Vasiliki Poula

I am a first-year Law student at LSE, where I am mostly interested in constitutional reform and the impact of the uncodified constitution on the judicial interpretation of statutes. When not reading around jurisprudence, I explore literature written or translated in Greek, English and French and re-visit pieces that have moved me, such as the historical poems of Cavafy. Translation of literature and its impact on form also intrigue me. From structure in literature to structure in music, as a piano player, I am trying to understand how madrigals evolved into Bach’s fugues, in my opinion epitomising the Western canon.

For a place under the sun

Exploring the lives or the work of many artistic figures, the fear of their womb of thought becoming a tomb seems to torment them. This might seem paradoxical given the intuitive association of art with originality and the belief that the latter is an intrinsic trait of the firm. Instead, this self-evident thought is transmuted as an esoteric angst, an internalised mission.

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Palintonos Harmonia

Theatres are curious places, magician’s trick-boxes where the golden memories of dramatic triumphs linger like nostalgic ghosts, where the unexplainable, is normalized and the mundane is celebrated.

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The Testimony of a Resurrection

On the day that she left the province, trains had been overzealous. At first, they had panicked everyone into believing they were just about to depart, thunder off down the track. Yet, when farewells had been said and words had been drained, they waited.

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The blossoms of the apricot blow from east to west

In February 1888, Vincent van Gogh, travels from Paris to the Provence and looks out of the wagon’s window to ‘to see if it was like Japan yet’, enthralled – as he was – by Japanese woodblock prints. It was their light that he sought, a light that he found in the crisp sky of Arles.

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Untangling the marginal chords

In the Greek port of Piraeus, during the interwar years, amber worry beads kept the fingers preoccupied, carnations instead of lapel badges. Amidst the underlit streets, in the smoky underground taverns, the desire for eternity and the necessity of temporality for the people leading marginal lives became externalised. The music of rebetiko was born.

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The appy polly loggy of a droog

How you have felt, O my brothers, at hearing the goloss of my accusers, I cannot tell; but I know that they made my tongue stuck and almost forgot who I was.  Then, it came. I shall just tell you the facts, as they happened. Oh, bliss, bliss and heaven after this idea.

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The Kaleidoscope

An unintelligible humming penetrated the walls of his room. Rather unexpected. Its source was evident, the oscillation of vocal cords. He thought he was done with distracting human sounds once and for all.

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The Aura of Words

The silent despair of Dido for her husband’s murder is deafening. Mourning the loss of beauty seems not only to refer to the body of Sicheus, but to the entire humanity, which opiates the intricate effect of words and the aesthetic power of language.

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