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Ioulita Iliopoulou, on the occasion of the five-language anthology ‘The Small World, the Great World!’ by Odysseas Elytis, set to music by Giorgos Kouroupos, spoke with Manolis Pimblis about this publication and the work of Odysseas Elytis.Read below the excellent article published on Saturday 5 November in the newspaper Ta Nea, in the ‘Bibliodromio’ supplement: A five-language anthology, a wealth of photographic material and two CDs make up an anniversary edition dedicated to the Nobel Prize-winning poet, twenty years after his death.A new publication on Odysseas Elytis is set to appear in bookshop windows in the coming days. It comprises excerpts from his work, anthologised by the person to whom the poet himself entrusted his posthumous care: the poet Ioulita Iliopoulou. What makes it unique is that it is in five languages! The anthology itself is available, in addition to Greek, in Italian, Spanish, French and English. It contains a wealth of photographic material, some of it rare, including both captured moments from Elytis’s youth – even his childhood – and his visual artworks. Indeed, the works are not repeated, but each translation is accompanied by different material. At the same time, the publication is accompanied by two CDs containing Elytis’s poems set to music by Giorgos Kouroupos, as well as readings of the poems. These range from longer compositions to songs, performed by Tassis Christoyannopoulos and Theodora Baka. There are four musical instruments, with soloists Thanasis Apostolopoulos (piano), Stella Tsani (violin), Ilias Sdoukos (viola) and Lefki Kolovou (cello). The readings are performed by Dimitris Kataleifos and the anthologist herself. It is a lavish edition by Ikaros, which will, however, be sold at an attractive price thanks to sponsorship from Alpha Bank and the willingness of all involved to contribute, so that such a book may be published in honour of the Nobel Prize-winning poet, who has been absent for twenty years this year. It is noteworthy that the book contains the work of thirty-seven different translators. Given that the anthology does not vary according to language—a feature that allows a multilingual reader to appreciate the translators’ different approaches to Elytis’s work— in several cases it was necessary for certain pieces of the anthology to be translated from scratch, and indeed these pieces differed in each language, depending on what had already been translated or not. Where there was more than one translation, Ioulita Iliopoulou chose to include a variety of translational styles, incorporating translations from different periods. Consequently, the project faced several organisational challenges and required a considerable amount of time to ensure proper coordination and achieve the desired result. Four translators were particularly helpful: David Connolly, Beatrice Stelios-Connolly, Paola Minouchi and Nina Angelidou. Processed with VSCO using the c3 presetThe book, entitled ‘The Small World, the Great World!’ by Odysseas Elytis, with music by Giorgos Kouroupos, includes poems and prose from the works Maria Nefeli, Open Papers, The Rows of Love, Orientations, The First Sun, The Sun the Sun-Bearer, Axion Esti, The Light Tree and the Fourteenth Beauty, The Monogram, The Elegies of Oxopetra, Three Poems with a Flag of Opportunity, West of Sorrow, The Half-Siblings, Sematologion. The aim is to appeal to an international audience – and whilst the songs are in Greek, foreign listeners will be able to follow the lyrics translated into their own language at the same time. ‘Through my choices, I have sought to convey a sense of joy, in contrast to our gloomy times,’ Ioulita Iliopoulou tells ‘ViblioDromio’. “These selections also aim to remind us of Elytis’s value system, which includes concepts that have been lost in our daily lives today.” How would she herself describe this value system? “Elytis’s poetry is governed by enduring values; to give a few examples: innocence as a primary spiritual value, opposition to the prevailing conception of life, a powerful revolutionary force, the dream, and a combinatory and exploratory imagination that leads, on the one hand, to the discovery of a deeper reality and, on the other, to the reconstruction of the surrounding reality, but also a belief in freedom, in justice, in the grandeur of humble elements, in the greatness of humanity, in the powers of the spirit. A projection of transparency on a spiritual level, of magic within the poetic function. Every image, every interplay of words produces, literally or allegorically, proclamations, affirmations, exhortations to life.Transcendence, geometrisation, the reordering of reality, faith in duration, a graceful perception of life, an erotic conception of the world, the sanctification of the senses, solar metaphysics as a method of deciphering the mystery of existence are some of the constant tenets of the poet’s thought,” she tells us. Ioulita Iliopoulou notes that international interest in Elytis’s poetry remains undiminished. “A major anthology of his poetry was recently published in Chile. In Italy, books are constantly being published and there are many translators of Elytis, foremost among them Paola Minucci. Recently, I have been contacted by translators who wish to translate Elytis in Armenia, Serbia and Japan. Last year, Angeliki Ionatos compiled an anthology and translated it into French. In France, too, the ‘Elegies of Oxopetra’ were published in a collector’s edition with engravings. Despite the fact, however, that the language Elytis knew and to which he attached particular importance was French, the languages that seemed to love him most are Spanish and Italian. The fact, however, that his work is translated in very different countries, such as China and Japan or Russia and Armenia, shows that beyond the symbols of his language—which in many cases can be fully understood only by a Greek (even the word “thalassa” sounds different to a Greek than it does to someone living in a landlocked country), the principles and values that characterise his poetry have a universal dimension. I therefore view the proposals of foreign translators, particularly young ones, with interest. I am in favour of multiple translations and against exclusivity. Elytis himself, after all, said that in poetry, translation preserves no more than 20% of the work.The importance of artistic collaborationTaking Giorgos Kouroupos’s musical compositions as her starting point, Ioulita Iliopoulou emphasises the importance of artistic collaboration. ‘The magic of the word is effortlessly brought to the fore by music, when the latter also seeks to engage in an equal dialogue with it. I believe that often an interpretation of a work can be better provided by another art form than by science. In ‘Monogram’, for example, Kouroupos reveals hidden aspects of it, a social element that is not usually highlighted. Through music, the listener often feels what we forget to bring to the fore.” Giorgos Kouroupos has, moreover, repeatedly set Elytis’s poetry to music. In 1989 he set ‘The Little Sailor’ to music for Manos Hadjidakis’s Orchestra of Colours, and shortly afterwards ‘Akindynou, Elpidoforou, Anempodistou’ from the ‘Elegies of Oxopetra’; in the late 1990s he set ten more poems to music for voice and piano; and in 2004 he presented ‘Monogram’, a symphonic suite for voices, choir and orchestra. In this particular project, due to the great variety in the form and content of the selected poems, he too adopted very different approaches, creating everything from simple songs sung in the street to demanding compositions. As he himself says in his short note specifically for this edition: ‘Knowing that music has the power to emphasise, highlight and amplify the emotional weight of words and lyrics, my personal aim is to evoke an emotional response capable of leading the listener to a deeper – or at least different! —understanding of the poet’s work, but also, through the puzzle of phrases, sounds and images, to bring forth effortlessly, clearly and unadorned the figure of Odysseas Elytis.”

Leading Greek poet and academic Kiki Dimoula, shortly before the release of her new collection of poetry entitled *Anotelia*, spoke with journalist Manolis Pimblis.  Read below the very interesting interview published on Saturday 22 October in the newspaper Ta Nea, in the ‘Vibliodromio’ supplement: Let’s start with the title: ‘Ano Telia’. Why did you choose it? I didn’t choose it; it was imposed on me. Perhaps he was encouraged by the fact that in the poem entitled ‘The Polytonic’ I praise the importance of accents and punctuation. If you now ask me why a semicolon and not a full stop, I would say that I avoided it because it would have been like filing a registry document. Melodrama, in other words. Most likely, however, I was drawn to the word: Up. It drew me upwards, as if to pull me away from the predator: ‘Down’. In the poem ‘On the Train’, you speak tenderly of disused stations and of the ‘irreverent speed’ with which the countryside is traversed. At the same time, you state that you are returning, without saying clearly where. Does the modern person even have the choice not to board the high-speed train? And where, after all, is this train going? It matters where this train comes from and where it is going. My intention, however, was to emphasise that the past is constantly on the move, through its own abolition, with the present and the future as its only daring passengers. I single out your phrases and words: ‘the sickness of sorrow’, ‘melancholy’, ‘times of weeping’. At the same time, you say that we cling to life out of fear. Is the fear of death stronger than any sorrow? And yet, is it not stronger than any joy? So is this the explanation for sacrifice? In my opinion, or rather according to my own fearful psychology, the main cause of all sorrow and of the – most often – unwarranted melancholy is the innate fear of death. It is so pervasive that I suspect creation and creativity are motivated by the avoidance or postponement of death. I would add that, at least for me, I have never known any great joy that did not tremble at the very thought of its own death from the very outset. Indeed, I suspect that these very beautiful and enthusiastic feelings are aware of the limits of their own existence; perhaps that is why they are so spasmodic and unstable. And if that is true, then it is a great act of bravery on their part that they agree to be born and willingly sacrifice themselves in order to toughen up our pampered psyche. You say somewhere: ‘Memory again, oblivion again. I use the same words over and over’. And in your very fine poem ‘The Genuine’, about unhealed wounds, you say ‘superficially you forget’. Is there a way to overcome traumatic memory? I think there is only one way, and it is utterly humiliating. Dementia. But then again, how do I know if dementia isn’t simply a secretive memory, and that the only thing it trusts to safeguard its experiences is oblivion? In the field of history, there has been much talk of memory in recent years. In other words, we are often more interested in what we remember happened than in what actually happened. Do we construct our own traumas? To remember mostly means forcing something that no longer happens to pretend it is happening, with the aid, of course, of nostalgia, which is the most painful of pleasures. But we want it. It is the raw material with which we unwittingly create new wounds, as if our torment were drawing from them antibodies to protect its endurance.You speak subversively of experience, declaring that one must not trust it, but also of omniscience, which will always be humiliated by the Unknown and must ‘tear its reputation to shreds’. What place do knowledge and youthful vigour hold for you in life?I try to be the peacemaker in the unceasing war between knowledge and youthful vigour. But I don’t succeed. And I always find myself in the camp of youthful vigour, as a volunteer to soothe its wounds.You describe the beautiful side of life in two words: dreams and love (in that order). Do you perhaps mean that love is a subcategory of dreams? And that the only reality, therefore, is the one we do not live? Not exactly. Rather, dreams are a subcategory of love. And yes, the only enchanting, generous, desirable reality is the one we do not live. And from the way you put it, I gather that you are, among other things, a poet.Greece, a crossroads, as they say, between East and West, chose politically, with strong logical arguments, the famous ‘we belong to the West’. Do you believe its soul is there too? I simply suspect it comes and goes.What feelings does today’s Europe evoke in you? A sense of security, trust, or, conversely, anxiety and fear? A threat and, at the same time, a reassuring dream. One of the issues causing its foundations to creak is the refugee crisis. How do you process within yourself this reality of the Aegean, filled with refugees, which Greece has recently experienced and is still experiencing? The issue is so tragic that, alas, if grand words and feelings of compassion were to be uttered, it would be a disaster. I am unable to justify such persecution that transcends the human, however much Greece has found itself in a similarly painful situation in the past. In other centuries, poetry held the primacy of expression – and theatre, of course. Today, it seems to be prose. How do you interpret this, and how do you feel about your place in the world of literature?Perhaps prose gives language more scope to expand than poetry, where writing is confined to certain rules, however much they have become more flexible for the sake of modern times, facilitating or misleading the result. As for me ― I answer honestly ― I am so insecure that I do not envisage any ‘position’ in the literary world, however much I might desire it as the mortal being that I am.The generation of the 1930s, which produced two Nobel laureates, has taken on mythical proportions in the collective subconscious; do you think its mythology will stand the test of time?I do not know if time will have the superiority to preserve the Nobel’s rightful prestige, which time itself should have been the first to receive for its unceasing creativity in working miracles.And while we’re on the subject of the Nobel Prizes: what did you make of this year’s award to Bob Dylan? It took me by surprise. But I don’t wish to comment on it further. Do you feel you have drawn on certain poetic sources more than others? Is there a line of poetic excellence and substance from the past that you believe can be traced in your poetry? Which older poets do you feel a kinship with? To have the audacity to feel a kinship with certain poets, I would need to know whether they, too, recognise me as their sister. But are values really so closely related? Do similarities benefit art? As for influences, yes, they inevitably exist, but they act and exert their influence when individual temperaments grow dark and feel alone and helpless.

Theodoros Papaioannou, author of the fairy tales Anapoda and Apenanti, spoke in the first person to diastixo.gr about his first steps in writing.His text is republished here: For as long as I can remember, I have been in a school. A pupil, a student, a teacher. Surrounded by pencils, erasers, pens, exercise books, books and notebooks. Well, you don’t need much else to start writing. I’ve been writing since I was a child. From little notes to stories, short stories, plays and poems. I started writing fairy tales when I was older. When I was little, they used to read them to me or tell them to me. Later, I read them on my own. I never wanted school to end. I don’t know why. I liked it when it stopped for the holidays, but I always wanted it to start again. So the only way for school to continue was to cross over to the ‘other side’, and go from being a pupil to becoming a teacher. ‘Upside-down’ things, in other words. I think that in the end things didn’t turn out quite like that, because most of the time when I go into the classroom I sit at a desk. I feel better at a desk with the children around me. Ah, the children. Without them, I probably wouldn’t write. I collect their sentences and words on scraps of paper, in diaries, in the palm of my hand... Their conversations are usually the starting point for a story or a fairy tale. Is that too much to ask? When I finally believed that my stories could be read by more children, I started knocking on the doors of publishing houses. I knocked with large mustard-coloured envelopes, but they wouldn’t open them. That’s when I remembered I had to be patient. (I’d been through the same thing with music, when I was learning the guitar.) Because I wasn’t patient; I wanted everything to happen straight away. In a flash, as they say. At some point, a man turned up – what we call a ‘sponsor’ – and so my first book, containing two plays for children, was published in a limited edition. It was black and white, but I didn’t care at all. I kept sending out those mustard-coloured envelopes in the hope that a door might open. The exercise in patience continued. ‘A good lesson, I won’t deny it, but how long will it last?’, I wondered. Eventually, I decided to put together a portfolio of my own, containing all the replies from the closed doors. They all said more or less the same thing. ‘Thank you, very nice, but we won’t be taking it because...’. The folder just kept getting thicker and thicker. After a few years, one folder made it through, the door opened, and it became a book! With its colours, its songs, everything about it. Such joy! That wait, with all its setbacks, gave birth to *Anapoda*, which is also my first book to be awarded by the Children’s Book Circle in 2015.With the colours of the rainbow adorning nature and Melios the beetle, it was now clear that, after patience and perseverance, the journey was changing course. The following year, *Apenanti* came along with its songs, won the booksellers’ award from Public, and it too boarded the ship. Well, then came more fairy tales, a teenage novel; some are on their way, some are on paper and others in my mind. I feel lucky because I have precious travelling companions: Viktoras, Sofia, Kostas, Leda, Irida, Marilena, Roula, Vicky, Christina, Myrto and, of course, my son Orestis, who writes the music for the songs in the fairy tales.When I perform or narrate a fairy tale and I’m surrounded by children, I feel that this is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. To be among children. I love that they speak the truth without a second thought, that they are spontaneous. That they laugh with all their hearts when something strikes them as truly funny. For children to let you share a story of yours with them is truly a great honour. When they actually enjoy it and have a good time, it’s magic. When I first started writing, I used to say that if even one child fell asleep reading one of my stories, I’d feel happy. Now that I’m sure that’s happened, I can say that I am. When friends ask me, ‘But how do you come up with them? Where do you find them?’ and things like that, I reply: Everywhere. In the trees, in the plants, on a walk in the mountains, in children’s laughter, in a photograph, on a journey... I try to look at the world around me as if I were seeing it for the first time every time.

Eftychia Giannaki answers questions from Georgina Doutsi of in.gr, to mark the release of her crime novel *In the Back Seat*. The interview concludes with the author’s ten commandments for a good crime novel. The interview is republished here:In the Back Seat is the title of your new book and forms the first part of the Athens Trilogy, starring Inspector Haris Kokkinos. What plot unfolds in your new book and what themes are you exploring in it?A film director is found brutally murdered in the basement of the Plakas Theatre, and Inspector Haris Kokkinos and his team are introduced to readers through a case in which they will need to unravel a web of shared secrets, cover-ups and violence in the heart of modern-day Athens. At the same time, the son of the forty-five-year-old Inspector is arrested on charges that force him to delve into his own family history. The pressure of time and the silence of the silent will prove that things are never simple for those who found themselves in the back seat. In a society where everyone is guilty, some will be called upon to pay the price, including Haris Kokkinos, whilst the interrogations paint a portrait of the people of Athens who feature in the story.The themes that concern me most are the veiled violence that goes round in circles, collective guilt, the past and what we think we have left behind, shared secrets, superficiality, the simplicity of everyday things, humour in the face of the abhorrent, and our fears as they unfold within the familiar setting of a city that is not merely the backdrop to the crime story, but its very essence. How did the book’s title come about, and what does writing or reading a crime novel offer you? The book’s title is inextricably linked to the essence of the plot. We have all sat in the back seat as children, and some will find themselves there as suspects. The connection between a criminal act and the past, and the search for its causes, forms the core of this particular story.When writing crime novels, I like to create situations of fear in order to bring the fears of everyday life under my control and, ideally, to confront them. I believe this is the pleasure of the crime novel. And it is the same whether you are writing crime novels or reading them. The plot unfolds against the backdrop of modern-day Athens, in a familiar society full of stereotypes and taboos. What image does Eftychia Giannaki have of the Athens where she lives and works? Athens is my city, and particularly the city centre where I live and work, and I would say that it is not merely the backdrop to the story. Anyone who reads the book will see it come to the fore on many occasions.My interest in the city and its inhabitants, as well as its evolution over time, reveals nothing other than my determination to understand the changes undergone by a structure that in recent years seems to be shaking to its foundations. It is a time when the certainties of the past are being shaken, lawlessness and chaos are ever-present, and the prevailing rule seems to be that no rule is observed. In this sense, I believe it provides an ideal setting for the development of a crime story. Crime fiction is a popular and much-loved genre among readers worldwide. Why do you think readers are so keen on devouring this kind of novel? Don’t we read about plenty of murders and acts of violence in the daily news? I believe that crime fiction is the narrative that sheds light on the things we avoid looking at in depth in our daily lives. News coverage of these issues and the speed with which they change often leave us bewildered and full of questions, and it is these questions that usually seek answers in a crime novel.The seriousness of a crime narrative is often questioned, and for many years it was regarded as light reading. I am among those who believe that the development of this genre in recent years manages to reflect the social, psychological or even philosophical dimensions of a story in a direct way, a fact which, in my view, makes it popular with readers worldwide. ‘How likely is it that you would murder someone, rather than kiss them? wondered Inspector Haris Kokkinos”, allow me, in turn, to pose the question contained within the book... If I did not believe it to be highly likely, I would not be writing crime fiction. I believe that, potentially, we are all perpetrators and victims under certain circumstances. And it is precisely this possibility—of finding ourselves in one position or the other—that is tested when reading or writing a crime novel.What is the ‘formula’ you follow when writing a crime novel? My formula, if I may call it that, is that I try to create something I would find interesting to read. Because I don’t have the full plot development in mind from the start, it’s like playing a game of chess against myself, page by page, chapter by chapter.Do you read Greek crime fiction? I read both Greek and foreign crime fiction, and I feel that in the future Greek crime fiction may produce significant works, given that the conditions in which we have been living as a country in recent years, conditions of instability, insecurity and lawlessness may well provide fertile ground for reflection and the development of crime stories. So what else will The Athens Trilogy include, and when can we expect the next two books?That is a closely guarded secret, a puzzle I am currently trying to solve whilst preparing the second story featuring Inspector Haris Kokkinos.As for the timing, I believe that Ikaros Publications’ response will not disappoint even the most impatient readers.”&The ten commandments of a good crime novel, by author Eftychia Giannaki: It is important to have a clear central idea that captures the essence of the plot and the reason why the story is worth telling or reading. The characters, both main and secondary, must be well-rounded, so that the reader feels they are people one might encounter in real life, rather than fabrications or caricatures.&The plot must be interesting and convincing in its development. Ideally, it should be so compelling that the reader cannot put the book down. The atmosphere, the setting and the backdrop must be presented in a way that makes the circumstances surrounding the crime and the resolution of the case understandable, thereby enhancing the development of the story. The methods used to solve the case must be convincing and stand up to the scrutiny of an intelligent reader familiar with police mysteries. The social, psychological and philosophical implications of the story must be presented in an accessible manner, without the reader feeling that the action is being slowed down. The balance between lightness and gravity in the narrative, and even humour in the face of the abhorrent, can illuminate a crime story in a unique way and, in my view, should be sought. The solution should not come about by coincidence or through a deus ex machina, whilst the motives must be thoroughly justified The reader’s way of thinking and moral compass must be put to the test, as they are called upon to provide answers to complex issues or dilemmas. Upon closing the book, the reader should feel that they would like to read another book by the same author.