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”

Don Schofield, USA


Don Schofield, USA

The Poems

Dead Shepherd's Hut

Sure, I can fix the broken door, clear the brush
out front, find a rope and bucket for the well,
a mattress for the iron bed in this hut
I've rented for next to nothing, but what about
his coat and crook still hanging by the mirror,
the photo of bare-breasted women
in white shorts and red boxing gloves
squared-off and whaling at each other?

I've come here, a tangle of desires,
more like the brambles I open the shutters to, the random
twisted olive trees up this valley kilometers from the road,
come to lose myself in the deep lull
of summer, to be less than smoke
curling from a lamp, nothing and nowhere. I like to think

he woke early, herded the huddled goats
up the ridge, that he knew each one by its bell,
that he's still sitting where pine cones
crack in late morning heat, the place
he slipped through to death. He's buried
on the opposite slope, in the one bare patch
among briars and burned grass— beyond desire,

I whisper to myself. But when I stand at his rusty basin,
see these women he gazed at every morning,
the smell of leather and sweat implied
by their gleaming shoulders and gloves, the ripple across one breast
where a punch just landed, the spectators cheering
from the darkness surrounding the ring, even the referee
smiling and pointing—I wonder

what he thinks of pleasure now
that he's gone to the source. Dead shepherd,
are you still hovering near your body, or here with me,
gazing at this primal destruction, resenting
even your own birth, that wound that bore you?
Or have you come back with some different knowledge—
taking down your coat and crook
then winking at me with the eyes of a goat, behind their bright slits,
some truth I just can't see.


H καλύβα του νεκρού βοσκού

Bέβαια, μπορώ να φτιάξω τη σπασμένη πόρτα,
να καθαρίσω τους θάμνους στην είσοδο,
να βρω σκοινί και κουβά για το πηγάδι, ένα στρώμα
για το σιδερένιο κρεβάτι σ' αυτή τη καλύβα
που νοίκιασα δίπλα στο πουθενά,
αλλά τι να κάνω με την κάπα
και τη γκλίτσα του που ακόμη κρέμονται πλάι στον καθρέφτη,
τη φωτογραφία των γυμνόστηθων γυναικών
με άσπρα σορτσάκια και κόκκινα γάντια πυγμαχίας
στέκονται αντικριστά και γρονθοκοπούνται;

Ήρθα εδώ, με πόθους αξεδιάλυτους,
όπως τα βάτα που βλέπω ανοίγοντας τα παντζούρια, τα στριφογυριστά
που φυτρώνουν τυχαία σ' αυτή την κοιλάδα χιλιόμετρα απ' το δρόμο·
ήρθα να χαθώ στη βαθιά γαλήνη
του καλοκαιριού, να γίνω πιο λίγος απ' τον καπνό
που υψώνεται από μια λάμπα στριφογυρίζοντας, τίποτα
και πουθενά. M' αρέσει να συλλογίζομαι

πως αυτός ξυπνούσε νωρίς, κοπάδιαζε τα μαζεμένα κατσίκια
κι ανέβαινε προς τις κορφές, πως ήξερε το καθένα απ' το καμπανάκι του,
πως ακόμα κάθεται εκεί που τα κουκουνάρια
σκάνε στη ζέστη του μεσημεριού, στο μέρος
απ' όπου γλίστρησε στο θάνατο. Eίναι θαμμένος στην απέναντι πλαγιά
στο γυμνό χώρο μέσα στα ξερόχορτα—Πέρα απ' το πόθο,

ψιθυρίζω στον εαυτό μου. Mα όταν στέκομαι
στο σκουριασμένο νιπτήρα του και βλέπω εκείνες τις γυναίκες που χάζευε
    κάθε πρωί,
τη μυρωδιά δέρματος και ιδρώτα που προδίδουν
οι γυαλιστεροί ώμοι και τα γάντια τους, τον κυματισμό σ' ένα στήθος
όπου μια γροθιά μόλις ρίχτηκε, τους θεατές να επευφημούν
απ' το σκοτάδι που περιβάλλει την παλαίστρα, ακόμη και το διαιτητή
που χαμογελάει και δείχνει με το δάχτυλό του - αναρωτιέμαι

τι πιστεύει για την ηδονή τώρα
που έχει πάει στην πηγή. Nεκρέ Bοσκέ, άραγε
αιωρείσαι ακόμα κοντά στο σώμα σου ή είσαι εδώ μαζί μου,
ατενίζοντας πάλι αυτή την αρχέγονη καταστροφή, δυσανασχετείς
ακόμα και για τη γέννα σου, την πληγή που σε γέννησε;
Ή μήπως έχεις γυρίσει εδώ με κάποια άλλη γνώση -
να πάρεις την κάπα και τη γκλίτσα
και να μου κλείσεις το τραγίσιο μάτι σου,
πίσω απ' τη φωτεινή σχισμή του
κάποια αλήθεια που απλά δεν βλέπω.

(Translated by Sakis Serefas)

* * * 

Be an Expatriate for a Week

                               Ad in Poets & Writers

You've come to reap the blessings of escape,
the sun, the sea, this whitewashed village street.

The locals welcome you into their shops.
You know the more you smile the more they'll like you.

Cops and waiters look at you askance,
underneath their silence endless questions.

You can't explain their little roadside shrines,
why, amid Aleppo pines, you're crying.

Μountains you once knew, the ocean's pounding—
memories inside your head expanding.

That cabin you once loved burned down by a father
you once loved. Both gone. The char is still unexplained.

Blessed be the writer now returning
to his room for another midday nap.


Απόδημος για μια βδομάδα

                          (Λεζάντα διαφήμισης σε λογοτεχνικό περιοδικό στην

Ήρθες να δρέψεις τις δάφνες της φυγής,
τον ήλιο, τη θάλασσα, το ασβεστωμένο σοκάκι του χωριού.

Με μέτρο σύγκρισης τη χώρα που άφησες πίσω,
ό,τι κι αν βλέπεις γύρω σου φαντάζει εξωτικό.

Οι ντόπιοι σε καλωσορίζουν στα μαγαζιά τους.
Ξέρεις ότι θα σε συμπαθούν όσο δεν παύεις να χαμογελάς.

Αστυφύλακες και σερβιτόροι σε κοιτούν καλά-καλά.
Πίσω απ' τη σιωπή τους αμέτρητα ερωτηματικά.

Δεν καταλαβαίνεις γιατί υπάρχουν τόσα εκκλησάκια στην άκρη των δρόμων
και γιατί, κάτω απ' τα αιγαιοπελαγίτικα πεύκα, δακρύζεις.

Τα τοπία τα γνωστά σου, ο ωκεανός που βρυχάται –
οι αναμνήσεις να μεγεθύνονται ολοένα μέσα στο μυαλό σου.

Ευλογημένος ο συγγραφέας που τώρα επιστρέφει
στο δωμάτιό του για έναν ακόμα μεσημεριανό υπνάκο.

(Translated by Tonia Kovalenko)

The Poet

Born in Nevada and raised in California, Don Schofield has been living in Greece since 1980. Fluent in Greek, a citizen of both his homeland and his adopted country, he has published several poetry collections. His first book length collection, Approximately Paradise (University Press of Florida), was a finalist for the Walt Whitman Award, and his most recent, In Lands Imagination Favors (Dos Madres Press), was shortlisted for the Rubery Book Award (UK). His translations from the modern Greek have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and the Greek National Translation Award. He is also the recipient of the Allen Ginsberg Award (US), a John D. Criticos Prize (UK) and a Stanley J. Seeger Writer-in-Residence fellowship at Princeton University. He currently lives in Thessaloniki.

Christos Katroutsos, Greece


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