The climb had reminded of the skaline going up to the village and also the house on the coast at Bijela. There were paved segments where tile had been laid, with some concrete controversially added here and there, but in many places the limestone crust had been cut for stepping. This passage had once carried all the ancients, whose names were honoured in the present day streets of the city.
One afternoon near hotel Soho, Sofokleous appeared like a visitation. With better lookout thereafter, Evripidou, Lykourgou and others unknown and not easily googled.
Early Spring in Athens, chilly shortly before 8. It was best to set out before the larger crowds mentioned online had gathered. After the decade on the Equator the compression socks from the flight were needed with the sandals; a cracked heel too causing nuisance.
On the flat above again the embedded rock took almost as much notice as the fashioned marble that had been quarried some distance away in the north-west, beyond the valley, where the city spread in the light like another marvel of it own. On all sides around the famous temple the rock protruded.
A large outcrop of that profile that stood between the valley and the port on the other side was always going to draw the attention of visionaries. The landform itself rearing up toward the clouds, topped by a natural platform, suggested a magnificent pedestal; a temple to a deity of one kind or another, inevitably. In the prior time an earlier chaste, honourable virgin had done service, guardian and saviour together. Inevitably.
In one of the notes there was the suggestion not long after its erection the giant statue of Athena had needed to be pulled down, because the glinting of her helmet or spear in the sun provided a marker for enemies.
Loosely scattered in a number of places stood little newly sprouted poppies. Almost blood red, modest and only here and there singly appeared. One came upon them on a patch of ground, then ten minutes later again poking uncannily through cracks in the rock. Finally on the last round within some overgrown weed on a larger plot, perhaps a dozen & half unclustered. Late winter at that elevation provided this unscripted, natural element that had been left to its own devices.
After Singapore’s award-winning curb-side garden beds—planted, watered & pruned by the dark foreign workforce—their Botanical Gardens that had replaced the former lush jungle, their nature reserves, the untidy overgrowth in Athens, the weeds and the flimsy wild poppies on the sacred Acropolis scrambled the brain.
On the Spring climb to Village Uble with Neki fifteen years before there had been many different blooms on the sides, some of which Neki could name. Again, modest and delicate in that setting, easily missed, like some of the quiet Greek beauties one passed on the streets of Athens.
There was far less make-up worn by the women of inner Athens and men’s dyeing was almost non-existent. Visitors from the Equator would be struck.
Two days before the planned visit Han Kang’s Greek Lessons had been passed on a street-cart in the fashionable quarter of Monastraki, a short distance from the more democratic Omonia. In the last couple of months two of HK’s stories had been read in Singapore, one an earlier version of the Booker winning volume, where the domestic tussle with the husband over the woman’s vegetarianism featured. This Greek novel was an unknown. Of course it needed to be purchased; a brief inspection found some of the incidental Greek material.
The earlier readings had shown Han was not exactly up one’s alley, but that had been a short, limited sample.
The €15 was another obstacle, made steeper still because of the down-at-heel Omonia quarter. AU$27 for a pocket-sized novella? Food was expensive in the inner city and the second hotel on the lower side of Omonia damn pricey too.
Three attempts were made with the chap manning the cart, an upping each time proving unsuccessful.
He was only a worker there, the fellow deflected. Without authority; couldn’t do it. Practiced in the role and giving a little winning smile on the third day when the purchase was finally completed.
As expected, the writing was toilsome, strained, worked up and overloaded. Withered bloodstains. A clean hunger. Lanterns shrouded in perfect beauty & serenity.
A great many squiggly lines were made in the margins. Overly soft feminine; domestic without grit or force. Later work it turned out, though secondary; despite the gushing blurbs & prizes.
Kang’s politics and right-feeling were clearly admirable. The reason for the avoidance of the ceremony in Stockholm likewise; as well as no doubt fitting for a author who wrote of her chief character in Greek needing to take up as little space as possible in the world.
In the opening 15 - 20pp her greenery, flowers & blooms irritated, as such introduced finery always did in novels. Conventional decoration that fell instantly flat.
Bruised petals, voluptuous blooms...Pale green trees undulating… flowers a riot of unbelievably beautiful colours.
The produce of flower farms almost as good as plastic. Possibly in contemporary Korea Han had seen little of flowers standing naturally in their own element, hidden and offering unexpected greeting.
Under the order of urban planners elsewhere there would be boxed poppies along the climb to a national monument, curved wrought iron, advertising umbrellas and bubbled tea.
On the natural platform of the Acropolis, if you wanted a seat before the Parthenon, it needed to be taken on one of the more shapely rocks.
Poppies for remembrance. Thus far on the Acropolis they had resisted elaboration.
April 2025
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