Reblog : Περίπου το 30 π.Χ.



  Δόξα! Δόξα!
Σήμερα Πρωτη του Καλοκαιριου και ενω οι λέξεις-κλειδια που οδηγουν στα μπλογκ μας μαρτυρουν ότι παρα πολλοί ανθρωποι ψαχνουν πληροφοριες για καμπινγκ στην Ικαρία, εφετος η αγαπημενη μου Νανα δεν νοιαζεται για «τις αναγκες του κοινου ενοψη του Αυγουστου» (♦). Φευγει πιο περα, μακρια. Δινει το στιγμα της, δημοσιευοντας το…  


Περίπου το 30 π.Χ.

. «Εδώ λοιπόν που λέτε είχαμε εκλογές και κυκλοφόρησε κόσμος και αν και δεν δυσαρεστήθηκα με τα αποτελέσματα, δεν την γλύτωσα και μελαγχόλησα όπως πάντα το παθαίνω με την πολλή πολιτικούρα. Ευτυχώς όμως γελάσαμε με το … (διαβαστε περισσοτερα)

Με τετοιο πνευμα, τρελη διαθεση και πολλη δουλεια…

ΚΑΛΟ ΚΑΛΟΚΑΙΡΙ!!!


(♦)Παρολα αυτα, αγαπημενοι αναγνωστες, επειδη δεν θελουμε να γινουν ποτε ξανα

http://worldwideeyes.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/freecamping_stiker.gif?w=315&h=221 αυτα τα πραγματα
η προταση μας για να κανετε καμπινγκ στην Ικαρια βρισκεται στο

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Paper Island


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Why some islands are not just islands?

Why can some islands be both real and fictional?

Why do some islands attain a second life in literature?

What do some islands seem to attract big ideas, illusions and dreams?

Why are some islands, more often than others, chosen as sceneries of tales of escape?

Why do some islands appear in novels, satires, utopias and moral tales, more than other islands?

Why some islands, besides being made of rocks and soil like all islands, can also be, as I am calling them, paper islands?

First pages of Jesuit Johann Bissel's satirical novel of 1637 with engraved allegoric title and engraved utopian map of Icaria with imaginary names of cities, rivers, etc.

I say, the more an island is an island, the more it makes you dream

Because democracy is no good in dreaming, we can say it loudly :

  Some islands are more islands than other islands

«The élan that draws humans toward islands extends the double movement that produces islands in themselves. Dreaming of islands – whether with joy or in fear, it doesn’t matter – is dreaming of pulling away, of being already seperate, far from any continent, of being lost and alone – or it is dreaming of starting from scratch, recreating, beginning anew. Some islands drifted away from the continent, but the island is also that toward which one drifts; other islands originated in the ocean, but the island is also the origin, radical and absolute.»

Gilles Deleuzes 

I have found the words of this contemporary French philosopher through a comment by a learned person in Kristin’s blog or Mararoa’s blog which unfortunately I am unable to spot now. That comment linked to a chapter of the glorious wikispace «Dream Islands» which I think, sustains and explains my humble thoughts herebefore. That chapter is entitled:

Scope of Islands

Island as a ‘catch-all’ concept

After Deleuzes’s quote it goes:

«Islands burn into the minds of children from an early age. They emerge in the first literature where they are prominent in Homer’s Odyssey, and Plato’s island of Atlantis is perhaps the most famous mythical island of all time. The seclusion and autonomy that an island suggests has nourished the literary imagination for millennia, but the island setting as a site for the spiritual, emotional, or psychological transformation of human character has remained a constant in Western literature. The Greeks were the first to develop the island-book as such, but Roman writers showed much less interest in insular themes. On the fringes of Europe, Island stories were generously developed in the ‘imrama’, which were medieval Irish accounts of mythical Atlantic island voyages of chiefs and saints.
From Homer to Charles Kingsley the island narrative..

The other chapters of Dream Islands are very enlightening too. Notably :

An antidote

«Islands are no longer bound up so immediately with a self-sufficient agrarian life, its rituals and the cultivation of social solidarity. They instead begin to function as an antidote to the increasing division of labor and social stratification of the mainland. For modern islanders their environment functions as a vehicle for the display of individual temperament, talent, and interest, which runs against the grain of a standardized mainland global consumer culture. Islands therefore become loci of the impress of distinctive personality, interest, and emotion in sensuous production. In particular, they often function as a font of individual artistic production compared with the old rituals and epics, such as the poems of Homer, primeval biblical history and the Icelandic sagas, which linked everyone to common ways of life.

An important resource for modern islanders is nature. What we seek on islands is what we love in nature. Friedrich Shiller described…»

Classification of islands

«A dream island is a distinctive and desirable place to be, which is defined within a physical, cultural, administrative, biological, mental, or virtual boundary. It is likely that most people’s dream islands would fall within the physical, administrative and biological categories.»

(Don’t miss the link to «Cultural Islands» )

 Islands – poetry and art

«Paradise or Purgatory, Heaven or Hell, islands leave no one indifferent – and least of all the world’s artists, poets and writers, musicians and scholars, as reflected in the sampling the following links : Writings and Art

Unfortunately the link to the last chapter «Islands as Utopias» is no more valid. Instead, I am giving you a link to the standard Wikipedia :

List of fictional islands

That was all on the subject and I think it wasn’t too little. Read about one of the oldest ideas in the world and be inspired. But some day leave the paper behind and follow the dream to find out what truth there is to it. Defy the distance and sail through the shoals and the booming high surf.

A real island may be waiting for you thereafter and therein.

Ikaria, October 26, 2013

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What I believe


 

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Peaceful naked moments in Nas Ikaria

Photo by Danai_lama on Instagram by Danai_lama  (‘Danai_lama’)
taken in Ikaria, featuring in her Instagram

Poetry by J.G. Ballard



What I believe

I believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, to release the truth within us, to hold back the night, to transcend death, to charm motorways, to ingratiate ourselves with birds, to enlist the confidences of madmen.

I believe in my own obsessions, in the beauty of the car crash, in the peace of the submerged forest, in the excitements of the deserted holiday beach, in the elegance of automobile graveyards, in the mystery of multi-storey car parks, in the poetry of abandoned hotels.

. . .

I believe in the death of tomorrow, in the exhaustion of time, in our search for a new time within the smiles . . .

. . .

I believe in madness, in the truth of the inexplicable, in the common sense of stones, in the lunacy of flowers, in the disease stored up for the human race by the Apollo astronauts.

I believe in nothing.

I believe in Max Ernst, Delvaux, Dali, Titian, Goya, Leonardo, Vermeer, Chirico, Magritte, Redon, Duerer, Tanguy, the Facteur Cheval, the Watts Towers, Boecklin, Francis Bacon, and all the invisible artists within the psychiatric institutions of the planet.

I believe in the impossibility of existence, in the humour of mountains, in the absurdity of electromagnetism, in the farce of geometry, in the cruelty of arithmetic, in the murderous intent of logic.

I believe in adolescent women, in their corruption by their own leg stances, in the purity of their dishevelled bodies, in the traces of their pudenda left in the bathrooms of shabby motels.

I believe in flight, in the beauty of the wing, and in the beauty of everything that has ever flown, in the stone thrown by a small child that carries with it the wisdom of statesmen and midwives.

I believe in the gentleness of the surgeon’s knife, in the limitless geometry of the cinema screen, in the hidden universe within supermarkets, in the loneliness of the sun, in the garrulousness of planets, in the repetitiveness or ourselves, in the inexistence of the universe and the boredom of the atom.

. . .

I believe in the non-existence of the past, in the death of the future, and the infinite possibilities of the present.

I believe in the derangement of the senses: in Rimbaud, William Burroughs, Huysmans, Genet, Celine, Swift, Defoe, Carroll, Coleridge, Kafka.

. . .

I believe in the next five minutes.

I believe in the history of my feet.

I believe in migraines, the boredom of afternoons, the fear of calendars, the treachery of clocks.

I believe in anxiety, psychosis and despair.

I believe in the perversions, in the infatuations with trees, princesses, prime ministers, derelict filling stations (more beautiful than the Taj Mahal), clouds and birds.

I believe in the death of the emotions and the triumph of the imagination.

. . .

I believe in anxiety, psychosis and despair.

I believe in the perversions, in the infatuations with trees, princesses, prime ministers, derelict filling stations (more beautiful than the Taj Mahal), clouds and birds.

I believe in the death of the emotions and the triumph of the imagination.

I believe all reasons.

I believe all hallucinations.

I believe all anger.

I believe all mythologies, memories, lies, fantasies, evasions.

I believe in the mystery and melancholy of a hand, in the kindness of trees, in the wisdom of light.

J.G. B.

The full poem without my arbitrary omissions can be found at https://i1.wp.com/static.mediapart.fr/sites/all/themes/mediapart/mediapart_v4/images/mediapart.png

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Το Πέλαγος του Βοριά



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Ikaria 157 - The Sea

.Τ ο  π έ λ α γ ο ς  τ ο υ  β ο ρ ι ά

 

Εκείνο που οι Αμερικάνοι

όταν έρχονται, ονομάζουν

καμιά φορά Ωκεανό

γιατί δεν φαίνεται

τίποτα στον ορίζοντα

σαν να είναι η άκρη

κάποιας ηπείρου,

αφού βρέξει και έχουν πλυθεί

οι αιθέρες και έχει απλωθεί

σιγαλιά, τότε πότε-πότε

μου δίνει

και βλέπω

διάφορα.

Παραδείγματος χάριν:

Πρώτα, τα δελφίνια,

κι ύστερα μια ψαρόβαρκα

που κάθε μέρα ψαρεύει

επίμονα στο ίδιο σημείο.

Στο βάθος, μακριά στο κανάλι

περνούν φορτηγά φορτωμένα ίσως

τσιμέντο, σιτάρι, αυτοκίνητα,

εκτυπωτές. Και γιγαντιαία

πετρελαιοφόρα.

Αργότερα λίγο πριν σουρουπώσει,

μπορεί να δω σαν φάντασμα να περνάει

καμιά πυραυλάκατος,

ή ένα -πιο ειρηνικό-

μικρό ιστιοπλοϊκό

που θέλω να πιστεύω

πως θα ‘ναι κανείς

Νορβηγός που κάνει

το γύρο του κόσμου,

ή ακόμα ίσως μια φίλη μου

που βαρέθηκε “να κάνει

αθροίσεις σε χοντρά

λογιστικά βιβλία”.

Όταν νυχτώνει περνούνε περίλαμπρα

τα κρουαζιερόπλοια: Μασσαλία,

Νάπολη, Μύκονος, Έφεσος.

Ίσως την ίδια ώρα, απ’ την άλλη μεριά

ξεκινούν να περάσουν απέναντι

στα μουλωχτά γυναικόπαιδα

μετανάστες τους προμαχώνες

του Κάστρου Ευρώπη.

Κι επιτέλους κάποια ώρα

διασχίζει το μαύρο τελάρο

κάτι πιο γνώριμο, το καράβι

απ’ τον Πειραιά, εκείνο που

φέρνει τον καφέ μου και τα τσιγάρα μου.

Φωτοβολίδες, ανεμοστρόβιλοι, παράξενες αναλαμπές,

σύννεφα σαν αρχάγγελοι, μια φορά μου φάνηκε πως

είδα ένα φυσητήρα (διάβασα κι έμαθα πως πράγματι

συχνάζουν), μεγάλα πουλιά, γερανοί, πελαργοί,

αγριόκυκνοι.

Μια μέρα ονειρεύομαι πως θα φανεί εκείνο

το μαύρο πειρατικό με τα πενήντα κανόνια

που γράφει ο Μπρεχτ στο τραγούδι του Βάιλ,

ίσως ακόμα την ίδια την Pirate Jenny,

θριαμβεύουσα.

Γιατί στο πέλαγο μπορεί να δει κανείς

otinanai

Γιατί στο πέλαγο…

ta panta rei

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Εδω Ελενη.

Καθως βρισκομαι στην Ικαρια σημερα ειχα διαθεση να παρουσιασω στο μπλογκ μου το παραπανω ποιητικο κειμενο που εγραψε αγαπημενος φιλος γι αυτα που βλεπουμε με τα ματια του σωματος και της ψυχης οταν απο τα βουνα του νησιου μας αγναντευουμε το πελαγος.

Το Πελαγος του Βορια” ανηκει στη σειρα otinanaiπου ο φιλος μου δημοσιευει σχεδον καθε μηνα στο ikariamag, το διαδικτυακο περιοδικο της Ικαριας που μας ενημερωνει και μας κραταει συντροφια.

Ελεύθερες Πτήσεις : otinanai

Για να το εικονογραφησει, διαλεξε μια φωτογραφια που εβγαλα εγω καποτε σε μια χειμωνιατικη πεζοπορια στα βουνα και μου εκανε μεγάλη χαρα και τιμη λεγοντας μου πως του εδωσε εμπνευση.

Χαρα και τιμη οχι ομως εκπληξη. Μοιραζομαστε την ιδια αγαπη για τους ανοιχτους πελαγισιους οριζοντες, την ίδια φαντασια και περιεργεια για τα θεαματα και τα θαυματα που κρυβουν και φανερωνουν. Αληθεια, αυτο το κομματι θα μπορουσαμε να το ειχαμε γραψει μαζι.

Πφφφ… κολακευομαι…

Στην πραγματικοτητα ειναι ολο δικο του.

Γι αυτο, αναδημοσιευοντας στο μπλογκ μου, αντισταθηκα στον πειρασμο και δεν προσθεσα αλλες φωτογραφιες εκτος απο τις αρχικες, δηλαδη εκτος απο τη δικη μου στην αρχη και της Πελαγιας απο τη Σαμοθρακη στο τελος.

.Καλο Χειμωνα

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I shall foot it (TUGTII #2)


The Unofficial Guide to Ikaria Island #2

Rock Litany

Ikaria 224, («Rock Litany») originally uploaded by isl_gr.

Comments

Eleni Ikanou in Ikaria

«I shall foot it
Down the roadway in the dusk,
Where shapes of hunger wander
And the fugitives of pain go by.
I shall foot it
In the silence of the morning,
See the night slur into dawn,
Hear the slow great winds arise
Where tall trees flank the way
And shoulder toward the sky.

Ikaria 303 - Mother carrying baby on her back

The broken boulders by the road
Shall not commemorate my ruin.
Regret shall be the gravel under foot.
I shall watch for
Slim birds swift of wing
That go where wind and ranks of thunder
Drive the wild processionals of rain.

The dust of the traveled road
Shall touch my hands and face.»

~ Carl Sandburg, 1878-1967 ~
Additional photos by Chr. Malachias

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http://0.gravatar.com/avatar/a9f7823e81235a78c0403b4be7b53709?s=96&d=identicon&r=G Powered by egotoagrimi

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Freedom in Xylosirtis
 
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Καλως Ηρθατε στην Αντιμυκονο 😊


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«We try to make a world of our own» by Nana Agrimi | Flickr


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Καλώς Ήρθατε στην ΑντιΜύκονο
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island summer by Karina Logotheti on FlickrΝέα Νήσος Αναδύθηκε
Ανατολικά της Μυκόνου.
Καλώς ήρθατε
στην Αντιμύκονο.
Μη την αντιστρέψετε.

crab | film by Karina Logotheti on FlickrΓιατί θα καταστρέψετε
Μια όμορφη αντιδιαστολή.
Απαραίτητη και πολύ βολική.

Melina | film by Karina Logotheti on FlickrΓιατί όπου υπάρχει μια
Μύκονος, πρέπει να
Υπάρχει μια Αντιμύκονος.
Δεν θα σπάσουμε
τον καθρέφτη
Δεν θα βγούμε απ’το όνειρο

koritsia ston ilio | film by Karina Logotheti on FlickrΣτην πραγματικότητα όπου
Όλα είναι Ένα
(Το οποίο είναι
πράγμα αβάσταχτο,
τρομερό).
Δεν θα βγούμε.
Όχι ακόμα τουλάχιστον.

Alex | film by Karina Logotheti on FlickrΚαλώς ήρθατε
στην Αντιμύκονο,
Το καινούργιο νησί
που αναδύθηκε φέτος
Ανατολικά της Μυκόνου.

lightlovenature on InstagramΓια τη δική σας ευκολία
Θερμή παράκληση
από τις αρχές:
Περπατάτε στα νύχια.
Όλα είναι Όνειρο.


☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁



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Αυτο ηταν ενα αυτοσχεδιο ποιημα που εγραψα και στα Ελληνικα και στα Αγγλικα απο μια ιδεα που γεννηθηκε στο μυαλο μου καθως κοιτουσα μια φωτογραφια μιας φιλης μου απο την Ικαρια το καλοκαιρι. Στολισα το αρθρο με διαφορες αλλες εικονες που νομιζω οτι ταιριαζουν στο νοημα. 😊
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Welcome to AntiMykonos
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Simple old room in IkariaEastward of Mykonos
A New Island has emerged.
Welcome to Antimykonos
Do not reverse, please.

βάθρα | film by Karina Logotheti on FlickrBecause you will destroy
A beautiful contradistinction,
Requisite and very
convenient,

LUZ by Maria Zaferina on InstagramBecause where there is
Mykonos
There must be Antimykonos.
We aren’t breaking
the mirror,
We aren’t getting out
of the dream

νους υγιης σε σωμα ελευθερο (Ικαρια 1)Into the reality where
All is One (which
Is thing unbearable,
terrible). We are
Not getting out of it
-not yet at least.

νους υγιης σε σωμα ελευθερο (Ικαρια 2)Welcome to Antimykonos,
The New Island
that emerged
Eastward of Mykonos
this year.

For your own convenience,
Kind request by the
authorities:
Walk on the tips
of your toes,
All is a Dream.


☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁



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That was an improvised poem that I wrote in both Greek and English from an idea that came to my mind as I was looking at a friend’s photo from Ikaria in the summer. I adorned the article with several other pictures that I thought they fit to the meaning. 😊
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Here, Let Me Stand


Ikaria 231
Εδώ ας σταθώ. Κι ας δω κ’ εγώ την φύσι λίγο.


Comments

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mountain ash2005 says:

What a beautiful shot of a peaceful morning….

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simonsterg Pro User says:

coO0ool!
Is that mist rolling down the side of Kerkis?
How does it seem so close?

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isl_gr Pro User says:

(added notes)
the poem where the Greek title is from goes on and says something like «… in the morning hour everything looks beautiful and BIG.»

«όλα ωραία και μεγάλα…»

‘mountain ash’ did you recognize the poem and the poet?
Alexandria? sweet gay guy? eeh?

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simonsterg Pro User says:

…aha! (seeing notes) – now I feel foolish – I had wondered if you had suddenly found a telephoto…

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mountain ash2005 says:

I don’t know the poem El, but I have seen early mornings like these – mainly when I am leaving the island, so they are always poignant and very beautiful. And everything seems big, and it is impossible to believe that this is being left behind…. (I will try and find the poem now!)

view profile

Tragopodaros says:

I am lost for words at this one; it has all of Ikaria for me….

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cheeseontaoist says:

Excellent picture, it dwarfs all my pictures of the same subject….

view profile

angeloska says:

@ you have a sure foot ! How high up you stood there (to repeat a comment on Ikaria 233) ? Why does everything look so beautifully distorted?

@ » Εδώ ας σταθώ κι ας δω κ’ εγώ τη φύσι λίγο.

Θάλασσας του πρωϊού κι ανέφελου ουρανού

λαμπρά μαβιά και κίτρινη όχθη. Όλα

ωραία και μεγάλα φωτισμένα.

Εδώ ας σταθώ. Κι ας γελασθώ πως βλέπω αυτά

(τα είδ’ αλήθεια μια στιγμή σαν πρωτοστάθηκα)

κι όχι κ’ εδώ τες φαντασίες μου,

τες αναμνήσεις μου, τα ινδάλματα της ηδονής.»

Sooo cool El … From all the people ONLY YOU could call the poet K.P. Kavafis a «sweet gay guy» !!!

view profile

mountain ash2005 says:

Morning Sea

Let me stop here. Let me, too, look at nature awhile.

The brilliant blue of the morning sea, of the cloudless sky,

the shore yellow; all lovely,

all bathed in light

Let me stand here. And let me pretend I see all this

(I actually did see it for a minute when I first stopped)

and not my usual day-dreams here too,

my memories, those sensual images.

Constantine P. Cavafy

I didn’t connect to Kavafis the other evening, but I should have picked it up from your comment El. Anyway, I found a translation….perhaps not an accurate one, but it still fits your picture perfectly.

view profile

isl_gr Pro User says:

@ simonsterg : I tell you the islands are like a mountain range sunk. Didi you know? They say that the caves of the prehistoric man are now under the sea.
@ trag : it’s because your land base is in Armenistis and this is a ‘bye-bye’ picture as ‘mountain ash’ pointed out.
@cheeseontaoist : can’t beat a Lomo ! I just found myself in the right spot the right time.
@ angeloska : 1) sure have a sure foot ! What would I be doing in Ikaria if I didn’t… 2) And I’d call Seferis «fat moody guy», ok? What’s your problem?
@ mountain ash : This is one of my most very best poems ever. Kavafis was a 100% urban poet. This is the only verses he wrote about nature, that it was like a vision to him and still the most real even if it lasted for a few secs. (the translation is somehow ‘puritan’ -there should be a better one)
@ everybody : THANKS A LOT

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Tragopodaros says:

No, its much more than that for me – you have captured the heights and depths and mysteries (hidden in the folds) of the island.

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Tragopodaros says:

Yes, «puritan» is an interesting term to use about a translation, but actually, Ashy, it is possibly TOO accurate. O Trag will now be inspired to do his own…at…some…point.

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simonsterg Pro User says:

Now I know that cavemen strolled between Atheras and Kerkis, stopping off briefly to sketch a mamoth in the valley, I feel better.
But this is a side salad because…
►►►
live translation of poetry is happening on this page!
►►►
will it be loud and brash or louche and limpid??
►►►
watch this space!

view profile

Tragopodaros says:

And keep watching, as patiently as the poet.
Posted 14 months ago.

view profile

isl_gr Pro User says:

see if you can give a close translation to the «indalmata tis idonis» (idols/visions/models of physical/sensual pleasure ?) and I’ll be down on my knees.
I *really discovered nature* an early morning long ago as I was out and escaping from a lover’s bed who I had idealized too much.

I like to think that *sweet gay guy* had probably found himself in the same situation with a boyfriend down in Alexandria in the 1910s. He left the room and *wow* what did he see? dawn in the gulf of Alexandria !

view profile

mountain ash2005 says:

so it signifies a different kind of leaving too – but also new beginnings. We’ve all been there….

view profile

Tragopodaros says:

Here, let me stand. Let me stand here awhile
and see for myself this natural world.
The morning sea, a cloudless sky,
the glistening blue, the yellow strand.

All so perfect, vast and bright.

Let me fool myself I see all this
(for in truth, I saw it all at once)
and not those things imagined, here:
my memories, the baubles of indulgence.

view profile

simonsterg Pro User says:

░░░░░░░░░
loud applause
░♪░░░░♪░░
Posted 14 months ago.

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mountain ash2005 says:

Bravo Trago!! I knew you would rise to the challenge….. You don’t disappoint, & your version far outstrips the other.
Posted 14 months ago.

view profile

simonsterg Pro User says:

… and you posted it in the small hours… did ‘baubles of indulgence’ come in a flash or were there lots of screwed up balls of paper and empty beer bottles on the desk? Whichever, Atheras and Kerkis bow down and underwater Mammoths trumpet!
(but will girl s be satisfied??)
Posted 14 months ago.

view profile

angeloska says:

from me too, Bravo Trago !
Posted 14 months ago.

view profile

Tragopodaros says:

We’ll just wait for El, then.
Posted 14 months ago.

view profile

isl_gr Pro User says:

pls make some room here friends; this is a shot taken a month ago with Trag in my mind and loaded tonight again specially for Trag. Take it *da man* and drive it to the clouds :-)) x El

Ikaria 234

P.S. *da man* or *ye da man* is an abbreviation of a friendly *you there man* (like the Greek, ρε συ). I learned it from the Africans in Athens and Pireus. Like they, so do I use it for my equals and friends to show them my affection, respect and admiration w/o sounding like a pompous *malakas*
Posted 14 months ago.

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Tragopodaros says:

Okay, thanks El that is the best gift you could give….wish I had taken this shot.

Thanks all. I did the whole thing inside half and hour, but had to wait until the wee hours to get enough peace. The baubles bit was about ten minutes and yes a few crossings out, but no screwed-up paper.

I feel like I have hijacked El’s page now…
Posted 14 months ago.

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mountain ash2005 says:

Not hijacked, just complimented.
Posted 14 months ago.

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angeloska says:

complimented indeed – because El doesn’t like garbidge and wrecked cars unless they are piled or parked orderly, or I don’t know how, like in:
www.flickr.com/photos/isl_gr/96890349/
Posted 14 months ago.

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isl_gr Pro User says:

no, no, it’s ok. It’s just that I didn’t have a boy brother. But I can understand the art in *broken dolls on piles of rags* very well.
Posted 14 months ago.

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Peppetta says:

Mount Atheras: the cloud maker.
I rimember in a perfect blue sky day the clouds appear on the top of the highest peak, coming from nowhere.
A kind of magic?
Posted 13 months ago.

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isl_gr Pro User says:

*the early bird catches the worm*
(missed you Pep; I was looking through your favorite pics just yeasterday. Very Good taste and not too much *glamour photography* -though an Italian -lol)
Posted 13 months ago.

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Peppetta says:

I misssssed you too El
thank you dear but …what a shame! there are too much naked women pictures in my favorites!
Posted 13 months ago.

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isl_gr Pro User says:

Oh, I didn’t mind ‘Pep’. I’m not going to make a scene on you here ((in front of all the people). Let’s just stand and watch the nature, as the poet suggests, shall we?
Posted 13 months ago.

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Peppetta says:

I LIKE nature!

Comments

(2 total) Post a Comment

after a yellow goat pested land, you give us sapphires! your favorite gems and colors -:))

Tuesday July 31, 2007 – 11:44pm (EEST) Remove Comment

Ωραία τα ζαφείρια, αλλά πειράζει που ο Καβάφης κι εγώ δεν τα πάμε καλά;

Wednesday August 1, 2007 – 06:37pm (EEST)


WHY IKARIA? An interview with Eleni.


In Ikaria I went to be by myself, in the sense that I wanted to keep away
from the human hubbub and the noise. For me it is the island of controlled
loneliness. I went there to lay off, but also to work on a script.
There are open horizons all around. They can widen the imagination.
Over and above the place is located absolutely on the perimeter of
developements, without however being ever outside. It's in orbit
like a satelite and this is a very good seat for somebody like me
whose job is to generate ideas.

(This is Nana. The following interview is sure to debunk those who want to believe Ikaria as a soporiferous island. That’s all I had to say in place of an introduction. I should also say that I did a lot of mending to improve the word order so that the whole thing made sense. I mention this in case somebody thought we talk like that when we are between us…)

Yaaa…

– Ya sou.

After two years of hard work abroad, you spent an entire winter and spring in Ikaria. Why?

– In Ikaria I went to be by myself, in the sense that I wanted to keep away from the human hubbub and the noise. For me it is the island of controlled loneliness. I went there to lay off, but also to work on a script. There are open horizons all around. They can widen the imagination. Over and above the place is located absolutely on the perimeter of developements, without however being ever outside. It’s in orbit like a satelite and this is a very good seat for somebody like me whose job is to generate ideas. This, I mean the generating of ideas, by the way, is like a national sport for the locals. Everybody have various opinions on everything. There is a philosophical consideration of the reality, a continuous searching. That was good but at the same time it took all my self-discipline so that I was able to finish my work without being drawn away into this game; neither drift into the dramatic landscape nor be sucked up by the notorious slow times which the landscape imposes. When I was through with the work, ok then I let myself drift and be sucked up for a while.

So you used the island as a base, but you didn’t want to be sucked up?

– It’s precisely as you say. In order not to mingle and interfere with my work, whatever I saw and thought about Ikaria I wrote in my blog or I said it with photos in Flickr. Again a lot of discipline was needed; and I confess that I messed up quite a few times; thought of letting everything drop and become an Ikarian hippie. Fortunately I love my job and the friends I have there and the money that come from my work and provide for my independence; so I always brought myself back to order.

How much can you reveal here about the script?

– It’s nothing too original. It has to do with the way the general policies, ideas and popular trends affect a small insignificant place. About how these trends are digested, distorted or even, you may say, come up better. How they are «materialized» as a technocrat would say. At the same time the opposite can happen as well and there lies the juice of the story: how a small insignificant place can affect in its turn, if not the central events, at least a few, very few people of which some may be important in their own special way and prove able to affect the central events.

Is it about the 17N?

– No, no … (roaring laughter) …

Yet it has to do with Ikaria?

– There is a distant relation. My favourite island helped to inspire, that was all. The story takes place in another location which I thought was very alike. It’s not an island, though. After so much travelling I am pleased to say that there are many Ikarias in the world and many of them are in Europe, although we do not usually consider our continent as contradictory and exotic… (laughter) You may find an Ikaria, for instance, in some remote provinces, in valleys between mountains, or even in some uptown urban quarters -that’s not uncommon in mid-eastern Europe.

The year before last you walked the entire part of the E4 trail from Hungary to Greece. In this particular route how many Ikarias did you encounter?

– A lot. You can’t imagine how many. The only difference with the Ikaria we know, is that’s it’s an island, not metaphorically but actually. There are very strict geographical limits and that’s easier to take and more productive as far as the concept is concerned. On the other hand these limits are too restricted; the concept would be clear but the story would be limited. It might come out as a description of customs and folklore and I wanted to avoid this. Yet… look, I might not have written a script with a setting in Ikaria, however, after I finished the script, as an adjacent return from all those long hikes in the mountains and the ravines I turned up with a few nice fairy-tales.

Is it what you said already? I mean that you eventually let yourself get sucked up?

– I have always liked to invent and tell stories. Having all the time and space at my disposal in Ikaria for the first time I let myself set my strories on stage and I tried them with myself as an actor as well. So In the natural settings of the island I pretended to be «The Doe» and the «Fair Maid Sang» from two Greek folk songs that I adore; I improvised Ophelia of Shakespeare, «The Maid of the Castle» (that’s from Ikaria); and from the modern figures I acted the «grouvalina» in Chalares river – (laughter)

Why not play «the good terrorist» too?

– Whatever but not such fantasies, dear! Nor a nun or a missionary either, roles that sound to me very close to what you ‘ve just said. They get me down; not to tell you they dispair me. I reject anybody who prays for me or shoots a gun for me or in my name in order to save me without asking me.

How about an ecologist then?

– Yes, but only for me, not for the others. Yet why should I have acted this part? What else was I but an «ecologist» in the way I behaved in Ikaria? With my organic potato garden and my endless hikes in the hills, the herbs I collected and so on, what was I but an ecologist? But don’t you think this term has degenerated to mean almost nothing? Half of the Ikarian women I know, are «ecologists». It’s not a part for a fairy-tale. It’s a real attitude in life.

Did you also act Icarus?

– No. To begin with he was a man and secondly because the story has a bad end. From winged beings I played «Serafina», a female angel of my own invention … (laughter …pause)

Are you going to do something with these stories set in Ikaria? Professionaly, I mean.

– The island is very convenient for such RPG situations. First of all nobody gets you wrong as long as you don’t offend and disturb anybody; and then there is no strict code for a respectable lifestyle. You don’t have a problem if you appear in the supermarket in dusty clothes or dry weeds in your hair. I can tell you that they may take it like an honour…

As evidence that you had «friction» with the nature of the island? (laughter)

– Yes, as long as you are not like that all the time. This would be disrespect and «grouvalization». I, for instance, more than once have appeared sweat-soaked and in rags and the next time I showed up all clean and with my hair well-made in a nice and neat afternoon clothes set… (laughter)

That’s a useful tip for some people to know. Anyway, let’s get back to my question.

– I admit that I slipped off your question on purpose. These stories are my own personal, private things. I may narrate them verbally; I may give ideas to others; but I won’t turn them into «work» : written narratives with scenic directions and detailled dialogues. They are my own salutary schizophrenia and I want to keep them so that I can change them once in a while according to my mood. In short, they are my girlish utopias and I won’t sell them. Or at least this what I think of the matter right now. Who knows, maybe when I am old, I change my mind. Or maybe the environment of Ikaria goes bad, or another danger comes about and in that case I may decide to be a «committed writer» and raise hell. (laughter…) But for the time being and with the baby I am unable to think of such activistic situations. My baby is enough activism for me now –

(These last sentences were said while Sideraki had started to cry. And so here the interview with Eleni was interrupted and stopped. Yaaaa-aaa… We speak again soon.)

Athina Sk.

Comments

(7 total)

As you may have noticed, in this interview there are no links for photos and other supplementary information. You are free to use your imagination.

Monday January 29, 2007 – 09:48am (EET)

Fascinating; my goal is to drift off into the landscape, with neither haste nor hesitation. You hiked the E4 Hungary to Greece? I offer a humble bow.

Monday January 29, 2007 – 08:50am (PST)

Drifting into the landscape? Well said. That’s Nana’s specialty to a degree extreme. Labors for hours across thornbush lands for sport. The mad Cretan bloke doesn’t need paths -:

Oh please don’ t bow about the E4. ‘Twas a smashing experience. It offered me good reason to curl up like a cat in Ikaria soon after.
Btw, there is a E4 related thread in Flickr group «hiking».

Tuesday January 30, 2007 – 12:58pm (PST)

(for ‘simonsterg’)

Η ΛΑΦΙΝΑ

Όλα τα λάφια που βοσκούν όλα δροσολογιούνται
Και μια λαφίνα ταπεινή δεν πάει μαζί με τ’ άλλα
Μόνο στ’ απόσκια περπατεί, τ’ απόζερβα αγναντεύει
Κι όπου βρει γάργαρο νερό θολώνει το και πίνει

Κι ο ήλιος την ερώτησε κι ο ήλιος τη ρωτάει
Γιατί λαφίνα ταπεινή δεν πας κοντά με τ’ άλλα
Μόνο στ’ απόσκια περπατείς τα απόζερβα αγναντεύεις
Κι όπου βρεις γάργαρο νερό θολώνεις το και πίνεις

Ήλιε μου Σα με ρώτησες θα σου το μολογήσω
Δώδεκα χρόνους έκαμα μόνη χωρίς ελάφι
Δώδεκα χρόνους ήλιε μου στείρα χωρίς ελάφι
Κι από τους δώδεκα κι ομπρός εγέννησα λαφάκι.

Και σαν εβγήκε ο βασιλιάς να λαφοκυνηγήσει
Το βρίσκει μοσχανάθρεφτο και το διπλοσκοτώνει
Γι αυτό στ’ απόσκια περπατώ τ’ απόζερβα αγναντεύω
Κι όπου βρω γάργαρο νερό θολώνω το και πίνω

Κι ο ήλιος τότε δάκρυσε και τα βουνά ριγήσαν
Και το φεγγάρι έσβησε ν’ ακούσει το ελάφι
Κι οι λαγκαδιές κι οι ρεματιές μαζί του αναστενάξαν
Κλάψε με, μάνα κλάψε με, με ήλιο με φεγγάρι.

Tuesday June 10, 2008 – 11:45am (PDT)

(for ‘simonsterg’)

THE LAFINA

All the deers are grazing and drinking clear fresh water
All but a humble Lafina (she-deer) who doesn’t go along with the others
She is walking in the shadows, she is turning her head away
And where she finds spurting water, she stirs mud and then she drinks it.

And the Sun asked her, and the Sun is asking her
Why humble Lafina, you don’t go along with the others?
Why are you walking in the shadows, why are you turning your head away?
And why where you find spurting water, do you stir mud and then you drinks it?

Oh Sun, since it’s you who’s asking, I will confess to you
I had been without a calf for twelve years
Sterile, ny Sun, without a calf for twelve years
And after those twelve years were over, I bore a calf at last.

And when the King came out to hunt
He saw that it was well-bred, he shoots two arrows and kills it on the spot
This is why I am walking in the shadows and I am turning my head away.
This is why where I find spurting water, I stir the mud and then I drink it.

And then the Sun bleared and the mountains quivered
And the Moon extinguished on listening to the deer
And the dens and the ravines sighed with her
Cry for me, mother, cry for me with the Sun and the Moon.

Tuesday June 10, 2008 – 11:47am (PDT)

I liked the ideas

…and beautiful poem

now I need to stay silent

Wednesday May 13, 2009 – 09:02pm (EEST)

Stay silent as long as you wish. Silence in part of «The New Eloquence». Thank you.

Wednesday May 13, 2009 – 12:32pm (PDT)


ΤΑ ΠΑΛΙΑ ΚΑΡΑΒΙΑ (…)


..

ΤΑ ΠΑΛΙΑ ΚΑΡΑΒΙΑ

Ειδα τα παλια καραβια να περνουν
αρμενιζοντας κοιμισμενα σαν κυκνοι,
να περνουν στ’ ανοιχτα του χωριου
που και σημερα ακομα ονομαζεται Τυρος.
Φορτωμενα αιωνες βαρεις σαν μολυβι,
τις πλωρες τους βουτωντας βαθια,
τραβουν για Αμμοχωστο, για τον ηλιο
που κρυφτηκε.
Κανει τωρα την καταμαυρη Κυπρο
να παλεται μεσα σε λιμνη φωτιας.

Σιγουρα ηταν παλια αυτα τα καραβια –
ποιος ξερει με ποσα ρεσαλτα και βροντερες
κανονιες, ποσες φορες ορμηξαν κι αρπαξαν
μελαψους σκλαβους η πορτοκαλια της Συριας
οι Γενοβεζοι πειρατες.
Με βουρδουλιες τους πετουσαν ανασκελα,
μεσα στα αμπαρια, ανακατα αιμα, νερο,
φρουτα και πτωματα.

Τωρα ομως διασχιζουν απαλα φιλοξενες θαλασσες με χρωμα
βαθυγαλαζο του πελαγου η γαλαζοπρασινο του γιαλου,
κεντημενες οπως τοτε και τωρα χρυσαφενια σταφυλια
και φυλλα αμπελιου.

Τζεημς Ελροϋ Φλεκερ

.


.

Comments

(2 total)

I must confess that I was motivated to compose this article after a half hour of daydreaming on a deserted Ikarian shore where I was all by myself (or almost) 😀 But I didn’t know exactly what to write. And later, when at home, I received Flecker’s poem in a comment under one of my photos on Flickr! wow!
..

Naked on the Ikarian shore, gazing for old sailing vessels
..
It doesn’t look to bad, so
1st I want to thank each one of the 10 voters who chose a colour in my previous entry -especially the 8 who chose my colour (which has no name). This of course was stageset by me (the clown, some say) and thank you very much for taking part. Who voted for «slave brown»?
2ndly, here I’m trying my hand in tranlating in Greek «Parnasian» (?…) poetry. Parnassus is a Greek mountain. How did I go? Angelos? Nana?
3rdly, the photo… ha ha… «The illusion of grandeur» ! I or one of my friends may write about it. I have no more space in this comment box.

Thursday October 19, 2006 - 12:38pm (PDT)

9/10 !
Your verses don’t rime like in the original but your Old Ships have a better rythm and measure. I don’t know what poet you are; you sure are a singer, baby…

I-da tAa paliA ka-arAvia nA-a pernOUn
a-armeNIzontas sAn ki-misMEnoi KYknoi

Socratis Malamas style

p.s. Funny painting; looks like from a ceiling; please someone explain; Genoese pirates/conquistadores boasting of the massacres? 😮

Friday October 20, 2006 - 11:33am (EEST)

I don’t know what to say. I’ve lost my ability to judge anything. Your photo has knocked me down! 😮

Saturday October 21, 2006 - 09:12am (EEST)


Picture and Poem to match (October 08, 2006)


.
Ikaria 299, Redemption Song, by Eleni Ikanou on Flickr
.

The old ships


I have seen old ships sail like swans asleep
Beyond the village which men still call Tyre,
With leaden age o’ercargoed, dipping deep
For Famagusta and the hidden sun
That rings black Cyprus with a lake of fire;
And all those ships were certainly so old —
Who knows how oft with squat and noisy gun,
Questing brown slaves or Syrian oranges,
The pirate Genoese
Hell-raked them till they rolled
Blood, water, fruit and corpses up the hold.
But now through friendly seas they softly run,
Painted the mid-sea blue or shore-sea green,
Still patterned with the vine and grapes in gold.

James Elroy Flecker

I received this poem as a comment
by an Irish friend in one of my pictures
on Flickr under the title «Redemption».
In a few days I will have it translated in Greek:
«Ειδα τα παλια καραβια να περνουν
αρμενιζοντας κοιμισμενα σαν κυκνοι...»

Ετσι, για να θυμηθουμε τους Παρνασιστες ποιητες.
Και για να μη με αποκαλουν ολη την ωρα μερικοι-μερικοι,
Μανω-λενη …Αναγνωστακη !

Which colour is your favourite?
Syrian orange?
1
Mid-sea-blue?
4
Shore-sea-green?
12
Slave brown?
7
Vine green?
10
Grape gold?
3
The colour of my photo?
19
.
[poll closed]
.

Comments

(8 total)

Smart poll that one, oh Parnassian… You’ve made us imagine and God knows how much we need colours!… Try your hand with a translation. I’m very curious. Meanwhile, give us the awesome photo of your daydreaming. I think it will be the color that I love. 😉
Monday October 9, 2006 - 11:09pm (EEST)
Of course, my friend 😉 Here you are…
.

Eleni in Ikaria, October 2006

.
Monday October 9, 2006 - 11:09pm (EEST)
The first is glacier blue. The second is shore-sea-green. Your body is grape gold
Monday October 9, 2006 - 02:44pm (PDT)

Thanks! But glacier blue’s cool… tooo coool … brrr!…

.
Ikaria 298, Redemption Song, by Eleni Ikanou on Flickr
.
Tuesday October 10, 2006 - 11:43am (PDT)
xou-hartabar pok pok ? that’s a cool new link on your blog-roll! yes, «the wheel» has spun a goo-ood round!
May *the force* be with us…
Saturday October 14, 2006 - 09:47pm (EEST)