Poetry For Me

 Poetry For Me

 

    

In May I posted an article where I set down some thoughts on what poetry is for me. Way further back, over ten years ago, I included one of my poems in a post without any real comment on it. So now I redress that omission by describing the stages of thinking I went through and how eventually the poem crystallized into its current, more compressed form.

It relates to a fellow passenger on the local bus who intrigued me. She left a mark on me that was what prompted the poem to express or even exorcise that experience from my mind.

The opening of the poem is a bit back to front in that these were questions that beset me towards the end of the bus journey but are placed at the beginning as an introduction, to engage the reader, to express my responses, to provide an aspect of universality, as it were, to move away from the personal, the physical and emotional.

Initially the image presented is one of a cared for, attractive lady but there is also a sense of alienation – she doesn’t sit with us, she differs from us in her deliberate distancing and in her evident agitation. There is, however, a warmth of sharing in the activities she performs 

‘admitting her into an embracing sisterhood’

 that we also perform on a regular basis: groping for something in our handbags, applying  lipstick – to make ourselves more presentable.

In the penultimate verse, I begin to formulate some questions which are further developed in the opening verse. What has made her like this? Where is she going?

In the final verse, we feel almost a rejection on her part as she turns her back on us/the bus.

And with an apparently uncharacteristic strength of purpose - ‘then singularly resolute’ – she walks off to her destination – a destination that provided me with the answers I needed.

Poem : On the Vasilika Bus 23.3.13

Who or what caused her                      

To keel over, to tip beyond                                                                                                                            The point of no return?                                                                                                                                  What crisis reduced her life                                                                                                                            To the unimaginable, unbearable?

Head bent, eyes cowed, 

She sits on the steps of the bus.

Well-dressed against the morning chill in fleece jacket and hooded sweatshirt

Her grey hair warmed chestnut with golden highlights

Yet it seems she has no place

In our bus

In our society

In our world

Her hands express agitation

They put in place a floral headband only to yank it off

Then she dons cheap plastic sunglasses

She shrug-sheds her jacket

 Raises her hood then pushes it back

To entwine some strands of hair 

In an orange scrunchie

Suddenly she unzips her bag

Fingers blindly groping

Intent she searches and retrieves

A lipstick

Her rapid act of application

Is disarming and endearing

Enhancing herself and admitting herself

 Into an embracing sisterhood

Is her lipstick applied for a lost love

An anticipated meeting 

In response to a remnant of her sanity

Her fragmented femininity?

Again her fingers fumble

This time to ring the bell

To bring her lowly bus trip

To an end.

At Nea Raidestos she alights hesitantly

And crosses the road

Then singularly resolute 

She turns her back on us/the bus

And heads towards the cemetery.

Tradition

 

 Here is Z sitting in front of what was the village school – now having undergone the educational equivalent of deconsecration! The building belongs to the local council within which operates The Castle Cultural Association of the Didymoteicho Council. This group, manned by volunteers, has in many ways brought life to the village – a place where locals can enumerate the houses which now lie empty, whose lights have gone out and where that dark emptiness gradually creeps over the community.                                                     

That’s why the work, chiefly of the volunteer Giorgos Topalidis, is so important. Through his efforts the classrooms have been transformed into a folkloric museum, recording the past of the village of Koufovouno and its people. This museum has become so well known that coaches arrive from other areas, with people who are interested in seeing what has been achieved here.

But his contribution doesn’t just encapsulate the past, it touches our present as well. Giorgos helps arrange a variety of cultural events and we meet up with friends and relatives to enjoy one such evening together.                                              

He has organized a convention of over 80 Thracian bagpipers and drummers from all over Thrace – from Orestiada to Xanthi. As they made their mass entrance, playing in unison, I felt quite overwhelmed and nostalgic for our bagpipes. Most impressive!                                        

Giorgos had been planning to improve part of the school yard structure and appearance; Z and I had been so impressed by his project that we made a donation to help realise these plans. In return they kindly invited us as official guests to the event and we were presented with a commemorative plaque to express the association’s gratitude – very touching.                                                   

What really impressed was that they said that fifty years ago the youngest Thracian piper was 65 years old!! That night the youngest one was a 12- year-old – and one accomplished enough to perform in public!                                         

                                                   

There was even a lady piper – a former school mate of Z. Well done, one and all. Evidence of event success and community revival? We left around 2am and both pipers and dancers were still going strong!                                             

Now we move to our local Vasilika area where Thomas, a friend, wears traditional costume as one of the dancers from the Thermi Council Cultural Association. This was a Council -organised Thracian Dance celebration set on the campus of the International University of Greece. We now feel all Thraced-up! 😊                                         

It was lovely to see so many young people are learning traditional dance and are actively involved in local dance troupes.                                             

This last photo displays cuteness personified: a little group of very little children with their attentive teacher always nearby.  Can you believe the youngest dancer was 3 years old!? Just got the balance and mobility stuff sorted, then you roll into performing three sets, including a gloriously stampy Podaraki!!

                                      

It is so gratifying to see young ones being encouraged and supported by volunteers, teachers and organisers, so readily giving of their time to keep cultural traditions alive. Respect! 😊

Tripping to Attica.

  It was time to take a trip to Attica, the peninsula that encompasses the entire metropolitan area. Angeliki and I wanted to meet up before she headed off to Durham to coordinate classes at the pre-sessional courses at the university. That evening we had arranged to meet old friends for dinner, so Angeliki had prepared a ‘snackette’ as Colin would say!  We had the most delicious spinach and leek tart along with her famous ‘dolmadakia’ – fresh stuffed vine leaves– can’t refuse any of that!

                                      

We eat and chat on her cool balcony, in the shade of her amazing lemon trees –bliss!                                  After a wee siesta we get gussied up for our night out in the centre and take the metro to Monasteraki.

                               

We walk round Plaka - the tourist area with the Acropolis overseeing all. Around there there are the most beautiful neo-classical buildings. The pinks and blues below enhance the scene. The Ancient Greeks possibly painted their buildings in such warm tones – they liked a splash of colour!

                                  

As we walk along the cobble streets, we hear tongues from around the entire globe as the visitors explore the area. Being among this international throng gives me a wonderful sense of being on holiday too!

And so we make our way to our chosen restaurant; one by one the gals arrive: first Alison, then Marissa, and Marina arrives just as the audience applauds the two guitar and bouzouki-playing singers as they finish a set. Dramatic entrance!

                                              

       The following evening Mercouris, Angeliki’s husband, has requested we leave free as he wants to take us out to dinner. The venue is opulently decorated. It’s a deli-restaurant so, as well as biological foodstuffs on display, there are hand-made items of clothing and jewellery.           

                                   

Here are my delightful hosts, enjoying a fine Hedgehog Rose from the Alpha Estate in Florina, NW Greece. Its blurb promises floral aromatics and fruity tones. And so it was. 😊

                                 

From the open kitchen these delicacies were delivered: pasta with salmon in a truffle cream sauce, stuffed beefsteak with thrice-cooked potatoes and steak with chips. This was accompanied by a refreshing cucumber and watermelon salad. Not of the faint-hearted, we actually managed to sample their chocolate pie with caramel ice-cream. Utter decadence!

                             

On my final day, my lady-buds decided we needed one more meeting before my departure – brunch! The seaside setting of Voula again put me in full-force holiday mood.  Our gourmet brekkers looked like this:  French toast with strawberries and blueberries, egg-white omelettes with mixed green salad. Me? I couldn’t resist the cheese-filled crispy pastry rounds topped with fig jam …. mmm!                           

                                               

 Although I had added a few of Angeliki’s luscious lemons to my original baggage load, I felt sure it would not exceed the 8-kilo limit. But after all of that consumption I was afraid the airline might deem me as being overweight. Sadly, very true! Time to go diet !! ☹

                             

Visiting and Vergina.

 

Our friends, Jean and Max, came from Canada to join a Medi cruise and shake off their winter snow. We were ken for them to sample Greek cuisine while they briefly stayed with us, so some meze awaited them with ouzo, of course. In the evening we munched on moussakas.  Our breakfasts together featured oat cakes and lemon curd, tsoureki or brioche, and the renowned local pie, bougatsa, both cheese and cream varieties.                                              

With only one full day here, we thought Vergina might be the best short trip to go on. Here we are on top of the hill – not such a short walk, unfortunately - at the site of the Palace of King Philip II, father of Alexander the Great.                                                              

Below we see what looks like folks emerging from a hole in a hill. This is known as the Great Tumulus at Aigai. It covers and protects the tombs found within which remain in situ.

                                                     

 In fact, when Rosie and I first visited Vergina – then under excavation by Professor Andronicus’ team – in 1978 all there was to see was a hole in the hill and some ladders – no access allowed, understandably. Imagine our surprise when, as we sipped our coffee in a nearby café, a little local lad came running in calling for coffee and ouzo for the team who had just made a discovery – with lots of gold. This was most likely to be Tomb II, the one generally associated with Philip II. We were almost as excited as he was - there, in the making of history.                                               

Within this tomb were found these golden greaves, or shin protectors. We see one of them is shorter than the other, one of the factors that had Andronicus believing that these belonged to the lame King Philip.                                                       

On the way home we drove through Thessaloniki city centre, a whistle-stop sighting of the port, The White Tower and Alexander the Great’s statue. We ended the day with the traditional gyros, pitta bread stuffed with roasted meat, chips, tomato, onion and tzatziki – nice!

                                                   

Next morning, the Boss was delighted to hear Max admire his vineyard and we went for a quiet walk, watching the guinea fowl bobbing among the carpets of daisies and poppies in the next field.

At a local restaurant we had lunch – good food, huge portions! Then all too soon it was time to wave our pals off at the airport.                                                      

It is grand to maintain friendships of yore – we spent hours chatting about people and events remembered - almost as of another lifetime! It is special, too, to share your living space with friends.                                                       

But they left two wee holes in our hearts and in our hearth. Haste ye back!

Poetry

 

A special event we attended recently was the annual Thessaloniki Book Fair. Our niece, Maria, had travelled from Sweden to promote her recently published poetry book. Here she is with her very proud uncle at Poetry Box, where a collection of poets – a pod? – discussed whose works had influenced them.

                                                  

  I’d have preferred to hear exactly what features they had introduced to their writing as a result of that influence. Otherwise, it could have, and did in places, not go far beyond name-dropping. There I go with my Lit Crit background! ☹

It does take courage to expose your inner self in text form and she’s obviously very excited about this new phase in her life. We wish Maria all the very best for her book sales and her career.

                                                            

Writing in any form, in my view, consists of several different phases. I have devised this procedure when encouraging my final year Lykeio students to produce text as part of their US university application.

1)      Frequently it is our emotional response to something, our caring, which impels us to write. We need to select a subject that fires and inspires us as it needs to be strong enough to sustain us through the process. Yet, these emotions need to be measured, contained, controlled, otherwise coherence and clarity can be lost.

2)      Then we move beyond the emotional to the cerebral, the conceptual phase: why do we feel this way? Why does it affect us? What do we learn from it? Try to see if there is something that will appeal to others. Remember we write to convey a personal perspective on a public platform. We’re not simply expressing our feelings, that would be personal, diary-writing. We need to find universality. From this initial brainstorming, we select key ideas, refining them, prioritizing them, ordering them linking to produce overall coherence.

3)      At the final stage we consider our language, our mode of expression. We do this with our audience and the effect we wish to engender in them firmly in our mind. Choose words that merge, match or contrast to give maximum effect on the reader. The language must be appropriate, expressive, exact.

Poetry is the most complex form of expression: its very nature is that it is condensed in meaning, concise, succinct. It is crafted, it has style, it is an art form.

It has particular characteristics such as rhyme, lines, metre - the rhythm structure of a verse or stanza.

 Let me give some examples of different poetic forms:

Haiku

A Japanese form originating in the 17^th century, it is condensed, often with references to nature, of 3-line stanzas, usually of a 5-7-5 syllable count.

 This is one I wrote on the demise of a beloved dog.

                                            

Dear Ivan has gone

All around us nature mourns

In sweet shades of mauve.

 

 We loved him dearly

 He brought sunshine to our lives

Kalo tou taxidi.       (This is a Greek traditional condolences wish: May he have a good journey)

  

 On a lighter note, I leave you this poem by Brian Bilston, quirky observer and word-craftsman! Enjoy!

                                             

 

Spring

Recently the householders were on a trip to Crete, a niece was holidaying in Barcelona and a friend who was in China had invited me to join her – I felt a tad envious!!  However, on Easter Sunday, having finished the household chores, I walked down the dirt road to offload the rubbish. Here we don’t have collection services nor do we have bins nearby. So there I was, swinging the refuse bags when I stopped to enjoy the environment.                                                        

 Nature was beginning to wake up, the cold wind had stopped and the atmosphere was warming up, birds were singing and poppies were growing in swathes all around. And in that moment I felt at peace, contentment, the sense that there was nowhere else I would rather be. You may not feel such emotions frequently but when you do everything merges into a pleasing life tapestry and your spirits are charged.

                                                    

But this surge of nature brings hard work: in the vineyard the plants are beginning to bud but the grass there has become quite unruly. Weeding around the bases is done initially and then the tractor clears the channels between the rows.                                                     

Then you can sit back and enjoy ….. the fruits of someone else’s labours! 😊

                                               
The picture below was taken one week after the previous ones and you can see how fast the vines leaf - some even already sport embryonic grapes!                                             

My great joy is when the roses start to bud; these are the first ones: rich crimson blooms.

                                              

The angelica bush will soon be in flower. I have my vase ready to display them both in a glorious fragrant nosegay.

Easter

 Behold a beautiful harbinger of warmer weather. Here in Greece, lilac is called the Easter tree. Sadly, it doesn’t last long once cut, but its fragrance is intoxicating.  

                                                            

Another tree flourishing now is known as the Judas tree, again equally beautiful with deep mauve flowers, and verdant green leaves which follow.

                                                         

Typical Orthodox Easter preparations are baking the plaited sweet bread, painting the eggs and hanging red material on the balcony to indicate you’re doing so, the lamb/ goat rotating on the spit, emanating delicious aromas. The local Peristera tradition of building a bonfire and burning the Judas effigy on top has been done too – it’s all done and dusted.                                                    

What remain are memories of the festive fare enjoyed at the table of friends.  We really appreciate this invitation as our host is an ex-chef! Being from Thrace he had made, as well as lamb, potatoes, meatballs and salads, a dish called tzsigero sarmas, the closest thing I’ve found to haggis.  Our haggis is more delicately chopped and the innards’ flavours tempered with the inclusion of oatmeal.  Lots of preparation is  involved and it was very tasty! Above is a close-up

                                                      

Our householders spent Easter in Crete with their daughter and her French in-laws - all accommodated in three villas complete with pool. in store. Minas is very proud of his beautiful French hens who lay pretty, little eggs. When they returned, I made a dish for them unknown and were invited to cut into.  Imagine his surprise to find their eggs nestling inside. The scotch eggs were a success, I’m glad to say.                                                     

That was our first-of-the-season meal out on the patio and we raise our glasses to many more! 😊