-
Hoar Frost Lays
“A cold shimmer blighted the field. Every frosted stroke of nature reflects the tepid sun’s ungracious grace. To glean the horizon, you were forced to squint. And then still your eyes would swim with tapeworms…”
-
Farewell Delilah
“I am immured in an earth-cave. In the dream I hear water: as though a fountain or a brook running nearby. Everything feels … green. I have a verdant feeling as I dream…”
-
A Romeo Dreams?
“The river-mastygon cracked again and I remembered dawn. Long and empty beach and you there not yet: too early. It was five, six hours in the year before we met. We made our way in wreathes, with sun in the crane, hoisted slowly by the props of our voices. The horizon stretched before us in full zoom shimmering on the waves…”
-
Erotokritos – Hidden Gem of Renaissance Literature
“When we think of Renaissance literature we think of prodigious poets and playwrights the likes of Shakespeare, Marlow and Racine or illustrious Italian masters such as Dante, Boccaccio, or Tasso. These names have become so familiar to us that to encounter them side by side such strange-sounding monikers as Vitsentzos Kornaros or Georgios Hortatzis is likely to cause a dribble of indignation…”
-
From Cradle to Grave/ From Beast to Garden: The Journey of Digenis Akritas
“You can look at it this way: whether you realize it or not, epics are human. They are direct and simplistic but not crude. Behind every one of them is a living consciousness ticking and tinkering with bits of legend and lore – stories of people who lived and died hundreds of years ago, snippets of the one truly great story, the story of Us…”
-
Saturnia and Aprilis
“Aprilis got up and drew the curtains, letting the full moon in. His eyes wandered through the intricate web of specter and gleam suspended over the shapeless mass of rocks that was the shore. “He will come back, won’t he?” He asked hesitantly. “He… always does.” Saturnia answered in a level voice. “Where did he go this time?” “Far.” “Well sometimes a little room to breathe can be a good thing, I suppose.” “I don’t need room to breathe. I want him here, let him suffocate me if he will.” Saturnia spoke through chapped lips; the profuse wine had soaked into them like water that floods the soil in an overnight storm and then dries in flakes in the coming day’s sun…”
-
Of Birds and Seafarers: Exile/Ksenitia in Medieval Oral Traditions
“I first trod the paths of exile in sun-kissed Greece out of all places. The monsters I met on the way didn’t pray on my soul, as a matter of fact, they quickly became my friends. We were all strangers then, brought forth from our various homelands by the beguiling prospect of spending a year abroad in the port city of Thessaloniki. Yet, some of my loneliest hours were spent in that beautiful corner of the Aegean. I have stored vivid memories of the winding, narrow streets that I scaled endlessly, devoid of companionship, the shrub-laden hills adjacent to my house, where I sat contemplating sad truths…”
High Table
A blog of books and ideas
High Table 