Research sheds light on the missing persons of Cyprus who disappeared without a trace during the Turkish invasion of 1974. Andrea Stylianou talks to “Neos Kosmos” about her academic achievements and being a human rights advocate.
Having a deep interest in human rights and listening to stories told by many new migrants arriving in Australia while a NewsCorp Australia reporter set Andrea on a new path. She started a journey to investigate the story of how she had arrived in Australia as a two-year-old with her family in 1975 after they became refugees from the Turkish invasion of Cyprus in 1974. Continue reading “The Missing Pieces”
The ceaseless wanderings of a recalcitrant self
The Medusa Glance is a present-day triptych, a rich and profoundly nuanced contemporary narrative, sensitive to all the immanent and minute shades of reality, aspiring to embrace and incorporate the whole spectrum of lived experience. As a key motive, the author invokes Medusa, the female monster with venomous snakes on hear head. Stricken with fear, we are nonetheless tempted to be immersed in the poetic universe of Manolis. The epigraph characterizes the bold enterprise of the author aimed at the explicitation of the inner architecture and dynamics of experience, at the renewal of narrative practices and at the constant (re)negotiation of identity. The reader is swept away by a polychromatic tempest of verbs and embarks on a journey guiding him to the dimension of the minute and infinitely multifarious undulations of sublunary consciousness. Continue reading “The Medusa Glance”
Στο στόχαστρο του βομβαρδιστικού
χώρα που πρέπει ν’ αλλάξει ηγεσία
βόμβες και τηλεκατευθυνόμενα βλήματα
θάνατος ακρίβειας σ’ εφαρμογή
εταιρεία αμυντικού εξοπλισμού
σ’ επιφυλακή Continue reading “Αλλαγή Ηγεσίας”
από το μακρινό παρελθόν
χτυπάει ακόμα αδύναμα στ’ αυτιά μου.
Η έρημη εκκλησιά
όπου το μισοτελειωμένο κερί
αγνό και μυρωδάτο Continue reading “Ο θόλος της ελπίδας”
A church bell
from the distand past
keeps sounding powerlessly
in my ears
The lonely church where the half-burnt candle
pure and fragnant
still stands by St Mamas’ icon Continue reading “The dome of hope”
Translation into English by Irini Papas
The old lady had never learned anything else in her life except to drop blessings from her lips, as if the blessings sustained her.
Her eyelash colour faded, her face was a mass of wrinkles.
“Daughter, give me the votive candle so I may light it, and may you reign like a queen one day”.
On Sundays, in the courtyard under the vine, they’d turn on the radio.
“Daughter, bring the radio, and may you pick up soil and have it turned to gold in your hands”.
Continue reading “Euphemisms of an old lady”
deep redness of the sunset:
Is it the sunset or is it blood?
A question posed by the sun, or a slaughter? Continue reading “Oia, Santorini”
Not a deep feeling did we declare,
nor did we live a great love affair.
Wrong or right,
we only shared a night. Continue reading “Two times Twenty”
It’s no longer there…
a “We’ve Moved” sign placed up high…
some things can’t be moved immediately or afterwards
such as the pages, folded at the edges, to be read less
than to be recollected,
such as the queue in front of the cash register
such as the backbones of saints
I search for the bookshop on Saint Andrew’s Street…
terribly ill by its absence
after all, this is where the hours passed
their hours with me, and the hours search insistently
for that which can’t be moved or migrated,
which oppresses and suspends generations… Continue reading “The Bookshop on Saint Andrew’s Street”
When you’re out on your way to Mt Olympus,
let the road trip be a long one
full of wonder, full of autumn colors
full of yellow-green trees and mountain plains.
Continue reading “St. Panteleimon of Old”