Christina Koutouvela holds a PhD on educational sciences. She teaches as an academic fellow at the Department of Primary Education of National and Kapodistrian University of Athens (2017-2022). She has participated in many international conferences concerning literature and education. She holds a diploma in literary translation (IFG) and has translated essays and literature. She writes short stories. Editorial activity: The Intelligence of the Sunflower and other educational texts (Η νοημοσύνη του ηλίανθου και άλλα εκπαιδευτικά κείμενα) (Grigoris Publications, 2017), The Experiment of Education. Effectiveness and Quality as to what? Politics, Research and Criticism (Το πείραμα της εκπαίδευσης: Αποτελεσματικότητα και ποιότητα ως προς τι; Πολιτική έρευνα και κριτική) (Grigoris Publications, 2016), Age of Crisis or Crisis of the Age (collective translation work, Alexandria Publications, 2015), Amour (collective translation work, Aiora Publications, 2015), Dreams, [Marcel Proust] (collective translation work, Gavriilidis Publications, 2014).
Translated by Christina Koutouvela
Collateral damage / Παράπλευρες απώλειες
He lifted his foot and found a tiny
His legs were cracked; the body had
crumbled in a formless mass while it had
also been beheaded.
With his leg he threw some dirt over it.
As a minimal atonement
for the collateral damage
of an, otherwise, innocent walk.
Comic book hero / Ο ήρωας του κόμικ
Suddenly the city got a purple background;
lines compose buildings, telephone booths,
Human existence is implied
inside enlightened apartments.
All trapped in the black frames
of a graphic novel.
Drug dealers, cops and all sorts of
subhuman – just figments
of a morbid fantasy.
That’s why they don’t scare him.
But he trembles even in the idea
of this eraser, lurking
away from his field of vision;
for some smudges
Letter / Γράμμα
that gentleman with his inflated pockets
in the butchery shops, someday will
manage to fill with meat your insufficient nourished
But you, sitting at the bottom of the bottle,
once in a while you’ ll turn your look high,
over the neck.
Nostalgically to stare
love – the cork that wedges you.
Black immigrant for a day / Για μια μέρα μαύρος μετανάστης
I dressed my gaze in black
for one day. Deep inside the forehead
i buried a nail and then tied it
to my right shoe with a shoelace,
like a shadow
going through their light,
In one day i learned that when
breath smells like fog from hunger
knees weigh down my desire to live
and I become a cactus. In me yet
water doesn’t freeze, but my blood is boiling;
blood that can burn all of you like straw.
Those of you who have two fingernails
instead of eyes high in the face.
Those of you who find redemption from fear
only when your sharpened
delirium finds me
as a target.
The day after changed everything.
The look in the stares changed.
The mark on the forehead
is the only reminder of my other
At the next door / Στη διπλανή πόρτα
A woman entered the house.
She took off the sky that she wore as a hat for years.
She raised her gaze and saw
for the first time a ceiling freshly painted;
painted like the face of a dead man
while they were preparing for his funeral.
She stood above the sink,
in her palm she squeezed a knife.
And she began to clean the scales
and the gills from her body;
to feed and to satisfy the family.