1967-1974).

It is about the work of contemporary Greek authors, visual artists and musicians, who live in Greece or who, due to personal networks, work in German-speaking areas. It is also about creative people who work in German-speaking areas and share an intellectual or personal relationship with Greece that is imprinted upon their work. It is important to show that this wealth of intellectual exchange actually exists, both to raise awareness and for pleasure.

We are already preparing the next step, namely the promotion of a cultural dialogue between the North and the South. As we speak, a nonprofit association is underway in Berlin, which will aim at the development of new ideas and projects that will open up unprecedented and unexpected prospects. Based on diablog.eu's concerted effort of the last two and a half years to cultivate a cultural dialogue on equal terms, this organisation in Berlin will be in position to offer some worthy and viable work through its effective networking. 

On the occasion of your being awarded the Austrian State Prize for Literary Translation, you said that the Modern Greek culture is not easily understandable in a German-speaking audience. What is it that German publishers ask from Greek literature? What makes Petros Markaris so popular among German readers?

The novel is of course the literary genre publishers are more interested in (and obviously the same goes for readers). The interest for short stories is significantly lower, while poetry lovers constitute a small, yet fervent sect. The most renowned and popular modern Greek writer is without doubt Petros Markaris. One of the reasons is because his German-speaking publisher is quite caring and promotes him in the appropriate way. Markaris also speaks German so he is regarded by the German media as a coveted correspondent and interpreter of Greek issues.

Through his humorous and at the same time detached – due to his cosmopolitan background – look as well as through the vividness of the characters he describes, Petros Markaris has managed to transfer his German-speaking readers to the everyday life of Athens. He refers to familiar, global issues that his readers both in the Greek and the German-speaking world can identify with.

TranslationsPrinzinger

Would you agree that when translating from a so-called “minor” to a so-called “major” language or literature, translators – as “cultural politicians” to use your own apt characterization - do sometimes hold remarkable power, including the power to produce what will in many cases become the only interpretation of a work of literature available in a given language. How do you respond to this power?

Every translation has its own expiration date, which has to do with the evolution of language as a living and constantly changing system. Every translator has his/her own responsibility. In literature, mistakes are much less important compared to those made within a political or legal framework. A misunderstanding in a literary text doesn’t usually cost human lives, although it is rebuked by some literary critics and readers as a crime. Let’s not exaggerate. Languages are open symbol-bearing systems, which allow for different interpretations. A word may hold both great power and weakness, as you mention in your question. Through subtle linguistic variations, I can approach the reader or alienate him from a text – and the same goes for a way of thinking or a mentality.

What actually continues to restrict Greek literature, despite efforts to become known in Europe and the world, is the legacy of the “Zorbas syndrome”; that folkloristic image continues to exert influence”. Do you see a way out?

The real question is: How can modern Greek literature be perceived as good literature, without the need for teasers, such as pictures, motifs and folklore arguments? The answer is only through the development of tools that will strengthen literary translation. When it comes to historic research and the field of academics, such measures can actually have desirable results. This is obvious, for instance, in the cases of Deutsch-Griechischer Zukunftsfonds [Greek German Fund of the Future] and the Stavros Niarchos Foundation. There isn’t anything similar in literature.

The Greek-German translation funding program needs an innovative approach which should go beyond unilateral, national support for translation projects. In this way, there would be created an interesting approach for other “language pairs”, so that the Greek-German example could act as a pioneer in the European cultural mediation. Literary cultural exchange would thus be improved, would exceed national borders and would be implemented at a European level in the fields of language, culture and mentality.

Our proposal is: The idea starts from two linguistic and cultural areas – a German-speaking, comprising Germany, Austria and German-speaking Austria, and a Greek-speaking one, including Greece, Cyprus and the Greek Diaspora. It refers to a dialogue between these cultural areas, a dialogue which has so far been unilaterally funded, that is by each respective nation. It’s about moving beyond this approach and creating a transnational Fund that will be financed by national, regional and inter-regional funds, private organizations and institutions, as well as by EU funding.

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What about the potential and prospects of the new generation of Greek writers? Would it be possible for them to debunk stereotypes and create a new narrative about Greece?

In one way or another, good literature debunks stereotypes. That’s not the issue. What worries me more is that both younger and older writers are faced with two major, almost insurmountable, problems:

a) In German-speaking publishing houses, there is almost no permanent personnel, that is editors, that know Greek. This reduces the chances of a book being evaluated right from the start. The editor should speak out and support a book in order to convince the publisher and his colleagues of its quality. That’s something quite difficult when the editor doesn’t know the language. Given that there is no tradition for translations of modern Greek, each editor (as well as each translator) has to start the evaluation and mediation virtually from scratch.

b) From my personal experience in Greece, there is no coherent cultural policy in general, let alone a cultural policy addressed to the outside. What is true for every other Greek state policy also applies to the cultural state policy: Major projects are implemented by active individuals and the intervention of the state leads to projects being impeded. In addition, GREAT strength and patience are required by Greeks themselves, who have to wait for months, if not years, to receive their earnings or potential funding.

Let me give you some concrete examples from the field of books and literary translation, which I know well of: The National Book Center of Greece (EKEBI) and the European Translation Center (EKEMEL) were among the first victims of austerity. Hellenic Foundations for Culture abroad, among which that of Berlin, ceased operations or are under-operating. A coherent policy for the financing of current cultural transfers abroad, i.e. in the field of literature, is nonexistent.

Yet, when there is a will, there is a way. And as I have already mentioned, ideas do exist, which of course should be further spread. It’s high time the Greek state does away with its current stance.

*Interview by Athina Rossoglou