YANNA BUKOVAS
ed. FRMC page 49

Despite the dynamic continuation or restart – there are different points of view – of Greek poetry over the past twenty years, the conviction remains that it is a difficult genre and concerns few. This seems to contain an implied reprimand. Is it implied that poetry despises many, or, even worse, that poets are no longer able to charm? The discussion also automatically shifts to the language of modern poetry, which, according to the accusations leveled against it, is no longer “poetic” enough. In turn, the complaint concerns the ability of language to creatively innovate. While our modern poetry is not lacking in neo-Geeks and their supporting critics, it will be difficult for poetry (and language) to finally win the historical lot if it is not refreshing and innovative. Byron Leontharis, one of the few poets who in post-political Greece cultivated the language of essays with pretensions, points out: “Poets-renovators of language can only exist in nations that have not yet gone too far from the barbarian (in the correct sense of the word) their past, then there are peoples where their language flourishes and develops. Peoples with ancient, now ruined languages ​​have lost the game in this area. There is no other language for Greek poetry than the language of a refugee, an immigrant, an exile, a diaspora, the language of a Greek in constant need” (“Theses on Kariotakis”).

Labeling Leontari, agree or disagree, in whole or in part, provides a stimulating basis for discussion. In the most dedramatized version, it suggests that instead of a linguistic “state of emergency” we have been overwhelmed by a terrible seriousness and seriousness. We have lost the joy of wordplay. And how can one be an artist of language if it is not difficult to play with it and not enjoy it? I am thinking about all this while leafing through a thin booklet by Janna Bukova (born 1968), an outstanding poet and writer from Bulgaria, who has been living and working in Greece for many years. This is the second book written by Bukova in Greek, from which she has been translating into her native language for many years. The phenomenon of mastering yet another poetic language at this age is rare, if not unique. Here, in the “S” under discussion, Bukova reminds us of how enjoyable and inventive it is to spend time with Greek as long as you like.

He builds a lexicon of 365 words beginning with sigma, taking on the beneficial effect of a limiting rule that hides the infinite freedom of poetic play. “Sokaku is a geisha who has gone too far” and “Realization is when your eyes grow teeth.” Her humor is reassuringly dark, in Balkan-Slavic tradition: “Soya is the heavy shadow of your DNA” and “Centipede is reality as a dance partner.” There is no shortage of works that speak with a caustic attitude on issues of criticism – Bukova is also a reserved critic of modern poetry: “Syrup is a captivating lyric.” And there are still mocking records of political reflection: “Social democracy is an identical equation that is still being solved.” I can’t imagine a reader, poetry fanatic or not, who doesn’t pair effectively terpone after junk, referring to Bukova “C”.