Balkan Culture

 

Eva Stamatopoulou was born in 1976 in Athens. Her parents were both educators. She has lived among Agrinion, London, Stuttgart, Athens, Corfu and Kalamata. In 1993 she graduated from the German School of Athens and in 2002 from the Department of Foreign Languages, Translation and Interpreting of the Ionian University. She lives in Mikri Mantinia, a suburb of Kalamata and works as a freelance translator and editor. In 2014 she published her first collection of poems with the title “The unchangeable light of my soul” (editions …poema, Koroni).

She has been writing poems since she was 12 years of age (1988) and prose since 2004.

She has had published several poems, some short stories and some translations of Elias Canetti at Facebook and also a vignette (Fractal.gr e-magazine, HOW TO SEDUCE).

In 2017 she published her second collection of poems with the title “The invisibles of the sun (and everything around you is but light)” (Enallaktikes Ekdoseis (Alternative Publications, Athens).

Some poems and pieces of prose have been published at various electronic magazines (Vakchikon, Fractalart.gr).

She has been awarded with a “Praise” for her poem “Stars so bright to shine upon me” at the Second Literary Competition of the Central Public Library of Kalamata.

Η Εύα Σταματοπούλου γεννήθηκε το 1976 στην Αθήνα από γονείς εκπαιδευτικούς. Έχει ζήσει μεταξύ Αγρινίου, Λονδίνου, Στουτγάρδης, Αθήνας, Κέρκυρας και Καλαμάτας. Το 1993 αποφοίτησε από τη Γερμανική Σχολή Αθηνών και το 2002 από το Τμήμα Ξένων Γλωσσών, Μετάφρασης και Διερμηνείας του Ιονίου Πανεπιστημίου. Ζει και εργάζεται ως ελεύθερα απασχολούμενη μεταφράστρια στη Μικρή Μαντίνεια Μεσσηνίας. Το 2014 εξέδωσε την πρώτη της ποιητική συλλογή «Της ψυχής μου αναλλοίωτο φως» (εκδόσεις ..poema., Κορώνη).

Γράφει ποίηση από 12 ετών (1988) και πεζά από το 2004.

Έχει δημοσιεύσει δύο πεζά και κάποιες μεταφράσεις του Ελίας Κανέττι στο facebook και ένα χρονογράφημα (Περιοδικό Fractal.gr_ΜΑΘΗΜΑΤΑ ΓΟΗΤΕΙΑΣ).

Το 2017 εξέδωσε  τη δεύτερη της ποιητική συλλογή «Του ήλιου τ’ αφανέρωτα (και όλα γύρω σου είναι φως)» (Εναλλακτικές Εκδόσεις).

Ποιήματα και πεζά της έχουν δημοσιευτεί κατά καιρούς σε διάφορα ηλεκτρονικά περιοδικά (Βακχικόν, Fractalart.gr).

Έχει λάβει Έπαινο για το ποίημα της «Άστρα που με φωτίζατε» στον Β’ Λογοτεχνικό Διαγωνισμό της Δημόσιας Κεντρικής Βιβλιοθήκης της Καλαμάτας.

 

A rainfall in August

• This rainfall is not
• Like the others
• No – its raindrops are thick
• Lavish arrows
• That caress motherly the sea’s sternum
• There, near the sea’s bosom
• Further away from the lips of the sky
• That touch her back
• But I cannot see
• Their flawless embrace
• It is far away, and I do not care
• This rainfall is not like others
• No – bouts of relief
• From the Earth’s heart
• How much she wanted the rain
• How much she was awaiting it
• And see how her pores
• Wide-open receive their nourishment
• The cheeks grow red
  And its chest
• Rhythmically and countlessly
  Explodes and rechews
• A grand erotic Speech
  «Freedom lush, so lushly free me»!

 

EARTH

• 
  Born out of the earth
• And moulded from the earth
• I try to balance on Mother Earth
• As my gaze
• Feverishly worships the heavens
• And I turn my glimpse
• Upwards
• Inwards
• But I refuse to let it
• Dwell into my earthly haven for too long
• The scales once bend to the earth
• And once on the intangible
• My query that is torturing me
• Where do I stand in this world
• Of only a few feeders
• With scales that have no soul?
• Athens, May of 1993

 

EVA (11 years later)

• The tree you were told to avoid
• I built it with delusions
• And crumbs of life
• Whatever was given to me I denied
• And I stuck in screws and crowbars
• There where I almost managed to see the Light- and I bent -
  As if I smelled the mold of its fruits
• And so, I received the kick I deserved
• And so, I crawl into the darkness
• Of my vicious cycle:
  it only took me one year –
• Such a cheap act!
• I fastened ungratefulness at the sea-shores
• Of my Omega
• And I harvest aridity
• The desert around me does not make a sound!
  or I have gone deaf, on my side.
• -I wash myself into my numbness
• And with my shadow I lie down every night
• If I am allowed to talk about our Birth
• Out of the scars of thy abdomen
• Then the effort is void, as it seems
• And I throw at your face
• Anything furtive I was wearing as a name until now.

 

Eva

1. I imagine thee erect, fair and beautiful
2. Adam’s Companion!
3. You, who dared to break your vow
4. You, who stood at his side at the difficult times
5. But even if you were not beautiful, it was you who seduced the First Man on Earth.
6. 
   You were the foundation of mankind
7. First among all others. Second after HIM.
8. Made from HIS shoulder.
9. Part of HIS BODY.
10. I imagine thee at Eden, the heavenly place, lying happy on the ground.
11. You, who were furiously ravaged by Evil
12. By convincing your spouse
13. Doubled the punishment
14. That was awaiting both of you.
15. First Woman!
    You met HAPPINESS
    It fled from your hands
16. But you survived, tried hard and lived.
17. This effort was rewarded.
18. Eva, Mother of all Mothers!

 

The mirror

1. A mirror which is cracking.
2. It is cracking slowly, quietly, lonely into loneliness
3. The crack begins at one edge, but it reaches the middle.
4. When the crack reaches the heart, the mirror will explode.
5. Then I will be born.
   Maybe you will be born.
6. You, who helped the crack evolve because of your ignorance.
7. You, who supported the crack because of your frozen indifference.
8. You, who promoted and enhanced it because of your irresponsibility and incapability.
9. The crack is coming close to the heart and the mirror throws up bits of glass.
10. You do not see them.
11. You do not feel them.
12. You do not want to see them because they are located at the other side of the glass.
13. When the crack reaches the heart, the mirror will explode.
14. Maybe then I will be born.
15. Maybe then you will be born, too.
16. But you might also die if your thick skin does not perceive the tiny
17. Little glass particle that was wedged in the corner of your eye.
    Then, you might open your eyes and see.
18. Then, you might wash your ears and listen.
19. But I will have been born.
20. And I will watch you trying to remember what
21. Existed in the empty frame before the explosion.
22. And I will be laughing.
23. And I will be crying.
24. But, most of all, I will have been BORN.
25. Maybe you decide to look at the other side of the mirror
26. And, maybe then you will see the crack and prevent it from growing.
27. Maybe then you will be born as a Human Being.
28. And then I will be born again.
29. In another manner, though.
30. With an explosion and a rainfall of tears.

 

Ο ΚΑΘΡΕΠΤΗΣ

• Ένας καθρέπτης που ραγίζει.
• Ραγίζει σιγά, σιωπηλά, μόνος μέσα στη μοναξιά.
  Το ράγισμα ξεκινάει από μία άκρη, μα φτάνει ως το μέσο.
• Όταν φτάσει στην καρδιά, ο καθρέπτης θα εκραγεί.
• Τότε θα γεννηθώ.
• Ίσως γεννηθείς κι εσύ.
• Εσύ που βόηθησες το ράγισμα με την άγνοιά σου.
• Εσύ που το υποστήριξες με την παγερή αδιαφορία σου.
• Εσύ που το προώθησες κι ενίσχυσες με την ανευθυνότητα κι ανικανότητά σου.
• Το ράγισμα πλησιάζει στην καρδιά και ο καθρέπτης ξερνάει κομματάκια γυαλί.
• Δεν τα βλέπεις.
• Δεν τα αισθάνεσαι.
  Δεν θες να τα δεις γιατί βρίσκονται στην άλλη μεριά του γυαλιού.
• ΄Όταν το ράγισμα φτάσει στην καρδιά, ο καθρέπτης θα εκραγεί.
• Ίσως τότε να γεννηθώ.
• ΄Ισως τότε να γεννηθείς κι εσύ.
• Μπορεί όμως να πεθάνεις αν δεν αντιληφθεί η χοντρή σου πέτσα το μικροσκοπικό κομματάκι γυαλί που σφηνώθηκε στην κόγχη του ματιού σου.
• Τότε, ίσως ανοίξεις τα μάτια σου και δεις.
• Κι ίσως καθαρίσεις τα αυτιά σου κι ακούσεις.
• Εγώ θα έχω όμως γεννηθεί.
• Και θα σε βλέπω να πασχίζεις να θυμηθείς
• τι υπήρχε πριν από την έκρηξη στην άδεια κορνίζα.
• Και θα γελάω.
• Και θα κλαίω.
• Μα, πάνω απ’ όλα, θα έχω γ ε ν ν η θ ε ί.
• ‘Ίσως να θελήσεις όμως να κοιτάξεις στην άλλη πλευρά του καθρέπτη.
• Κι ίσως τότε να δεις το ράγισμα και να το προλάβεις.
• Ίσως τότε να γεννηθείς Άνθρωπος.
• Και τότε, θα γεννηθώ και πάλι.
• Αλλιώς όμως.
• Με μια έκρηξη και μια βροχή από δάκρυα.
• [Μαρούσι, 03.05.1991

 

ΕΚΡΗΞΗ ΣΙΩΠΗΣ

Στον πατέρα μου

• Αγροικάω
• Κρυφακούω – θροΐσματα και ψιθύρους
• Στους ελαιώνες της νιότης μου
• Αναζητώ ψηλαφώντας
• Την εικόνα
• Την παρουσία σου
• Μα –φευ!- λείπεις
• Μια έκρηξη σιωπής
• Διαδέχεται τ’ όνειρο που ‘ρθε
• Στην ξώπορτα μας σαν εφιάλτης
• Τον ζω ή με ζει;
• Να ελπίζω ή να μην;
• Κι όλο σε αναζητώ
• Μα η έρημος γύρω μου δεν βγάζει κιχ!
• Αφουγκράζομαι
• Μα δεν ακούγονται καρδιακοί παλμοί
• Ή άλλη υλική απόδειξη
• Απόδειξη ότι σε έχω
• Και ότι δεν τρέφω  δεσμό με ένα όνειρο
• Μια πνοή ανέμου
• Έναν άνθρωπο
• Εσένα, Πατέρα
• Η έκρηξη αρχίζει από την καρδιά
• Του καθρέπτη
• Και απλώνεται ολούθε γύρω μας
• Σιωπή – να σ’ εξαντλήσω
• Ή θα μου φέρεις καλά μαντάτα;
• Ότι ζει, ότι έχει πάει ταξίδι εδώ κοντά
• Ότι η σιωπή δεν είναι συνενοχή και βασκανία
• Και πάλι αυτή η αβυσσαλέα σιωπή
• Εκρήγνυται
• Απ’ τα μάτια
• Τα χείλη
• Το μέτωπο
• Κι σαν φτάσει στην καρδιά
• Την πιάνει πολυλογία
• Αφουγκράζομαι και πάλι τη σιωπή
• Εκρήγνυται με αναρίθμητα
• «σε αγαπώ» και «μου λείπεις»
• Τόσα – αρκετά για να σε θυμάμαι γελαστό
• Και σιωπηλά να σου δίνω ραντεβού
• Κάθε νύχτα στην Ονειρούπολή μου
• Εκεί κάθε μέρα είναι ίδια με χτες
• Κι εσύ ζεις δίπλα μας, γελαστός και αγαπημένος
• Σιωπή  τώρα.
• Σε σκέφτομαι.
  Σιωπή.
• Θα εκραγώ.

 

IT SUFFICES FOR ME TO WRITE

…IT SUFFICES FOR ME TO WRITE. WRITE WHATEVER IT IS MEANT TO BE. Incoherences, smudges, scribbles and deluded thoughts. It suffices for me to feel the tempest that is torturing me empty the foam of its waves on the paper. It suffices for me to scratch my loneliness, my pain, my hope, my burden on the paper.

Spiritually speaking, I am a tiny dwarf and I am fully aware of it. But I also know that, no matter what I do, no matter how hard I struggle to stash it into the darkest and most spider-ridden corner of my existence, my passion to feel the contact with the pen and to leave the shadow of my existence upon the “TABULA RASA”, which then catches fire and is filled with life, is something I cannot hide any longer. It is beyond my powers to convince myself about the complete vanity of those gestures, about the emptiness, the banality or the incorrigible meaningless of my thoughts. Not that I suffer from pain when I realize my small stature; but I know that only this way I will be able to step up higher on the staircase leading to self-fulfillment: by means of these scriptures and the love my loved ones show me. With the hope that I might put a tiny little pebble on the magic Palace of Literature: and so I keep living on the bold and naked world of us.

With the hope that I might sometime give to a certain dazzled soul a beam of light and help him/her wonder how he/she was wasting his/her breath all those years. Alas! This is what yells at me and calls me, may it be a horrid delusion, a hallucination, an apparition that pulls me out of my way: it is merely a piece of yarn that calls out that it helps you sew together the scattered pieces of your life and turn them into pieces of cloth to cover your nudity and create a balsam in order to find the light you have lost. And each fiber of the yarn, every tiny little piece of yarn is made of Words and Icons: and the needle that penetrates the first piece of the rag, which will then be transformed into a piece of cloth and a coat, is nothing but Pain. Thus, the needle is Pain and it gives birth to Pain: it pierces and then penetrates the wound into the cloth like Pain does in every tiny little corner of your mind and your soul, and then penetrates the wound again so as not to let it fester, but urges you to grab the Pen and give that which you owe to your soul. And I am talking about Pain as this will be the beginning of your birth and your baptism with the holy water of the Truth. With this water you will also be a companion of Pain and Hope and with this water you will drink you will be able to open your eyes and your mouth and scream out with your own voice, so as to help others wake up and be pierced by your needles and have their tightly closed eye lids detached.

I dear to copy from Albert Camus’s foreword on “The Ballad of Reading Gaol” by Oscar Wilde:

“While in prison, neither the stylized phrases nor the refined narratives helped him. But he was helped from some words of Oedipus Tyrant. This is why Aeschylus was a great creator. Creating, and I dare to say this risking exaggeration, means:

Giving meaning and content to what we call PAIN.”