Patras World Poetry Festival

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DECEMBER 10th - 13th  2020 

We would like to inform you that due to the implementation of a new lockdown in our country and the increase in the number of coronavirus cases, the organizing and scientific committee of the “Jean Moréas International Awards” and the Patras International Poetry Festival postpones the date of the event on December, 10-13 of 2020.

Digital Event

The Patras World Poetry Festival 2020 this year is entitled "National Poets" and plans to host 60 poets from 15 different countries around the world.

This year the festival  be held online and virtually, as far as COVID-19 impact affects significantly the implementation of this event.

In the four-day online event there will be 6 meetings lasting up to 3 hours, where the guest poets will be presented with readings in 2 languages, via live connection. The events will be attended by invited representatives of institutions and the jury, while the program will include speeches, presentations, tributes, music, etc.

In addition, the following activities will take place within the schedule of the Festival events:

  • online Award of the annual Greek Poetry Awards "Jean Moréas" (Saturday December 12th)
  • Art Exhibition "National Poets" with the participation of 20 Greek artists and 10 artists from different countries (live and digital tour)
  • Collectible trilingual edition of the poems of the participants, in the first language of each artist, in Greek and English

The 3rd Patras World Poetry Festival 2020 is organized by the Poetry Fountation “Grafeion Poiiseos”, the literary website Culture Book ( and the multicultural center Epikentro Plus History & Arts, while every year it is under the auspices of the Ministries of Culture and the Ministry of Tourism*. Supporters of the event are the Greek Library of London, the Cultural Center “Kostis Palamas”, the University of Western Macedonia, the Hellenic Open University and many other important institutions, as claimed under the Aegis of the President of the Hellenic Republic.

Awarding of Poetry Awards "Jean Moréas" for the year 2019

This annual event will be held digitally at one session of the PWPF Poetry Event 2020, with a presentation of the award-winning poets and recitations by them. This is the annual event during which the "Jean Moréas" Prizes are awarded for Greek poetic art and Greek poetic production in its entire range. They are recognizable nationwide and concern the poetry collections that were published throughout the previous calendar year from the year of the award. They refer both to young poets and newcomers and to those who are recognized with their poetic work along time.

The event is highly appreciated by the Greek literary and artistic circle of readers. In this year's event, in addition to the institutionalized awards, a very important foreign poet will be honored, who with his/her lifelong work honors the literature outside Greece.The Award Committee is composed of Greek University professors, as well as very important poets and poetry critics who will evaluate the work of the honorees.


On behalf of the organizing committee.

Kotopoulos H. Triantafyllos, President of the “Patras World Poetry Festival”

Skiathas D. Antonis, President of the Poetry Fountation “Grafeion Poiiseos”

Alaniadi Maria, Event Manager of the “Patras World Poetry Festival”

Andrés Sánchez Robayna, Spain


Andrés Sánchez Robayna, Spain

The Poems



PASSING once more are the white clouds
in a time when there's no time. This is one hour
of time and it's your body and it's the waters
glistening under the sun of memory.

(translate: Manos Apostolidis)




ΠΕΡΝΟΥΝ μια φορά ακόμη τα λευκά σύννεφα
σ' έναν χρόνο δίχως χρόνο. Είναι μια ώρα
του χρόνου κι είναι το κορμί σου κι είναι τα νερά
που λάμπουν κάτω απ' τον ήλιο της μνήμης.





PASAN una vez más las nubes blancas
en un tiempo sin tiempo. Es una hora
del tiempo y es tu cuerpo y son las aguas
que brillan bajo el sol de la memoria.

* * * 


NOTHING foreshadowed it. Or maybe it was only,
in the air, a pulse
that faded, slowly, slowly, merging with us?

We had wandered that entire day,
blinded, around the island,
an earth surrendered to the naked skies,
under the ash gray sun.
Later walking in the city,
on scorching pavements, we saw, between two streets,
gravestones scattered, remains of an old seaman
graveyard, the remembrance that surfaced
among living and dead, with no transition at all,
us on that side of the earth,
them already complete, century
VIII B.C., on the now half-faded
inscription. The extinct,
the unsolved, maybe,
it was there, in the light.
We made our way back absorbed,
later, in our veering steps,
on streets whose layout was like scribblings
designed nonchalantly by an absent-minded god.

Few hours later, we sought a place
to dine, hungry.
Still very close to that place, by the seashore,
on a humble plank,
were the three of us, when the light of day
had now moved away towards a place lost
in time. Delicate waves
broke on the sands, and there on the other side, another island
raising in the dark its vague outline.

It happened without warning, without a single sign.

A sort of peace blanketed everything, a form, close,
of harmony, or at least a form
of that which we call so. The finite,
as if brimming over the cup of all things visible,
embraced us, and time,
like the ceaseless waving, was filtered through
the black sand, through the imperishable.

Must I conclude, then, that it was harmony,
perfection, or beauty, or bliss?
I know not why I must now comprehend,
if that won't offer me today the feeling
offered me by ignorance that night,
if this embracing was beyond
this feeling, a drop, only,
of eternity, filtered through time.

Years have passed since
all that, today only a shadow remains,
a remembrance which lies amidst the dark,
almost ignored after all, as in ignorance
we think of the light up there, as incomprehensible.

(translate: Manos Apostolidis)



ΤΙΠΟΤΑ δεν το προμήνυε. Ή ίσως ήταν μονάχα,
στον αέρα, ένας παλμός
που έσβησε, σιγά σιγά, σμίγοντας μαζί μας;

Είχαμε περιπλανηθεί ολάκερη τη μέρα,
τυφλωμένοι, στο νησί,
μια γη παραδομένη στους γυμνούς ουρανούς,
κάτω απ΄ τον σταχτί ήλιο.
Περπατώντας ύστερα στην πόλη,
σε πεζοδρόμια που ζεμάταγαν, είδαμε, ανάμεσα σε δυο δρόμους,
μνήματα σκόρπια, απομεινάρια ενός παλιού ναυτικού
νεκροταφείου, τη μνήμη που αναδυόταν
ανάμεσα σε ζωντανούς και νεκρούς, δίχως μετάβαση καμία,
εμείς σ΄ αυτήν την πλευρά της γης,
εκείνοι ήδη περατωμένοι, αιώνας
VIII π.Χ., στη μισοσβησμένη πια
επιγραφή. Το αφανισμένο,
το ανεξιχνίαστο, ίσως,
βρισκόταν εκεί, στο φως.
Επιστρέψαμε απορροφημένοι,
αργότερα, στα ξεστρατισμένα μας βήματα,
σε δρόμους που η διαρρύθμισή τους ήταν λες ορνιθοσκαλίσματα
σχεδιασμένα ανέμελα από έναν αφηρημένο θεό.

Μερικές ώρες μετά, γυρέψαμε ένα μέρος
να δειπνήσουμε, πεινασμένοι.
Πολύ κοντά ακόμη σ' εκείνον τον τόπο, πλάι στην ακρογιαλιά,
πάνω σε μια φτωχική τάβλα,
βρισκόμασταν οι τρεις, όταν το φως της μέρας
είχε πια απομακρυνθεί προς ένα μέρος χαμένο
απ' το χρόνο. Ανάλαφρα κύματα
έσκαγαν στην άμμο, κι εκεί απέναντι, άλλο νησί
ύψωνε στο σκοτάδι τη θαμπή φιγούρα του.

Συνέβη δίχως προειδοποίηση, δίχως ένα σημάδι.

Μια γαλήνη σκέπασε τα πάντα, μια μορφή, κοντινή,
αρμονίας, ή τουλάχιστον μια μορφή
αυτού που έτσι ονομάζουμε. Το πεπερασμένο,
ξεχειλίζοντας λες το ποτήρι όλων των ορατών,
μας αγκάλιασε, κι ο χρόνος,
όπως ο αδιάκοπος κυματισμός, φιλτραρίστηκε
στη μαύρη άμμο, στο αναλλοίωτο.

Πρέπει να καταλάβω, λοιπόν, πως ήταν αρμονία,
τελειότητα, ή ομορφιά, ή ευδαιμονία;
Δεν ξέρω τώρα γιατί πρέπει να κατανοήσω,
αν αυτό δεν μπορεί να μου δώσει σήμερα την αίσθηση
που μου έδωσε η άγνοια εκείνη τη νύχτα,
αν εκείνος ο εναγκαλισμός ήταν πιο πέρα
απ΄ την αίσθηση, μια σταγόνα, μονάχα,
αιωνιότητας, φιλτραρισμένη απ΄ το χρόνο.

Έχουν περάσει πια χρόνια
απ΄ όλα αυτά, σήμερα μένει μονάχα μια σκιά,
μια θύμηση που κείται καταμεσής της σκοτεινιάς,
σχεδόν αγνοημένη τελικά, όπως στην άγνοια
νοιώθουμε εκεί πάνω το φως, ακατανόητο.




NADA lo hacía presentir. ¿O quizás era sólo,
en el aire, un latido
que se fue, poco a poco, aunando con nosotros?

Habíamos vagado todo el día,
cegados, por la isla,
una tierra entregada a los cielos desnudos,
bajo el sol ceniciento.
Caminando después por la ciudad,
por aceras que ardían, vimos, entre dos calles,
tumbas dispersas, restos de un viejo cementerio
marino, la memoria que se alzaba
entre vivos y muertos, sin transición alguna,
nosotros a este lado de la tierra,
ellos ya consumados, siglo
VIII a.C., en la inscripción ya casi
borrada. Lo extinguido,
lo insondable, tal vez,
estaba allí, en la luz.
Regresamos absortos,
más tarde, a nuestros pasos extraviados,
a calles cuyo plano era el de un garabato
trazado alegremente por un dios distraído.

Unas horas después, buscamos algún sitio
donde cenar, hambrientos.
Muy cerca aún de allí, junto a la playa,
sobre un tablado pobre,
estábamos los tres, cuando la luz del día
se había ya alejado hacia un lugar perdido
del tiempo. Leves olas
batían en la arena, y allá enfrente, otra isla
levantaba en la noche su silueta brumosa.

Sucedió sin aviso, sin un signo.

Una paz cubrió todo, una forma, cercana,
de la armonía, o al menos una forma
de lo que así llamamos. Lo finito,
como colmando el vaso de todo lo visible,
nos abrazó, y el tiempo,
igual que el oleaje perpetuo, se filtró
en las arenas negras, en lo imperecedero.

¿Debo entender, así, que era armonía,
perfección, o belleza, o beatitud?
No sé ahora por qué he de comprender,
si eso no puede darme hoy el sentido
que me dio la ignorancia aquella noche,
si aquel abrazo estaba más allá
del sentido, una gota, solamente,
de eternidad filtrada por el tiempo.

Hace ya muchos años
de todo esto, hoy es sólo una sombra,
un recuerdo que yace en mitad de lo oscuro,
casi ignorado al fin, igual que en la ignorancia
sentimos allá arriba la luz, incomprensible.

The Poet

Andrés Sánchez Robayna (Las Palmas, 1952) is a poet and essayist. He studied university in Barcelona. He is currently a professor of Spanish literature at the University of La Laguna (Tenerife). He founded and directed the magazine Syntaxis (1983-1993) and the Literary Translation Workshop. His poetic work, begun in 1970, is collected in the volume En el cuerpo del mundo (2004), which has been followed by La sombra y la apariencia (2010) and Por el gran mar (2019). His most recent essay books include Cuaderno de las Islas (2011), Variaciones sobre el vaso de agua (2015), New Gongorian Questions (2018) and Jorge Oramas o El tiempo suspendido (2018). He has translated to the Spanish, among others, William Wordsworth, Wallace Stevens and Paul Valéry. He received the National Critics Prize for his book of poems La roca (1984) and the National Prize for Translation

Penelope Zardoukα, Greece
Βραβεία Jean Moréas 2021 - Βραχείες λίστες


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