Poetic Poros

Here we go again.  Poros. Poros.  Poros

And I've got ready yet another Poros post after this

All seems well in paradise.  It is a wee parádiso if you don't scratch the surface and visitors don't.  They see that shiny veneer on top and are happy.  As it should be.

So here are more glimpses of greek arcadia.......

A scene of simple pleasure and quiet

 Two Greek poets have won the Nobel Prize for Literature.  George Seferis in 1963 and Odysseus Elytis in  1979

During the summer of 1946 Seferis spent some time at this villa on Poros overlooking the sea and wrote some of his more famous poetry. He and his wife visited often.

He wrote about the island -

'Poros has something of Venice. The canal, houses connected by boat, glamour, idleness, sensual temptation, something lustful.  A  place for distinguished international lovers, providing much magic.' 

In mid summer I would dispute that picture. It has become a place over-run with people, noise and hustle. 

However on warm evenings, walking beside the sea or in the narrow backstreets with the aroma of the nightflower filling the nostril,  moonbeams and distant lights dancing on the water, Poros is full of romance and poetic enchantment.

This is the canal, only a few metres wide and not very long either.  It divides the two islands of Poros, the smaller one with the harbour and picturesque white houses climbing up the hill and the larger island with its pine forests and beaches.  Small fishing boats pass through here, under the low bridge, to the closer fishing grounds in the Saronic Gulf. The bridge is too low for bigger boats.

It's other 'canal' is the narrow passage which separates Poros from the mainland. 

In 1936 american writer Henry Miller described his arrival as he sailed through this passage as

'I don't know which affected me more deeply, the story of the lemon groves just opposite us or the sight of Poros itself when suddenly I realised we were sailing through the streets.  If there is one dream which I like above all others it is that of sailing on land.  Coming into Poros gives the illusion of the deep dream.  Suddenly the land converges on all sides and the boat is squeezed into a narrow strait from which there is no egress.  The men and women of Poros are hanging out of the windows just above your head.  You pull in right under their frosty nostrils, as though for a shave and a haircut en route.  They can walk faster than the boat if they choose to.'

 

And

'I will cling to Poros...if I should ever have the choice of attaining Nirvana or remaining behind to watch over and guide those to come, I say now let me remain behind, let me hover as a gentle spirit above the roofs of Poros and look down upon the voyager with a smile of peace and good cheer'

From his book

'Colossus of Marousi' 1941