Χαίρετε, μέρος β'

Κι ενώ αλλιώς σχεδιάζω την κίνηση του χεριού που λέει το «αντίο» και το «καλήν αντάμωση», στο χώρο ανάμεσα σε μια αναδίπλωση του ανάγλυφου του τοπίου, κι ενώ τη σκέφτομαι την κίνηση ως το αντίβαρο στο «καλώς σας βρήκα», «πώς τα περάσατε στο μεταξύ;», έρχεται έπειτα η αλλαγή της διάθεσης. Έρχεται ο χρόνος της προσαρμογής που απαιτείται, γιατί με άλλη ταχύτητα οι άνθρωποι περπατούν εδώ, αλλιώς ο ήλιος και η ροπή της δραστηριότητάς μου εδώ φτιάχνουν τη μέρα και το βράδυ. Έχω παραιτηθεί από τη νύχτα παρ’εκτός αν πρόκειται για τα όνειρα: και μου έφεραν πολύ θανατικό απόψε. Αρρώστιες, μαρασμό, το αδυσώπητο, το προδιαγεγραμμένο τέλος. Οι Χαιρετισμοί, με τους οποίους συχνά ξεκινούν τα γλωσσικά μαθήματα για αρχάριους και η Σαρακοστή πάντοτε, όταν ξαναψελλίζει κάποιος το αλφαβητάρι της αποστέρησης και της προσδοκίας, ακολουθούν κι αυτοί το σπειροειδές της ψυχικής μορφής ή τάσης.

Χαίρετε τα σιδερένια παγκάκια έξω από το αεροδρόμιο, καθώς κάθισα με τον πατέρα περιμένοντας να περάσει η ώρα της αναμονής και να τελείωσει το τσιγάρο μου, κουβεντιάζοντας στην αιχμή του αποχαιρετισμού για τη δική μου απόσταση από το κατευναστικό αναμενόμενο. Εκείνος με παράπονο αντί μομφής, εγώ με εγκαρτέρηση παρατηρητή σπάνιων ντροπαλών πτηνών, σαν τους μαύρους πελαργούς.

Χαίρετε οι δρόμοι της Αθήνας που αδειάσατε από το νομαδικό σας πλήθος και κατοικείστε από τους μονιμότερους, καθώς βλέπω, μετανάστες.

Χαίρετε κι οι πεζόδρομοι του ώριμου Αυγούστου, με λίγα έργα γλυπτικής που ψάχναμε με διάγραμμα να βρούμε, ενώ από πάνω έλαμπε η Ακρόπολη στο χρώμα της κορωμένης πέτρας κατά τις εξίμιση το απόγευμα. Έπειτα πια σκοτείνιασε και στο σπίτι των αρχαιολόγων είχαν έναν αργαλειό με τα νήματα απλωμένα από το ταβάνι. Η καλλιτέχνιδα είχε περάσει στο υφαντό το RΕΜ της, το οποίο αντέγραφε με ακρίβεια το πραγματικό της, όπως το βλέπαμε στη χάρτινη εκδοχή του δίπλα στο ιατρικό μηχάνημα. Ή, στον επάνω όροφο, κάποιος άλλος είχε αποτυπώσει τη μορφή γυναίκας σε κουρτίνες που ανέμιζαν στο σκοτεινό δωμάτιο, άνοιγαν προς το σκοτεινό Θησείο, ύστερα ξανάπεφταν σε μια ακόμη σκοτεινότερη παλιοκαιρίστικη μορφή του γυναικείου προσώπου.

Χαίρετε τα βιαστικά τηλεφωνήματα λίγο πριν την επιβίβαση στο αεροσκάφος, να προφτάσω ένα τελευταίο κράτημα από τις φωνές των αγαπημένων.

Χαίρετε τα νησιά όπως πάντοτε, μα αυτή τη φορά πίσω από το πρόσωπο ενός Λιβανένεζου τραπεζικού υπαλλήλου που επέστρεφε πρώτη φορά μετά τον πόλεμο, που άρχισε-τέλειωσε μες στο καλοκαίρι, όπως οι διακοπές, ένας βιαστικός, αψίκορος έρωτας, μια καλπάζουσα ασθένεια, μια μελαγχολική εισαγωγή του Χατζιδάκι. Μου έλεγε λοιπόν αυτός ο Ντάνυ, «Τι θα γίνει με μας;» «Είμαι τριάντα τόσων χρόνων, πάντα με θυμάμαι με τον πόλεμο, όλα να χαλούν»

Έπειτα καθώς σφραγίζεται το διαβατήριο, ετοιμάζω τα δάχτυλα να ανοίξουν στα καινούργια «Χαίρετε».

Χαίρετε, μέρος α'

Είναι η ημέρα που φέρνει την αναχώρηση και τους αποχαιρετισμούς. Αναχώρηση προγραμματισμένη απόψε από την κατ’εξοχήν πατρίδα, τον τόπο δηλαδή που κρατά το πατρικό το σπίτι. Το έδειχνα τις προάλλες στη Δομνίκη, έτυχε και κάναμε μια βόλτα με τον Αργύρη από τα μέρη εκείνα. Και θυμήθηκε εκείνη που της το είχα ξαναδείξει, με το δωμάτιό μου στον ημιόροφο, που αντί για τοίχο προς τα έξω είχε παράθυρα κι ίσως αυτό το γεγονός να μου έδωσε δια βίου την εντύπωση πως μεταξύ εμού και του κόσμου παρεμβάλλεται υαλοπίνακας άλλοτε ξάστερος, άλλοτε σκονισμένος.
Χαίρετε οι πυγολαμπίδες, το βράδυ προς το κανάλι, στου Μαϊντανού το κτήμα, τώρα σπανιότερες γιατί τοποθέτησαν δυνατούς λαμπτήρες των εθνικών οδών, πορτοκαλί.
Χαίρετε οι κήποι οι καλοκαιρινοί με τα λουλούδια, τα λαχανικά και τις γυναικείες παρέες γύρω από ένα τραπέζι, ομιλητικές, κουρασμένες, καθεμιά στο δικό της τόνο.
Χαίρετε η θέα προς το δρόμο από το τσιμεντένιο θέατρο, με τις μουσικές των τραγουδιών και η μεγάλη σελήνη. Ήταν Πανσέληνος του Ιουλίου;
Χαίρετε της Θάσου το αίσθημα στοργικού γονιού καθώς κάναμε διακοπές σύντομες με την ανηψιά μου και οι λεπτομέρειες ενός τέτοιου αισθήματος.
Χαίρετε οι ελάχιστοι φίλοι που συνάντησα και το πείσμον θάρρος για την εκλεκτικότητα αυτή.
Χαίρετε Θεοχάρη κι Ασπασία που αποδημήσατε πριν από τους πελαργούς φέτος, σε χώρες που μονάχα κάτι μνήμονες σας φτάνουν.
Χαίρετε και οι κραδασμοί μες στο ασθενοφόρο, στο δρόμο για το Σανατόριο, τώρα εφημερεύον νοσοκομείο, καθώς έπιανα με ανησυχία το χέρι της μητέρας κι αναρωτιόμουν ποιος εμψυχώνει εν τέλει ποιον.
Χαίρετε οι σκαλωσιές οικοδομών που μέχρι να ξανάρθω θα γεννήσουν μεγαθήρια με την αισθητική της τούρτας ζαχαροπλαστείου κι όμως, παρά τη γλυκερή όψη, θα κλείνουν τη θέα προς τα βουνά.
Χαίρετε οι άθλιοι των αθλίων, τηλεόραση, υπνωτικές φωνές, λάθη της γραμματικής, τρίτη κλίση με κατάγματα, λάθη εννοιολογικά, θέματα που είναι η φαρίν λακτέ μιας τερατογονίας.

Personal Voices within the Unified Noise of Patriotism

Last Sunday (August 6, 2006) two very interesting interviews to the Greek newspaper Eleutherotypia (www.enet.gr) were published: one by Gideon Levi, one of the prominent journalists of Israel working for the newspaper Haaretz, while the other was given by Peretz Kidron, one of the founders of the movement against serving one’s own military service in dubious areas and missions. Kidron says that the principle of their organization “Yesh Gvul” (“There is a Limit”) is that there are things which a respectful human being would not do and it came up in 1982 as a response to the first war in Lebanon. “The problem with Israel”, he says, “is that it refuses the process of dialogue with the parties it faces disagreements. In 1960 it did not discuss with Nasser, later on it did not discuss with Sadat, because he was weak, it did not negotiate with PLO because they were terrorists, nor with Hamas because they are equally terrorists. The Israeli government always prefers war. To them, war is not the ultimate but the first solution.” Levi, on the other hand, declares strongly that in Lebanon war crimes take place. He admits that he feels shuttered by the recent developments and pessimistic about the future. “In the case of Lebanon, we are the intruders, the conquerors. There was the provocation of Hezbollah, the kidnapping of the two soldiers, but our reaction has been disproportionate. You cannot destroy a whole country, a whole people for the sake of two soldiers. This is madness, insanity. The actions that take place in Lebanon are war crimes, and Israel should be taken to the International Court.” It needs guts after all for a nation on war, to oppose the tolerant silence and selective morality of public opinion and to keep one’s eyes open and logic alert. I was surprised to read that Amos Oz and Abraham Yeshua did not oppose the bloodstained actions of Israeli “Defence” Forces. Readership and sales give usually second thoughts. Don’t they?
I wonder how the U.S. newspapers present such voices of resentment, skepticism and criticism. But in Greece they find their way and they express the general feeling of the public opinion, as far as I can judge from the discussions I have with various people, from a wide range of professional, social and educational status. I watch the reactions to the broadcasting of the news and the expressions of the people. There is no statement of islamophobia, but a deep sorrow and bitterness against Israel, not unexpected for a nation that has many times experienced the cold touch of exile, injustice and weakness. And, in the end, militant Islamists will appear with the glory of heroes, if that is the latent target of constructing the actual configuration of the most simplistic and stupid political statement of the last 50 years, concerning the Axis of Evil.
For the last three days (Wed-Fri) I was at a spa, Aidipsos, with my father: A place well arranged for its elderly crowd (I believe that the average age there, was no less than 70 years) with all the funny aspects of such a congregation: nice family taverns, large groups of ladies seated by the doorstep, dozens of patisseries, bakeries, flat, easy promenades. But they were watching the news carefully and they were opinionated, anti-israeli 100%. Even the Communist Party organized an event against the war in Lebanon, on Thursday at the port, but they were forced to reschedule for the coming day, due to a sudden rain, which would not allow the fragile audience to attend.

Arabic Psyche, Magna in general...

Not many years ago, my friend M.A., a talented and hardworking young Arab, was describing for me his summer course in enthusiastic words and it was one of the rare times that he allowed himself enthusiasm concerning his instruction. It was an introductory course in psychology which provided him with a theoretical framework, giving him the chance to deal with many of his remarks and experiences. By that time, he thought how wonderful it would have been if he had decided to pursue this field of studies and if his family had supported him in his efforts. I told him, I remember, that the day that the upper middle class fashion will allow Arabs to approach the aid of psychoanalysis without guilt and without the stigma of “madness” or “disorder”, the first generation of equipped analysts will by necessity become millionaires and that the first clinics should have the size of hotels, such a big number of beds and sofas would be needed. The honest friend replied that he doubted it seriously whether even his grandchildren would approach psychology or analysis in a relaxed manner. And out of integrity, he later quitted his studies in the medical field, despite his good marks and the encouraging words of his professors. He changed his scientific field completely and he managed very well, applying the favorite Arabic principle that professional success and personal passion or liking should not mingle.
I found before yesterday a short article in the Greek newspaper Ta Nea based on the interview of Jihad Mazarweh to the German newspaper “Die Zeit”. The interviewee is one of the 15 Arab psychoanalysts around the globe, and he grew up as an inferior class citizen in Taibeh, an Arabic village located in Israel. He left to Freiburg, Germany, where he studied Psychology, Sociology and Criminology. Since 1984 his Center for Psychoanalysis focuses on the therapy of the trauma of war and torture. He claims that the Arab world will not manage to get through without the aid of analysis and therapy. The traditional structures collapse, the collective identity is shrunk and, to this moment, the available alternatives are alcohol and drugs. Mazarweh prefers working with women, because when they make up their minds to ask for help concerning sexuality and family, they are decisive and usually they take it to the end. Men, to the contrary, sooner or later collapse, and if the resistance of women is made of cement, the resistance of men is made of stainless steel. In the end, because of the prevalence of hierarchies and guilt-shame in the Arab society, when it comes to the point to talk about fantasies, complexes or desire, they would pick a Jew psychoanalyst, given also that Israel has the highest rate of psychoanalyst/patient globally. This occurs in societies that almost every satellite channel gives space to presenting and interpreting dreams, in a way that even Freud would admire, because they are detailed and delicate taking specific conditions into consideration.
Personally I have encountered the magna anima, the big psyche, the giving heart of the Arabs and its complicated, twisted ways, which sometimes disguise it into its opposite, the anima parvula: People who lead the most extreme dreams of the West and in public they would not admit doing so. People who doubt and their intrinsic voice constantly criticizes; but in public they reiterate fixed sentences, from the holy books or the traditional wisdom of previous centuries. They avoid poetry like pestilence but they confess their inner feeling through the verses of a song of Fayrouz. They imagine the tidy public space of the Western cities, with the parks and alleys, but all they invest in is the private realm. An emotional eroticism is spread everywhere in their literature, body language and dreams, but in terms of the public discourse, they appear as being imprisoned in the most austere Carmelite convent. They refuse the notion of the citizen, and then they appear as a unified suffering entity, with the signs of war on their bodies and in their eyes. So many successive generations of lost relatives, refugees, migrants, lost lands, alienated fields, taken away just before harvesting their crop… So much repulsed pain. Such extensive use of the ultimate solution of silence: because I see that on many occasions the elderly would not tell their precise stories to the generation of their grandchildren and the public narratives through history classes, television and special days of commemoration are selective, heroic and impersonal.
I notice how milder contradictions in Greece, have troubled my generation, leading to stress, dual behaviours and complexes. But, recently, quite few friends have told me in confidence that they decided to face the split and to spread their limps on the leather sofa of the analyst.

Ιστορικές τραγωδίες για τον Αλ-Ασκέηλ

Σήμερα το πρωί, εννοώ πριν από τις οκτώ, ακούω πάλι τα νέα του πολέμου, πόλεις κοντινές με αρχαία ονόματα, μνημεία, ιστορία που βρίσκει κανείς κιόλας στον Ηρόδοτο και στους επόμενους. Τύρος, Βηρυτός, Μπααλμπέκ. Πόλεις που είδα, που τις βρήκα τότε αλλιώτικες απ΄ό,τι περίμενα, μα κι έτσι μου άρεσαν. Πίσω από τα ονόματα, οι δημοσιογάφοι δείχνουν βουλιαγμένα κτίρια του μπετόν, με έναν κρατήρα συμφοράς κάπου στην ταράτσα τους, ή στην όψη, όπως σε μακέτες για τα οπτικά εφέ των κινηματογραφικών ταινιών. Πίσω από τα κτίρια με τη μορφή της μακέτας, είναι οι σκηνές από νοσοκομεία: πρόσωπα φαγωμένα από τα θραύσματα, κορίτσια τρομαγμένα κάτω από τα σεντόνια τους, τα μάτια αυτών των πανέμορφων παιδιών που λάμπουν δίπλα στις γάζες και στους αφρόντιστους γιατρούς με τις πράσινες στολές.
Οι τραγωδίες της αρχαιότητας, σε συντριπτικό ποσοστό περιλαμβάνουν το θέμα του πολέμου, είτε ως αποκλειστικό αντικείμενο, είτε σαν αιτιολογικό υπόβαθρο για συμπεριφορές αλλιώς ανερμήνευτες. Η πρώτη που μας μένει ολόκληρη είναι οι «Πέρσαι» και το πρώτο πιπεράτο σχόλιο λογοκρισίας είναι το πρόστιμο που πληρώθηκε από τον ποιητή μετά τη διδασκαλία της «Μιλήτου Αλώσεως». Τι «Επτά επι Θήβας», τι «Ιφιγένεια εν Αυλίδι», «Αγαμέμνων», «Αντιγόνη», «Εκάβη», «Ελένη», «Φιλοκτήτης», «Αίας»... Από παντού, τριγμός οδόντων μπροστά στον σκελετό που καβαλάει τον ψωραλέο ίππο της Αποκάλυψης. Εκεί, στην περίσταση που ο άνθρωπος φτάνει έξω από τη ζώνη της προσδοκίας ότι κάτι θα φτιάξει και θα το αφήσει πίσω του ως σκαλοπάτι για να δουν τα παιδιά του μέρες με απολαύσεις, μελετούν οι ποιητές το όριο μεταξύ του σαρκοβόρου και του παμφάγου ζώου.
Ο φακός εντοπίζει και μεγεθύνει τη μορφή του Ισραηλινού οδηγού του τεθωρακισμένου οχήματος, χαμογελά και κάνει την κίνηση της νίκης με τον δείκτη και τον μέσο, αλλά κι αυτά καλυμμένα με δερμάτινα γάντια. Λογαριάζει κανείς πότε θα έρθει ο καιρός ενός νέου ποιητή, ας πούμε ενός Αλ- Ασκέηλ, ενός Άραβα ταλαντούχου δραματουργού, έστω σπουδαγμένου στη Βαλτιμόρη, που θα έχει σκίσει το πτυχίο της Εφαρμοσμένης Μηχανικής που έλαβε μετά διακρίσεως και που θα υπηρετεί πια με πάθος την ιεροσύνη των λέξεων-νοημάτων και θα τυπώνει στη Βηρυτό, σε τραυματισμένα μηχανήματα την τραγωδία «Αμερικανοί». Στο συγκεκριμένο έργο, η Άτοσσα Άιρις Τζόνσον θα παρακολουθεί στην έκτακτη επικαιρότητα της τηλεόρασης τον επιτελάρχη γιο της να δίνει χαιρετίσματα λυπημένα στους δικούς του, κλεισμένος στο κλουβί ασφαλείας, σε δικαστήριο που συνέρχεται για να δώσει τη δίκαιη κρίση. Πού εγκλημάτισε, ποιες ζωές στραγγάλισε με γυμνά χέρια. Στο ρόλο του Δαρείου θα σηκωθούν πολλοί που έθεσαν την υπογραφή τους το 1776.

the city and its citizens

I am now wondering what the reason may be for the special liking I developed towards Prague, after my short visit. It is not an issue of monuments only, or the charm of some unexpected findings in its museums (for example, the mineral collection in their National Museum, or Mucha’s original posters at the specialized small but informed gallery, or the unbelievable Museum of Miniatures, an epic of useless patience in Siberia, or, finally, the extraordinary amount of pieces of modern art at the Gallery of Modern Art, in Veletrzni Palace- much bigger I believe than Tate’s Gallery). Above all, the nicest feature of the city is the presence of its citizens, people who live it out, exploit its beauty and integrate it into their daily routine. The parks, gardens, cafes are not occupied by tourists only; they are extensively used by the inhabitants. Many of them, young couples, cyclists, unfold their towels on the grass and sunbathe. The river boats and cycles are a favorite leisure activity for the locals. We went to Podoli Baths, a big complex of pools and grass, to find that the citizens of Prague would gladly pay the expensive entrance fee in order to enjoy with their friends a day of water sports.
The city has got 1,6 million inhabitants but it gives the impression of a much bigger entity, because people are present, in the metro, by the tram stops, at the squares, till late evening. At night it is quiet, less frequented compared to the cities of the Mediterranean south. I admired in general their good physical condition, people of sports, people who combine leisure with sports, even at the metro, running to change from one of the three lines (A,B,C) to the other. I noticed that they have in general defined muscles and when I saw them rowing or swimming, I had a convincing explanation. I hope that the new economical model which they experience since the early 90s won’t rinse off their beautiful shape. And by making use of their city, I thought that they guarantee themselves a high quality of life. Amman is a city of a similar size, but the citizens never claim it, never make a pleasurable use out of it in large numbers. In its case, each one dreams of private Paradise-s. Hence, it has another grace, the grace of sleepwalkers. Thessaloniki, again of the same size, stands somewhere in the middle: Between conscious use and hypnosis.

Distraction versus Destruction

During the summer vacations one break enters the other. I spent the whole last week in Prague and the countryside of the Czech Republic, Bohemia, and I have to admit that I had dearly missed this variation of central European urban and rural landscape: The cities with the well preserved castles, the architectural conflict going from one building to the its next, what would be more imposing: a neo-renaissance façade or a baroque decoration? Which one shall I prefer: a neo-classicist roof or an art nouveau balcony? And I had missed the arranged streets (arranged on the maps, I mean, even if they are the labyrinth of medieval complicated passages) with their historical names which lead to a gallery, a museum or a pavilion transformed into a temporary show-room for a fine glass or porcelain collection.
It was also a great chance to spend long times with Mikhalis, first time to that extent after we were done with our military service, at the barracks of that sad town of the Greek north, concealed under the grandiose name Alexandroupolis.
We arrived by dawn, with the air still bearing the cool of the night and the sightseeing started almost immediately, from the bridges that cross the river Vltava from the old medieval to the new (late medieval) part of the city. The name of the city means “doorstep”, signifying the stone doorsteps that were protecting the households from the multiple floods. The clock at the central square of the city is accompanied with its myths (which I had heard many years ago in Strasbourg): the technician got blinded by the municipal authorities in order not to export the secrets of the wonderful mechanism, which is decorated with statuettes, moving Apostles, ringing bells of Death, the nod of someone who realizes that the passed hour will never come back, a golden cockerel and so on. We spent our breakfast time at the café that Kafka used to visit and which for years was bearing the name of his beloved Milena. Towers, churches, Charles II’s bridge (Karolmost) with statues of religious themes… We saw the jewish quartier, with their religious young men selling tickets- extremely expensive anyway, addressing Jews most probably who wanted to see the synagogues. I photographed the packed jewish cemetery, because of the decision of Marie Therese not to allow them possessing or, rather, extending their possession of land. I discovered that my feeling has changed towards them. The compassion to a population that suffered for centuries got vilified and lost huge percentage during the WWII, now, because of the daily developments in Lebanon and the West Bank, was modified. Their tourist attraction became something hostile to me, something inexcusably protected by the blind powers of guilt. These are the same people that had the obligation to take steps to modify the cruel politics of Israel, the mass of objectified suffering. Well, because of my political upbringing, I have no chance to get affected by an ideological anti-Semitic conviction, but on a personal level, I despise people who do nothing to benefit themselves and others through their longstanding historical trauma. In the same way I look down with disgust to Greeks who are proud of them being ignorant, big bellied materialists and bon-viveurs depending on their overloaded credit cards. The neglecting of the past insults me in a very deep and emotional way. It is like pretending that you are the first inhabitant of the planet, coming fresh out of your mold, still dripping ignorance and innocence. NONsense.
The day ended with a nice performance of Black Theater, we attended the show of a group called Ta Fantastika. The Adventures of some Alice in a magical Prague. I found it something between pantomime and circus, but not very theatrical in the way that reason and the text invest in value. In Black Theater I believe it is mostly an issue of successful effects. During the break, a young man, one of the guys whom I recognized later wearing the invisible black dresses, was playing nice tunes –modern classical music- at his piano, in a hall that was crowded like a busy market. It was fortunate that the Spanish ladies next to me were using intensively their fans, since it was so absolutely hot there. Prague has not seen such a long period of heat and sunshine for the last 40 years, our guide assured us. So perhaps, it is normal for the public places not to have any AC provisions, a lack that made our visits in museums and galleries a difficult task, paid with considerable amounts of sweat. We stayed at the “Corinthia Panorama Hotel”, by the Pancrac metro station, off-centre and in general a neutral place to stay, but with very beautiful sunlight, during the early morning and the sunset, due to its open surroundings. We kept watching the news in Lebanon, twice per day, to realize that destruction undermines and enforces new meanings to distraction.