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"When I talk about my parents, I think of the first moments of a rotating magic lamp, when the cylinder starts to spin and the images project on the rice paper screen. People smile because they think my childhood was spectacular. I smile because I mean it was different on the outside, compared to the inside. My father’s love for me was explained in terms of the causal relations of simple objects. He had put a bulb and a vent in my soul. Sometimes, I used the bulb to create hot air currents that rose upward going through the vent and pushed the cylinder. Other times, I didn’t care about the mechanism, but used it to trump darkness."

     

                Causal Relations of Simple Objects

                            The Lady of Ro: Stories

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Despite everything that remained unspoken, I could tell that Anna loved Merkel like an older sister. She imagined Dorothea's future and her own. For Anna, the chancellor was proof that quiet, reserved women could call everything for what it was, prepared for whatever came next. You could always count on them to ascertain the root of a problem. Their sense of reality came from a keen insight into human weakness. Anna thought her to be very good at politics, but like a repairman is good at politics, not a politician—the former drew energy from fixing things, the latter from making decisions."

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The Lady of Ro: Stories

"Θα σε κοιτάω πάντα στα μάτια, όχι όταν με αγαπάς ή με λυπάσαι, αλλά κάθε φορά που θα αναρωτιέσαι πώς θα ήταν η ζωή σου χωρίς εμένα. Θα σε κοιτάω με την υποψία των εραστών ότι κάποιος από τους δύο θα φύγει πρώτος. Και κάπου κάπου, θα βάζω στα μάτια μου ένα σύννεφο που θα σου μοιάζει, όχι για να μη δω πότε θα με εγκαταλείψεις, αλλά για να έχεις εσύ κάτι δικό σου να κοιτάς κάθε φορά που θα σε πνίγει ο ουρανός που ονειρεύτηκες".

 

 

Ο Ουρανός που Ονειρεύτηκες,  Εκδόσεις Κριτική,  2014

 

 

PRIN-KOIMHTHEIS-ME-TO-DIABOLO-FM-300dpi(
«Κοίταξε τον νεαρό στα μάτια και το μόνο που διέκρινε ήταν μια αδίστακτη και φιλάρεσκη περηφάνια. Σκέφτηκε πόσο αινιγματικά έβρισκε πάντα τα αρχαία αγάλματα. Πόσο τον αναστάτωνε η αίσθηση του να σε σμιλεύουν μέχρι την τελειότητα. Το να χρωστάς την ομορφιά σου στο ότι δεν έμεινε σπιθαμή στο κορμί σου που να μην την αγγίξουν. Τι ύπουλη μοίρα, σκέφτηκε. Να μην έχεις καμιά ελπίδα ν’ αποκτήσεις σχήμα χωρίς τις χούφτες κάποιου τυχαίου πάνω σου».

 

Πριν κοιμηθείς με τον διάβολο, Εκδόσεις Κριτική 2020

"My brother’s enemies are shadows, the hawk’s response to an airplane for which neither the sky or gravity can be blamed."

  

Reflex Response to Gravity (Spilled Milk Magazine, 2016)

 

Man kann die Menschen durch Gedanken nicht verändern. Doch wie wäre es, ohne Menschen zu sein? Wir sind keine Romantiker, solange wir die Liebe in unseren Gedanken leben. Wir sind Praktiker. Uns ist klar: Das Unerreichbare ist verhandelbar. Willst du wissen, wie es ist, für immer mit dem Gedanken an einen Mann zu leben? Bis du den Menschen findest, von dem du das Gefühl hast, dass er zu dir gehört, den du aber nie besitzen wirst. Du blickst dich um und lernst, alles nur halb zu sehen. Du behältst etwas für ihn zurück - nicht, weil er kommen wird, sondern weil du versuchst, die Welt mit seinem Blick zu sehen. Nein, es ist nicht romantisch, für jemanden dahinzusiechen. Niemand siecht aus Liebe dahin. Du begreifst nur, wie leicht du dich an ein Leben ohne ihn und ohne gemeinsamen Blick auf die Welt gewöhnst. Das macht dich krank. Weil du nicht dahinterkommst, ob das, was dir für immer fehlen wird, seine Welt oder sein Blick ist.



Auszug aus dem Theaterstück „Jagdsaison“

(Deutsch von Michaela Prinzinger)

"Ich lächelte, weil jeder Einwanderersohn Ihnen sagen wird, dass sein Dad, wenn er zerfällt und versucht, sich wieder zusammenzusetzen, die Welt anhalten und nach dem Mut streben kann, sich stark zu machen und ein Mensch zu werden, wie sein Sohn ihn braucht.

 

Ein Einwanderersohn wird Ihnen sagen, dass das Herz seines Dad ein Frontalzusammenstoß seiner Vergangenheit mit seiner Gegenwart ist, die traumerfüllte Distanz zwischen dem, der er zu werden glaubte, und dem, der er wurde.

 

Ich lächelte, und auch er lächelte, weil das Herz meines Dad wie ein Fisch war, der am Himmel schwamm, das Schlimmste sah, aber das Schöne nie aus dem Blick verlor."

 

 

             KAUSALZUSAMMENHÄNGE SIMPLER DINGE

             (Deutsch von Eike Schönfeld)
 

“Uno scrittore che vuole uccidere i suoi personaggi?”

“E cosa c’è di male?”

“Niente. Ci vedo della rabbia dietro. Ecco tutto”, disse lei sorridendogli con lentezza. Cosa cerchi nascondere? Cos’è che non vuoi far venire galla, ci hai mai riflettuto?”

“Dacci un taglio”, disse con tono enfatico, in modo da evitare i possibili risvolti analitici della questione. “Non ho voglia di riscrivere le idee di un uomo morto. È questa storia del mio eroe. Appena riesce a trovare i personaggi quelli non gli danno tregua. Ecco perchè che li vuole morti.”

“Questo è amore.”

“No, questo significa che sono stufo di riscrivere all’infinito le stessa robaccia”

“A volte mi spaventi, lo sai?”, gli disse prendendo una cartella dal cassetto. “Quello che non capisci è che le nozioni sono come desideri. Se non li esprimi muoiono”.

Eddie non aveva mai smesso di guardare quella giovane donna dall’accento latino-americano. Più che la sua opinione quello che contava era la sensibilità con cui utilizzava la lingua per organizzare i pensieri. Quella comprensione riflessa di chi non è nato nel posto in cui vive la portava sempre a scegliere le sue parole in maniera scrupolosa, un’esattezza che provocava in Eddie una reazione immediata, come si fosse trattato di un presagio. Le ricordava sua nonna, una donna modesta, molto religiosa, che aveva l’assurda convinzione di tenere a bada i propri pensieri al fine di scacciare il male, e raccontava a Eddie che le parole pur non avendo le ossa possono frantumarsi. La sua definizione di male non era fondata sulla fede; c’era l’ingerenza di una sorta di comprensibile invidia umana che perseguitava chiunque esprimesse apertamente un desiderio. Cresciuto con una donna simile Eddie aveva una passione particolare per chi si nascondeva nelle parole, chi confondeva le proprie intenzioni tramite qualche banale preferenza linguistica, come un segnale di riconoscimento. E in qualche strana maniera era proprio quello che stava facendo la sua agente. Da come lei lo trattava sembrava che lui avesse il compito di decifrare qualcosa.

“Non ti è piaciuto, eh?”

“Moltissimo! È quasi vero…c’è solo una cosa che mi sfugge. Perché il tuo eroe deve soffrire di amnesia?”

“Ma che stai dicendo? Mica soffre si amnesia.”

“Ne sei sicuro? L’ho letto due volte.”

“E io l’ho scritto. Il mio eroe non ha mai sofferto e mai soffrirà di amnesia. Okay, cos’è che stai evitando di dirmi? Spara.”

“Hai bisogno di un finale diverso”, disse riponendo la cartellina al suo posto. “E io ho bisogno di qualcosa che mi aiuti a venderlo. Ecco qualche consiglio.”

Non voleva invecchiare senza il ricordo di essere stato indispensabile almeno una volta nella sua vita, necessario in qualche un momento cruciale in cui un suo gesto avrebbe potuto distruggere o salvare una vita, necessario come Dio agli occhi di qualcuno che non aveva nessuna possibilità di fare confronti, il che avrebbe fatto sembrare Eddie una persona generosa. Non buona, ma generosa, in modo da far tornare i conti tra la sua naturale inclinazione a mantenere le distanze dalla gente e l’unica occasione in cui aveva scelto di non farlo. È questa la grandezza di tutti i salvatori. I suoi peccati non valgono come verità, perché è solo grazie alla riconoscenza di coloro che hanno ricevuto la sua grazia che Eddie entrerà nella storia.

 

      --Il Cielo Nel Tuo Sogno, Kritiki Editore

 Tradotto in lingua italiana da V. Raimo & E. Repanta

Gianni Skaragas, Lesung und Gespräch, Winterthur (Schweiz) Feb. 2016

Directed by: Annelise Schmid

Feat: Markus Keller

Mode und Moden

Seismo Verlag, DEC 2016

Various Authors

Nah am Abgrund: Die Tracht der Demagogen

Katja Baumhoff und Gianni Skaragas

Herr Friedrich war ein gütiger Mann. Er dachte, er wäre ein Künstler. Ich glaube, er war ein Bestatter, der das Gewicht des menschlichen Körpers fälschlicherweise für ein Stück Land hielt, das betreten werden wollte. „Alles, was von meinen Bildern am Ende übrig bleibt“, sagte er, „ist der Hintergrund und die unzähligen Geschichten über die Abwesenheit.“

Gianni Skaragas and Zsolt Lang

We mouth Amen to the permanent cloud,
kidney-shaped seeds and the vacant
sky subdued and shrinking.

The unforeseen disaster, the breath blown
search for omens.

The waters rise
Bodies float in any direction they choose--
as is the case with logs--isles
outstretched in the corner of a left eye.
Here will be a song all dust,
a spire, a rope-thick crack, a carpet of hatchling turtles,
wonders of a new land. Shadows
go by their first names--refugee: a secret hyphen. We see

them in our sleep.

                                                       Gianni Skaragas, Awash (American Chordata, 2017)

Magazine cover World Literature Today

"No one will tell our story. No one will bear the listening: what we found down there laying on the blue depth of the sea floor, instead of trawlers and men, were dozens of fishlike species never seen before. Our suffering will never be a story of loss—it won’t teach you anything. It will be the slow shake of the head: our kinship with the sand filling up with ants, like a local orchestra of unpeaceful mourners singing for the dead flies they are carrying. The history of grains wishing they could flow against the wind."

Gianni Skaragas, The History of Grains

World Literature Today, September 2017

 ΛΑΧΤΑΡΑ ΕΞΩΦΥΛΛΟ.jpg

She nodded. Her mother held her tight, and Danai, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, had a strange thought: that her mother only pretended to live. She was only an impression of real life, just like the world she looked for in the mirror when she searched for flaws.

Neither of them ever mentioned the unknown uncle again, as if he had never existed. The only man who ever made her mother break down in despair, just once, left behind him nothing but awkwardness that to her child’s soul felt like a menace – something that for everyone’s sake should be buried and forgotten.

And so she did. She never told a soul, feeling that she was doing right by her mother.

From that moment onwards, a life awash in secrets seemed normal to her. She never believed in destiny, but in character, from which no one escapes. Many years later, she realized that on that day she herself had submitted to her own character. On that day she had made a decision: to hide anything that made her heart beat faster.

She thought that was what life was about: to have an entire world before her eyes, and a hidden shadow to give it meaning.

That day, she believed that happiness, too, was like that.

What Remains of the Body

(Λαχτάρα που περίσσεψε από χτες)

Kritiki Publishers S.A. 2018

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Κάνε ότι κοιμάσαι
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Κάνε ότι κοιμάσαι/ Act Like you're Asleep  BEHIND THE SCENES

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2023 Seoul Drama Awards Nominee

 

SYNOPSIS Nicholas is a dedicated, high-minded literature teacher helping a schoolroom full of sullen, poverty-stricken youths in a tough, unruly Athens school program. His wife, a strong, independent business-woman, would do anything to protect the life she's built in her carefully ordered bubble in a middle class suburb—including lying to everyone about her financial and extramarital affairs. When Nicholas meets his favorite student's mother, he feels an immediate physical attraction to her, and they decide to spend a night together in a no-tell motel. While Nicholas wrestles with his conscience, he makes a surprising discovery: his student's real mother was killed in an automobile accident long ago. But the shock goes even deeper, when his wife is gunned down during a bungled break-in at their house and his daughter is taken to a hospital in critical condition. Suddenly his life is thrown into tumult as he tries to see if there's more to his wife's murder than there seems to be. Challenged by deception and treachery on all sides, Nischolas is desperate for justice and to find his family's assailants.

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