Έπεα - Ιουνίου λόγος

Στο πίσω τραπέζι, χτες βράδυ, δίπλα στα δέντρα που φαίνονταν από το Πεδίον του Άρεως, δίπλα στα δέντρα που σώπαιναν και κοντανάσαιναν όταν ο αέρας ξάφνου τα ξεσήκωνε λίγο με υποσχέσεις. Στο πίσω τραπέζι παρέα πενηντάρηδων, διαφορετικού βαθμού διάβρωσης ή ανοξείδωτου.
Λέει υψίφωνη:
"Πέντε αστέρων καλή μου, πέντε.
Όλο το Πεταλίδι ένα ξενοδοχείο!
Βλέπαμε από τον εξώστη μας τις πισίνες, μεγάλες, παντού πισίνα,
Και δέντρα και η θάλασσα βέβαια, πιο πέρα.
Εκείνο το πρωινό... μμμ...
Ένας μπουφές απ'εδώ μέχρι πέρα (κι έδειξε το εδώ: τα κάγκελα του άλσους, το πέρα : η απέναντι πολυκατοικία, καμιά σαρανταριά μέτρα μακρύτερα) δεν υπερβάλλω, μα βεβαίως Πέντε αστέρων, καταλαβαίνεις καλή μου"
Οι άλλοι τρεις ψιθύριζαν θαυμαστικά. Ο σύζυγος ένευε σα μαρκαδόρος φωσφορικός υπογράμμισης για το ακριβές του λόγου.
Πέντε το σύνολο, όσοι και οι αστέρες, όσοι κι εμείς παραδίπλα.
Σκέφτηκα αυτομάτως του Μάριου Ποντίκα την ατάκα από τις Εσωτερικές Ειδήσεις, αν δε μου βάζει τρικλοποδιές η μνήμη: "Φάγαμε κι ένα γουρουνόπουλο, σα μωρό, σα μωρό"

Τι κάνεις;

Βλέπω φίλους και τίποτ'άλλο
Βλέπω φίλους και κανέναν άλλον
Με βλέπουν κι εκείνοι.
Μια γλυκιά μονομανία κι όσο πάει...

There is adolescence, in loss even. (Manos Hadjidakis: in memoriam)

People normally memorize national days, birthdays of themselves and other trivial but beloved beings and forthcoming holiday schedules. Memory is frequently treated like a rusty dustbin. Personally I try to memorize the dates of born feelings, because I need to watch them growing and entering different age groups. Infantile at the beginning, I mean full of strong and genuine impulses. Childish with the uncompromising will to learn and expand their world. Adolescent with the confusion between their newly captured realm and the promising sparkle of dreams. Other stages follow as well. They also go through periods of schooling, of professionalism, of withdrawal, of blank routine.

Such a date is June 15th to me: It is the day that Manos Hadjidakis died in 1994. I will not forget the scene: I heard the news on the radio, probably the "Paratiritis" broadcasting service. I turned on the television, and there on the screen he was, hastily covered with a blanket, on the way of the ambulance to the hospital. The video just confirmed the news. I believe that with the exception of Cavafy, no one took me generously by hand to show me around, to teach, to instruct, to modify me thoroughly, or to make a "me" out of so much common sense that results in people colorless to others and, basically, colorless to themselves. I cried for 3 days in a row, according to heathen and non-heathen traditions, and I got scared: how life would now be without the teacher? It was not only his music, his articles and interviews, but also his strict way in creating quality and uncovering artistic and societal cheapness.
Eventually he has remained with me all along, while I have forgotten most of my academic teachers, even their parodies.
Fourteen years later, I watch the feeling of loss entering adolescence. It becomes better in sports, it recites poems and writes its shivering words in hesitant love letters.
He wrote:
POWER
All revolutions end up possessing irresponsible power. It is common knowledge that such power produces a form of Justice far from the aspirations and objectives of a revolution. People that emerge from a revolution have the makings of those who make their exit or are defeated ... You need a sound education to endure the notion of power and success.
THE GREEK STATE…
…Recognizes only what serves it and adulates it. It always was and still is anti-cultural.
THE HEAVENLY LOTTERY TICKET SELLER
… I got up from the piano and went towards the mirror.
Beaming with satisfaction, I saw my image holding peacock plumes and summer’s fresh fruit. And I said to myself: I am the Heavenly Lottery Ticket Seller. I dole out numbers to fairies and angels. The winning number means copulation. A fluid basis for creativity. And straightaway I embarked upon my greatest undertaking. I distributed my lottery tickets among the galaxies and in infinity. Thus, no one will again be able to recreate, to do good – as they say – or bad. A wasteful decision, but the world is trifling away.
I am saying all this for the young to hear, for them to likewise distribute their lottery tickets wherever and whenever they can. Not to allow the hoi polloi (the crowd) to profiteer. This way we will make them live in fear of us. Who? Us poets. Since they cannot stash us away in a drawer, no matter what they control or make provisions for, these upstart hoi polloi .
They stand in awe of our refusal to be filed, classified, rated and numbered. They stand in awe of our refusal to join the ranks of those whose hands, when they are sleeping, lie under or over the quilt. Because our own hands, in sleep, are free to paint the winds with the colours and shapes of birds, placing us in perpetuity in the immortal and erotic guise of the Heavenly Lottery Ticket Seller.

A.O.K.

A.O.K. was the name of our local football team, and it used to be strongly present at the national Premier League for years. The name is still the same, the city is still the same, and yet they are not. I mean they are either smaller or bigger, these unnoticeable alterations which occur with time and prove Heraclitus right. And the gaze changes... I do not know if it grows duller or sharper. Both, I assume. Anyway, I just wanted to say that my dad's passion to pass his own fascination with good football over to his sole son proved a total disaster and from an unexpected side-way, without the slightest bad intention: the destined tendency goes this way, one reaches the dungeon hall full of gentle intentions. He has been an excellent driver, but those 45 minutes from home to the stadium were so heavy on me, I would try to be brave and hold my vomit back and I would normally succeed, hoping for the still orange drink to soothe my despair.
that short Papaioannou (on the left) was my absolute favorite

I saw many stars of the real football times, that they were playing just for the glory and the cheer. I attended spectacular matches, I saw people waving their hats, their jackets and raising their voices in despair, in exaltation, in contempt. It was all so lively, but I would be rather trying to conceal my discomfort. Every time that I notice big football events happening, I expect someone to get me a still orange drink. Nevertheless, I was admiring Mimis Papaioannou, the short devil, Domazos for the popular appeal he enjoyed and Koudas for his determined style. Many matches have I attended.