"Balancing on the edge of the cliff – the poetry collection of Kostas Tziras“Desolation and Darkness” by Michał Bzinkowski

NEA ESTIA, Volume 188, Issue 1895, June 2023, page 564-568

https://hestia.gr/periodiko-nea-estia/nea-estia-1895-ioynios-2023/

It happens very rarely that a new poetry collection makes a great impression on me at first sight, with the first verses, an impression that does not fade until the last page, leaving indelible images in my memory. In these extremely rare and unique moments, I feel as if I were reading the great Greek poets for the first time — Solomos, Cavafy, Seferis — as I once did when I was discovering the unexplored richness and uniqueness of the Greek language and literature, which is unfairly considered "small” in comparison with the literatures of the major European countries.

Therefore, when Stegi publishing house sent me the collection “Desolation and Darkness” by Kostas Tziras, which had just been published, and asked me if I could write a review, I felt deeply moved and honored. As an academic primarily engaged with "classical" modern Greek literature and its translation into Polish, I found this proposal particularly appealing, because the collection possesses all the elements that set it apart and render it unique in contemporary poetry. In other words: the collection of Kostas Tziras is a poetic work par excellence and approaches the archetypal essence of poetry, one that extends beyond the conscious, touching the most deeply rooted, subconscious parts of the human mind.

Kostas Tzira's multi-paged collection consists of three parts that can be read as three separate long poems: I. The Tree, II. The People, III. The Diary.

Already in the first poem of the collection the poet sketches a dramatic picture, setting on stage a figure rooted in almost all ancient European mythological traditions – the tree. This ancient symbol, an axis mundi — the center of the universe, connecting earth and sky, Hades and Paradise — appears to Kostas Tziras as a broad metaphor for life that endures and remains unyielding despite all calamities. The strictness of the images as well as the metaphysical mood that permeates almost his entire collection, put the reader in a state of meditation and, at times, I would say, of hypnosis. The image of the tree metaphorically recalls the man who suffers and yet does not surrender:

[The following verse translations are functional rather than literary, aiming to accurately convey content and imagery to readers without advanced knowledge of Modern Greek.].

Να βλέπεις ένα δέντρο να γέρνει To see a tree leaning

και να μην μπορείς να κάνεις τίποτα and not be able do anything

όχι γιατί δεν μπορείς not because you can't

αλλά γιατί συνεχίζει but because it keeps

Να γερνάει με απρόσμενη νεότητα Growing old with unexpected youthfulness

Πηγάδι που υψώνεται A well rising

από την άβυσσο στον ουρανό from the abyss into the sky

σε ένα καταρράκτη κεραυνών παραδομένο surrendered into a cascade of lightning

Γεννημένο για κάτι άλλο Born for something else

και κάτι του έμελλε.   (Ι. The Tree, p. 11)     and destined for something.

The images that follow in this first part focus on the tree’s peculiar nature, at times personified, which perhaps serves as the mythical image of every human being. In eternal youth, and amid unfavorable conditions — as when spring fails to arrive, confronting "the futility of a horizon" [«το μάταιο ενός ορίζοντα» I.The Tree, p. 12] — the tree becomes even more beautiful. Kostas Tziras does not hesitate to pose enigmas and create bold, original imagery. He expands the mythical image of the tree-human and, if I interpret correctly his use of the word 'fallen', treads biblical ground: "Its branches ... / offered utterly / to beauty / at the end of a world / fallen from the root" [«Τα κλαδιά του ... / Δοσμένα ακραία / στο κάλλος / στο τέλος ενός κόσμου / έκπτωτου από τη ρίζα», I. The Tree, p. 13].

Then, former youth is replaced by purity, but the perspective also changes: up becomes the down and down becomes up, as if the tree were not subject to natural laws, as if it belonged to another world and to a metaphysical reality transcending the ordinary human condition: "Its branches .../ hidden in the soil/ soil in the sky / soil untouched by earth" [«Τα κλαδιά του .../ Κρυμμένα στο χώμα / χώμα στον ουρανό / χώμα που η γη δεν πάτησε», I. The Tree, p. 13)].

The image of the tree continually transforms, alluding to different dimensions of the human drama. It is worth emphasizing that even in such complex shifts and daring metaphors, Kostas Tziras never sacrifices the power of his expression nor dilutes his serious, elegiac tone — something especially evident in the collection’s final part, The Diary. His verses sometimes resemble a litany, touching on the sacred, as though initiating us into transcendent mysteries: "And this cascade of lightning / salvaged / odyssey-like flooded / the wilderness / the loneliness / the mercy" [«Και αυτός ο καταρράκτης κεραυνών/ έσωζε / οδύσσεια πλημμύριζε / την έρημο / την μοναξιά / το έλεος», I. The Tree, p. 15].

Strangely enough, the drama of the tree lies in its roots, in being permanently rooted, unable to move:"Yet it did not leave/ the washed fields / the soil of sorrowful unhappiness" [ «Όμως δεν έφευγε / από λουσμένα χωράφια / από χώμα θλιβερής δυστυχίας», I. The Tree, p. 18]. The poet draws on archetypal symbols, delving deeper into unconscious layers. Amid the cliffs, down in the abyss, "the depths embracing it" [«τα βάθη να το αγκαλιάζουν», I. The Tree, p. 17], the tree remains silent, patient. Scratched by the Northwind that caresses it, it continues the incessant lamentation of "Ten-meter steps / into an autumn of death" [«Δέκα μέτρα βήματα / σε ένα φθινόπωρο θανάτου», I. The Tree, p. 20].

The counterweight to death and decay — the sole antidote to existential anguish — appears to be love, "the power/ among powers" [«η δύναμη / μέσα στις δυνάμεις», I. The Tree, p. 22]. Furthermore, the omnipresent shadow of death that haunts humanity leaves its traces everywhere — an atmosphere that stylistically reminded me of Pantelis Boukalas’ Rhemata and George Markopoulos’ Kryfos Kynigos — appears in the most unexpected and original images. Κostas Tzira's tree "forced into the depths / alive in the depths" [«αναγκασμένο στα έγκατα / ζωντανό στα έγκατα», I. The Tree, p. 29] participates in the timeless struggle between life and death. The metaphor of the tree as a fragmented bridge particularly intrigued me:

Φορτωμένο Loaded

βαριάς ύπαρξης αβυσσαλέα κομμάτια with abyssal pieces of heavy existence

μιας γέφυρας που ένωνε of a bridge that united

τη ζωή το θάνατοt tlife, death

το μετά»    (I. The Tree, p. 24) the after

The image of the bridge, with its eschatological undertones, will reappear in the final part of the collection.

The quintessence of the strict imagery in the first part of Desolation and Darkness is captured in the concluding poem, which seals the multivalent images that preceded it:

Σε μια στιγμή In a moment

υπάρχεις you exist

Σε μια στιγμή In a moment

χάνεσαι you vanish

Όλα Everything

Σε μια στιγμή   (Ι. The Tree, p. 37) In a moment

***

The second section, titled “The people”, revolves around the central idea of the individual as both a unique being and, simultaneously, inextricably entwined with society. In other words, Kostas Tziras explores the dynamic between the individual and the collective, contemplating their coexistence as well as the moments where they diverge or collide.

This section is pervaded by a sense of stagnation and inertia that often evoked Cavafy’s early poems “The City” and “Monotony,” with their same mood of entrapment and stasis. It also recalls Seferis’ sailors in the famous poem, “forevermore disembarked, searching their pockets for a cigarette,” but unlike Seferis’ protagonists — who seek the aid of the dead to escape their dead ends — Tziras’s people, desperate, groping in the darkness, crave contact with the living to affirm their own existence.

Όλα κυλάνε ίδια Everything flows the same

δεν έχουν τι να πουν they have nothing to say

δεν ξέρουν αν είναι μέρα ή βράδυ. they don't know if it's day or night.

Ακουμπάει ο ένας τον άλλον They touch one another

για να δουν αν ζουν to see if they are alive

ή αν πέθανανor or if they died

και δεν το κατάλαβαν.  (II. The People, p. 42) and didn't realize it.

These seemingly content people are somewhat numb from life’s monotony and fail to recognize that they’ve entered a metaphorical cave, which — strangely — both confines them and pursues them:

Φτάνουν σε σπηλιές They arrive at caves

κάνουν ένα βήμα take one step

Οι σπηλιές κάνουν ένα βήμα κι αυτές (II. The People, p. 45) The caves take a step too

The cave’s image evokes a journey into the unknown or the unconscious — one of the most archetypal myths found throughout literature (as far back as Gilgamesh). Yet here, Tziras offers the reader an uncanny sense of renewal.

His verses flow with the rhythmic monotony of a train, the steady tick-tock of a clock. Tziras’s people travel toward the unknown, their destination uncertain. And yet, their ship does not sail — not because it’s rotting, as in Seferis, but because it’s frozen:

Ξεκινάνε ένα ταξίδι They embark on a journey

με παγωμένο καράβι. with an frozen ship.

Γεμίζουν βαλίτσες με αλλαξιές They fill suitcases with clothing

τις βάζουν κάτω, πιο κάτω lay them down, further down

εκεί που κρύβουν τον εαυτό τους. where they hide themselves.

Αναχωρούν με σάλπισμα They depart with a trumpet blast

στις δώδεκα at twelve

και δώδεκα λεπτά and twelve minutes

και δώδεκα δευτερόλεπτα and twelve seconds

με γέλια κακαριστά with cackling laughter

για μια νέα ζωή  (II. The People, p. 50) for a new life

It is enough that they set out, without a purpose, but with a hope, to be on the move, not to be tormented with the patience for something that will not happen.

Although the journey seems to be meaningless  — they "return to the same point" ["επιστρέφουν στο ίδιο σημείο", II. The People, p. 52] and, "have nowhere to go / nowhere to return to" ["δεν έχουν που να πάνε / ή που να επιστρέψουν”, II. The People, p. 56], they will do their utmost to move on, lest their efforts will not be thwarted.

These are people unable to fully face their lives or their bodies, or the events that befell them. The key concept for Tziras here seems to be “shatter.” He uses it to express not only the futility of their metaphorical journey but also their inability to pursue their dreams:

Χωρίζονται σε κομμάτια Broken into pieces

που το καθένα βλέπει each gazing

από τον δικό του ορίζοντα [...] from its own horizon [...]

Κομματιασμένα σε άπειρα άλλα Shattered into infinite others

που στο τέλος είναι ελάχιστα that in the end are tiny

και δεν έχουν σημασία.     (II. The People, p. 47) and insignificant.

Additionally, they are stripped down and fragmented: “they cut off their own pieces / so that nothing remains” ["κόβουν τα κομμάτια τους / για να μην μείνει τίποτα", II. The People, p. 55].

Allow me to draw another parallel: Seferis’ “Mythistorima Γ’” evokes a similar disintegration of self — the awakening of ghosts, as if people can’t find wholeness or communicate with themselves. Tziras’s shattered figures bring to mind Yannis Kontos’s dark poem “The Watchmaker,” especially its closing lines: “He returns with broken / minute hands, screws, rubies and the tape measure / of time, chopped up.”

***

In the final part of Desolation and Darkness, titled “The Diary,” we descend even further into the subconscious layers of the human psyche. The poet guides us through a labyrinth interwoven with fears, anxieties, obsessions, and—above all—haunted by the omnipresence of death. The verses pierce directly; the precision of the language and the austerity of expression bring us straight into the heart of darkness. Tziras combines harshness and lyricism, unveiling before us the invisible webs in which we are all ensnared—willingly or not. Yet, he avoids any hint of sentimentality or melodrama, speaking instead with surgical exactitude. He chisels unforgettable images into the marble of words:

Πρώτη φορά κοιτάξαμε τα μάτια του For the first time we gazed into his eyes

τα μάτια του θανάτου the eyes of death

όχι όταν συνηθίσαμε not when we grew accustomed

το βλέμμα του to his gaze

στο βλέμμα μας within our own gaze

αλλά όταν τα σπλάχνα μας but when our innards

έμαθαν να γίνονται learned to become

νερό water

βροχή rain

ένα ποτάμιa a river

για να βαπτίζεται in which he could baptize himself

κάθε φορά που έβλεπε μέσα μας every time he looked into us

για να μάθει να πιστεύει to learn to believe

σε εμάς.           (ΙΙΙ. Το Ημερολόγιο, σελ. 69) in us.

This third section of Tziras’s collection pulsates with a hypnotic rhythm, as though the poet invites us to a danse macabre—like the medieval performances where people of all classes and ages join the dance of death. Here, the boundaries between the living and the dead blur. They intermingle, moving together, balancing on a razor-thin bridge, reminiscent of the mythical “Bridge of Hair” in Pontos[1]:

Σε μια γέφυρα On a bridge

που φτιάχναμε we were building

και ένωνε that conected

αυτό που λέμε ζωή what we call life

κι αυτό που λέμε θάνατο (III. The Diary, p. 74) and what we call death

In a time when many poets experiment with language, often drifting away from the essence of poetry itself—particularly poetry unafraid to confront existential themes—Tziras offers something rare. As he aptly states:"Because fear / hides the truth" [«Γιατί ο φόβος / κρύβει την αλήθεια», III. The Diary]. In our age, when we prefer to forget what is unpleasant, sad, or irreversible, Desolation and Darkness stands out as deeply original. Full of allusions to a collective rather than individual subconscious, and in search of archetypal traces within today’s world, Kostas Tziras's collection deserves to be counted among the most significant poetry collections in contemporary discourse.

Let us return, finally, to Tziras’s opening image—his emblematic tree: "It stood in the abyss / on the precipice that was waiting" ["Στεκόταν στην άβυσσο / στον γκρεμό που περίμενε "I. The Tree, p. 19].

Notes

[1] “The Bridge of Hair” refers to the legendary bridge in Pontos, which, according to the folk song, was built with human sacrifice. In variants of the folk song in Pontos, it is called The Bridge of Hair, linked to the narrow, airy bridge leading to the underworld that souls must cross without falling and being lost forever. This ultimate trial and the ritual sacrifice both reflect terrifying contact with the unknown realm of death. (Miranda Terzopoulou, 2008)

Michał Bzinkowski – Born in Krakow in 1975. Associate Professor of Classical and Modern Greek Philology at the Jagiellonian University (Uniwersytet Jagielloński) in Krakow (Poland), Department of Classical Studies (Instytut Filologii Klasycznej). His latest books: Masks of Charos in Modern Greek Demotic Songs: Sources, Representations and Context (2017), translations from the Greek: Jorgos Seferis, Dni (1941-1956) [Μέρες, 1941-1956] (2019), Jorgos Seferis , Król Asine i inne wiersze [Ο Βασιλιάς της Ασίνης και άλλα ποιήματα (2020), Jorgos Seferis, Róża losu. Eseje wybrane [Το Ρόδο της Μοίρας. Επιλεγμένα δοκίμια] (2020).