Karen Van Dyck
Karen Van Dyck teaches and directs Modern Greek Studies in the Classics Department at Columbia University. She is the author of Kassandra and the Censors: Greek Poetry since 1967 (Cornell, 1998) and other articles on Greek and Greek Diaspora literature. Her translations of Greek poetry which have appeared in her edited and co-edited collections: The Rehearsal of Misunderstanding: Three Collections by Contemporary Greek Women Poets (Wesleyan, 1998), A Century of Greek Poetry (Cosmos, 2004), The Scattered Papers of Penelope: New and Selected Poems by Katerina Anghelaki-Rooke (Graywolf, 2009), and The Greek Poets: Homer to the Present (Norton, 2010).
Take a look at that. The fish change color. When the male gets excited he turns black. He rises to the surface with the female, and as soon as they have sex, he turns silver again.
Finally he took his life in his own hands, and his hands became wings, yes his wings So he could fly in a new sky, with no light, indivisible, hidden from sight Like when he was small in his dreams and untied his bonds far from the prison cells of Everyday.
Midway through spring semester, at the end of March, Stavross father went to the hospital for tests. The results showed cancer of the liver luckily at an early stage. Stavros went back to his village for a month and a half. His mother spent nights at the hospital while he took care of their newspaper stand. When he returned to Thessaloniki, he found a stranger in his room.