Paper Time Has Run Out

Poetry Book


[Extract from the poem, A Finish Fairy Tale]



Tunturi: a word that the Sámi people use
to describe the highlands in the north of Finland


Halfway through the Cold War
life became insufferable in KorvaTunturi
it was a called a zone of border patrol
which means soldiers, barbed wire
rocket-propelled vehicles
thus Santa Claus decided to leave
for the hinterland
and to leave behind him
the workshop that he carved for centuries
in the ice of the mine.
So one day
he loaded a moving van with his things
the flying sledge
the red clothes
the means of production.

(the reindeers were running after the open trunk of the van)
he left the hill
to go back to the lakes.
Today one can meet him
in a shopping center in Napapiri
this was the house assigned to him by the government
to stay in
and work.

It is certainly a sad ending.
He himself, tired,
sent a request to the ministry
for them to bring him to keep him company
an exotic bird
from the distant Southern islands
Even, he clarified,
a p-p-parrot would do.


[The port of Esbjerg]


A world that was cut in two,
and how to connect it again


“No one knows how you look like” said someone
because the moon had frozen for good
and the gears never
stopped turning backwards

In the port of Esbjerg, the residents
stay in their houses
locked away, the sun itself was lost
in a deadly cloud
wind and rain are silently soaking
the bodies in salt but
the residents of Esbjerg
do not move
they spend their hours
by the windows
looking at
the cargo ships
that arrive at the docks.

Of course in Esbjerg
there are other things as well
generators, electrical wiring, concrete chimneys
there are others
from day break in the refineries
with hands burnt
by rust
others that steer the ships
into the port
others in the containers, in the motor rooms
asks for a pitcher of beer
and they whisper a wish
to go
out of their houses again

By the end of the day
the port remains
a place of myths.


Greenland 2


Here you have it, time
– it is no clock – it is snow


That night the residents in Godthåb
didn’t expect anything to happen,
they were not aware of the great war
they passed their time
in concrete blocks
behind the glass windows
that rattled because of the freezing cold


until night became day
and the sea was a flock of red lights
noise, so much noise
like a thousand whales crying
the surrounding world then became an x-ray
the whole world was to be found

in the mind of Erinak
the white coasts, the sea birds
the 32 words he knows to describe snow
the peaches he once tasted
in Stockholm with Maria


and then bodies
naked bodies embracing
tears and fishes
that he saw in himself
the cove like a lit stove
Erinak became one with the world
the fire one with the concrete
here at earth’s end
where the world becomes a curve
the magnetic lines
turned upside down
one with the world that is turning into a curve
that is what Erinak became.


(Translations by Tonia Tzirita Zacharatou and Tatiana Faia)



[Reviews and articles]

Anagnostis Magazine:

“First book award”

Hartis Magazine – Dr. Elena Pallantza:

“The changing time”

Marginalia Journal – Dr Elena Tornarity:

“The antarctic langage”

1-2 magazine – Dimitris Leontzakos:

“The impossible as snow”

To Periodiko – Christos Skylakos:

“A generation fights back”

O Anagnostis – Antonis Psaltis

“A man of paper”

Frear -Dimitris Petrou:

“Memory, Utopia, Topology”

Prin Newspaper – 11/04/2020:

Inteview with Eleni Triantafilopoulou

Mandragoras poetic magazine – Dimitris Papageorgiou:

“The end of time inverted”

Popaganda – Tatiana Chani

“From the arctic circle to Aegean archipelagos”



[ The poem “Bunker” translated in swedish by Irene Larson]


Någonstans därinne,

bakom ditt tredje revben,

glömde jag mina år

åtminstone sju

kanske också fler

därifrån utgår

de hyperboliska linjerna

från ett litet föremål­– inte större än så

och slutar därute

de rör vid den fasansfulla


och utplånas baraför ett ögonblick

sedan löper de vidare

de passerar tätt intill mitt huvud

och genomborrar det till slut

så återvänder de till vår värld

i Hälsingborgs hyreshus

där det lilla bombardemanget börjar

– det alla lever i –

med tidens papperskrig

på toppen av torus

vi har kroknat tillsammans – minns du?



Danmarks kommunistparti

översatte 1939

till danska

den kända Vad bör göras?

med den nya titeln

Vad skulle vi göra kamrater om det inte regnade så mycket aska?

och i enlighet därmed omskrevs resten av


Centralkommittén trodde

att språket inte är något annat

än bara en

böjd yta som tanken föder

för att etablera sig  utanför

det geometriska rummet.






Ο στρόβιλος είναι η εκδήλωση μίας βίαιης περιστροφικής κίνησης, μίας δίνης σε ρευστό σώμα, που απαντάται στο φυσικό κόσμο ως ρουφήχτρα (στη θάλασσα) ή ως ανεμοστρόβιλος (στον αέρα). Στον τεχνικό κόσμο ο στρόβιλος είναι  μία μηχανή που γεννάει ενέργεια μέσα από την αξιοποίηση των υψομετρικών διαφορών που χωρίζουν τις ροές των σωμάτων.


Συμβαίνει καμιά φορά

–   σε όλους συμβαίνει  –

το κεφάλι  να θέλει να εκραγεί

και κάθε ανάσα πικρή να βγαίνει από

τα ρουθούνια θαμπόγυαλα

τότε τα ποτήρια


απευθείας στον μεγάλο κόσμο.

Έτσι πιάνω και θυμάμαι

εκείνη τη νύχτα που μαζεύαμε

βόμβους σιωπής από το στόμα σου,

ή τότε που πάτησα μία ακίδα μέσα στο χρόνο

– πάει καιρός που ξεχάστηκε αυτό –

κι εκείνος τρύπησε σαν να ’τανε χαρτί ˙

για να μην τελειώσει

εδώ το τρίξιμο

(κόκκαλα, δόντια, ουλές)

ξεκινάει η παλιά αφήγηση

–  πάντα με σιωπές γίνεται σε αυτό το ποίημα  –

για κείνη την τρελή στροφή που γύρναγαν

χιλιάδες σύντροφοι στο στρόβιλο

είκοσι χρονών

και κάτι

πως «όλα πέρασαν» και είδηση δεν πήρα,

ίσα-ίσα ακούγεται αυτό,

συμβαίνει σε όλους καμιά φορά

στο Χέλσιμποργκ

και αλλού

τσαλακώνεις το χρόνο σου

αυτός γίνεται χαρτομάζα

αμέτρητα μηδενικά

τελικά μεταφράζονται.

τόσος χειμώνας

τόσος ήλιος

δεν είναι να ξανάρθει