The dead man who wasn’t there

Kathimerini English - - Front Page - BY PAN­TELIS BOUKALAS

tory rather than cin­ema. I quote here from Mano­lis Anag­nos­takis’s poem “The Dead Man:” “The first tele­grams be­gan to ar­rive / The news­pa­per presses ground to a halt and waited / Or­ders were given to the proper au­thor­i­ties. / But the dead man would not die on the ap­pointed hour. / All wore black ties / Re­hearsed bro­ken­hearted pos­tures be­fore their mir­rors / The first lamen­ta­tions be­gan to be heard. the griev­ous lau­da­tions. / But the dead man would not die on the ap­pointed hour. / Fi­nally the hours dragged into days / Those dread­ful days of wait­ing [...] But the dead man would not die on the ap­pointed hour.” Like­wise, the me­dia have for weeks awaited the big news: “Dead man found.” Sure, some things are dif­fer­ent. Ties are not mourn­ful but fes­tive, col­or­ful, blue-and-white. The pos­tures be­fore the mir­rors are not “bro­ken-hearted” but proud, up­right, almost ar­ro­gant. And there are no lamen­ta­tions to be heard,only cries of en­thu­si­asm about the global ad­mi­ra­tion that Greece has once again re­ceived. For one thing, the word “die” should give its place to “turn up:” “But the dead man would not turn up at the ap­pointed hour.” For although we still don’t know who this per­son is and are not in pos­ses­sion of in­for­ma­tion that would give cre­dence to our as­sump­tions, we are cer­tain that it’s some­one “great.” Per­haps even the one and only, the Great, the man who, ac­cord­ing to var­i­ous irre-

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