1. TESOL Macedonia-thrace
Northern greece
CONVENTION March 29-30
Thessaloniki
The seagull by Odysseas Elytis
On the crest of the wave to sleep
He lays his head of nothing afear'd
Day in and day out
As a gull, he goes about
Of war he knows not
Nor of knives, not
God gave him seaweed ,
Colourful pebbles for every need.
Alas, alas, in this our world
Seaweed no smell ebbs
sparkle not colourful pebbles
Hoi polloi lurk,
Look at you, not a word,
All powerful to present
And on the morrow
Absent
A free interpretation by George Raptopoulos
“As much as you can”
And even if you can’t turn your life as you
wish
At least try
As much as you can; do not degrade it
Among the crowds of people
With all this commotion and talk
Don’t humiliate it, dragging it along
Taking it around and exposing this
oftentimes
To the daily silliness
Of social relations and acquaints
Till it becomes a tedious hanger-on.
a free interpretation by B2 students

2. From ' Travels in Greece' by Costas Ouranis
Free interpretation by C2 students
Daybreak on Mount Athos. Divine spring morning
The nightly hypnotic and mysterious atmosphere has dispelled, like mist. All is
light, peace and kindness. Waveless, pure gold and infinite, beneath our feet, the
Aegean.The sky, deep and azure. The slopes are all green, cheerful and dotted
with wild flowers. No sound of life breaks the enchanted silence. Neither the
clunk of sheepbell nor the ear-piercing doodle of the rooster can be heard.
Stillness, outworldly. Fragrances only does the soothing morning breeze carry to
the panoramic balcony of our guest room.
Soaked in light, the great age-old monastery adds its own peace to the general
peace. Most monks, exhausted by the all night vigil at church, will still be
sleeping.
Two or three dark shapes, motionless like perched crows on their wooden
balconies suspended on the outer walls of the monastery, gazing at the luminous
dream of the Archipelago.
Light and peace. The vast inner court is totally void, desert-like. The stones
glimmer in the sun and among them blades of grass. Not even a cat languidly
stretching in the light, nor even a bird, swift-winged shadow dashing the
luminescence. Centre- court the little byzantine church of brick-red walls and
lead domes is closed and slumbering. At the Phial- the little octagon structure of
white columns and the central marble font, where Epiphany waters are blessed-
not a mere whisper of running water. Still even the tips of the two grand
cypresses planted by St Athanasios, the founder of the monastery, 1,000 years
ago.
And yet, no melancholy in this ataraxia of everything. On the lead roofs of the old
elements of the monastery, the weather has laid a golden tint - the flimsy
wooden balconies of the cells, standing on lofts on the walls like pigeon holes,
have pots with flowers and green festoons of vines, and from the decorative
mauve bunches of grapes, the half faded murals in front of the ancient altar,
where they dined in times long gone, compose bouquets of bright, cheerful
colours. Nothing permeates that sadness of old things that decompose more and
more with time. Not even those old tombs of the patriarchs and bishops of past
times, in a far corner of the grassy court, under little arches, bear thoughts of
death. The peace that soaked in the light, everything, was what, surpassing the
pale rider, joins eternity.
All the hours we spent in Lavra, the same tranquility, the same silence. Now and
then, our attention was drawn by a monk coming out to rest at the dove-cote, or

3. another passing by, slowly, like a whisper, in the vast grassy court. But it was as
if they hadn’t noticed our presence, or as if they didn’t care for it. Not a soul
approached to talk to us, ask us about the world or life. It was not the regulation
that obliged them- like in the monasteries of the white Benedictines, where on
every wall , on all doors, everywhere, in big black letters the notice: “Silentio!
Silence!” But it would be, I imagine, the complete indifference about the world,
which they had abandoned for years and had burned every bridge. Living in a
narrow cycle of age old religious forms , with their sole pastime the peaceful
works of the soil, with the changes of the seasons around their monastery, the
only events the deaths of their peers, it was natural they had been alienated from
the life of others, their cares and their worries. Their thought would have gained
the sluggish and trudgy walk of the mule tied to the drawing well, going
endlessly around it.
And even the prefects, though more wordly, had not felt the need – I recall- to ask
us about anything on our arrival. We were led to the great hall of the guesthouse
( the arhondariki) to be offered a local treat and the welcoming coffee. They sat
themselves, as serious as Roman senators, in a row of seats. They had us sit in
another row across them; and after they were formally informed about our
having had a good journey and the expected duration of our stay, they fell silent,
content, and ended up stroking their patriarchal long beards, inspecting us like a
doctor’s patients waiting at the antechamber for their turn do with those last to
come.
Then began for us the exquisite unraveling of the promontories, the coves, the
slopes and the monasteries of this Athos’ side. One by one the monasteries of
Karakalou, Filotheou, Iviron, Stavronikita, Pantokratora paraded in front of our
eyes. Some at the tops of lush green hills, others on red and black cliffs of the
coast and others near the sandy beaches of small picturesque bays. We would
see their medieval towers, the lead domes, the countless balconies of their cells,
the imposing castle walls – their white and endless peacefulness. They appeared
like visions and faded behind the promontories – succeeded by other
promontories. Different from each other in size and style, they encompassed the
same drowsy lives, the same old manuscripts, the same byzantine murals, the
same atmosphere of past.
The petrol boat of Miaoulis glided for hours on the bright serene sea. Eventually,
past the rideau of the last promontory, we saw a gulf opening, in its middle a
crowd of red and lead roofs, domes, towers and walls; it was Vatopedi, the
richest and grandest monastery of Mt. Athos.
How to contact us
George Raptopoulos
Email: yorik57@gmail com https://www.facebook.com/ochendo.raptopoulos
http://www.yorikman.blogspot.gr/
Georgia Psarra
Email: jopsarra@gmail.com https://www.facebook.com/jo.a.psarra

4. http://jopsarra.blogspot.gr/