Natalie Katsou

Natalie Katsou Feb'17

Natalie Katsou was born in Athens. Graduating from Law School, she completed her studies in Theatre at the University of Athens and in Acting at Delos-Hatoupi Acting School. She had her Master of Fine Arts in Theatre Directing at East 15 Acting School (University of Essex) under the Minotis Scholarship granted by the Cultural Foundation of the National Bank of Greece. Since 2010, she lives and works as a theatre director and a drama lecturer in London. Natalie is the Artistic Director of Operaview.

She has published the following collections: “Magodos” (Kastaniotis Publ. 2008- nominated for the DIAVAZO Literature Prize) , “Cochlea” (Kedros Publ. 2012- nominated for the ANAGNOSTIS Literature Prize) and “Nymfalidae” (Kedros Publ. 2015). She has also written 7 theatre plays, all presented on stage. Her latest play Seabed will be performed as part of the Greek Contemporary Writing Festival in Athens in April 2017.

Her poems have been translated in English by Yiannis Goumas, in French by Michel Volkovitch and in Spanish by Mario Dominguez Parra. Her poetry features in magazines such as POIHSI, and poihtiki and in various e-zines such as poeticanet.gr, e-poema, Mediterranean.nu, Quarterly Review and others.

www.nataliekatsou.com

From Nymfalidae, Kedros Publ. 2015

Translation by Yiannis Goumas

A porcelain doll with sex and limbs

within whiteness and fragility

thinks in a world without words

 

the hand finds its shape in writing

it’s a bird with black wings and silver eyes

hooked on surging in the belly

 

butterflies have no tongue

nor do they smell the pitcher plants

 

what was it that called her here?

She’ll dissolve her skeleton crack by crack

sucking the black dripping inside

instantly displayed with a pencil mark

 

whether she wanted to die or he to kill her

from Cochlea, Kedros Publ. 2012

testimony IX

 an all-rounder of a servant i go

from corridor to corridor

lost on my way

i can’t keep track of the passages

and yet I return

 

i am the only one who has heard

his voice

ground coal in his very

ashes

with a single breath he shines and instantly is lost

in calculations

 

i have learned to follow the weather

the bull’s son goes no further than immobilizing

what he feels a straight line from the oesophagus to the stomach

i found myself being his father’s hand

drawing other straight lines to encircle him

 

history coils round him snail-like

and he has no sight; a sacred calf

prisoner of eternity

 

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