Dimitris Lyacos

Greek poet and playwright

Dimitris Lyacos (born October 19, 1966) is a Greek poet and playwright.

Dimitris Lyacos


  • Say you are invited to dinner, you arrive and the table is set. A succulent piece of steak is served, a little blood oozes out of the tender meat. Has that piece become so alien to its “history” that you would never wonder about its past? If you did, how far back would you go? Certainly as far as the kitchen, that is easy to do, but how about what happened before? The slaughterhouse or, possibly, the gruesome life of the animal? There’s a story behind the little blood that you see, a residue hinting at the end of a life. A trace that has come to reach you, and you might want to follow the thread and think about life as part of a system—the prearranged context surrounding the chair you have sat on and the clean dish in which your dinner was served[1].
  • This is continuity, you travel, perhaps in your mind, a paper world real, God reeling up and down landscapes and buildings, knocks down, opens new roads, doesn’t like it, changes again, but there isn’t a seam, His world is onefold, and you perceive neither seam nor contradiction, continuity only.
    • From: Poena Damni Z213: Exit, Shoestring Press, 2010.
  • [...] your own are burning and your memories and you don't want to leave them. Everything will burn to the end, you suffer, but nobody is punishing you, they are just setting your soul free. Don't be afraid because while you fear death they will rend your soul like demons. Only calm down and you will see the angels who are setting you free and then you will be free.
    • From: Poena Damni Z213: Exit, p. 88, Shoestring Press, 2010.
  • And when you can no longer remember, just meaningless things here and there and you can't. But still try even then, as the twilight sets in, stand and look at the past, walk again along the corridors where your eyes used to wander, attentive ghosts, open the boxes, think of the other side of the wall. Sit at the side of the road and see yourself pass. See the web, see how the passages of the maze all lead again to the same point which does not exactly coincide with the exit.
    • From: Poena Damni Z213: Exit, p. 60, Shoestring Press, 2010.
  • [...] a course laid between the seed and the snare

marks of venerable syringes ordered
to excite the awareness of Transcendence
first and last harbour the disinfecting of exile
on the bridge no one, only me,
searching for approaches and testing traitor neurons
grading thoughts repenting in an incomprehensible tongue
and again attempting to show the splash-down of a world
which moves up and down within the walls of experience
a tragedy which travels unruffled
hell without sinners without return [...]

    • From: Poena Damni The First Death, p. 35, Shoestring Press, 2000.

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