The Witness

My Bio, For Illumination

I never did or will do anything in the conventional manner and I won’t begin now. My Bio, will not reflect my achievements nor my goals. They are neither here nor there, and will not speak as to who I am at my core.

I would just like to share a small part of who I am and it didn’t begin with me. It began with, the others…

I was born in the country of Greece on the island of Karpathos, in the village of Spoa, as were all my siblings, parents, grandparents, great grandparents…

I think in Greek, my native language, everything I have written or will write, has and will go through the wringer of the translational process.

It isn’t as simple as it may sound, the Greek language has a rich inflection system and syntax which may be lost in translation.

I speak a Karpathian Greek, which is an Ancient Dorian dialect, rich in metaphors. Our parents used metaphors to describe nature, beauty, family, life and god… everything. Other Greeks have difficulty understanding our dialect. And because it is ancient we try to preserve it for the sake of posterity.

The oral tradition of storytelling is still a way of life, a passtime, on my island and many of the stories have been put to music thus preserving their place in our traditions. Passed on to the new generation.

For sometime now, I’ve been compiling the history of my Island, its traditions, its history of occupations during wartime, the executions by the Nazis, that touched my family personally, its folklore, music, etc.

That is what I’m working on now… but,

My name “Tsambounieris”, means player of the bagpipes and my given name Rigópoula, means daughter of the King (not equivalent to princess but to next in line of succession). I come from a family of herders/musicians, the greatest herders in the history of my island. The brawn and wealth of my village. As well as greatest pipers, thus the name (I’m biased). The Tsambounierides are said to descend from Venetian royalty.

When my father, became ill I returned home from the continent, I took over the herd and it was sold off, piece by piece, it took me almost two years till all was said and done, that finality, turned the route I was on and thus closed the chapter, the hundreds of years of my family’s history.

My fathers herd being the last in the line of the Tsambounierides, or you may say “my herd”, I was the last to care for my fathers legacy. My siblings could not be there, and I could not — not have been…

This chapter in my life was the most difficult and one of the most emotionaly defining — -I was losing my father, my heart, my life and everything my family had worked for, for generations. It was labour intensive, through the summer heat, the siroccos, the rains.

The rounding of the herd, the tagging of each one, the fear I saw in the animals that had trusted us, as units (families) were separated, mimicking exactly what was happening with us. This caused me to reevaluate what was important to me. I always knew but my life took another path from then onwards.

The humane transport of the livestock to the port, was heartbreaking. I tried to keep my father involved in the process but the material world was slipping away…The love for my parents, the wellbeing and distribution of the herd, were a privilege to me, as herders came from all over Greece to purchase livestock. My family had a reputation, deservedly, of having the best livestock in the Dodecanese. Father handpicked each and every one (cross breading was an anathema) as his father did before him and so on.

My father worried I would be taken advantage of because I was a young women but I was not about to let that happen, not on my watch. I was on a mission, it was my legacy, as much as his.

I took not one euro of the profits, all proceeds were put in my mothers trust, name, to do as she deemed, it belonged to her, as per my fathers wishes.

My fathers herd at one time, my time, were as the thousands of particles of a cloud, as they passed over the hills overlooking my village, they blanketed it with the music of their bells, when I would watch the herd passing… my cup runneth over, the bells have now stilled, forever.

I am the youngest daughter, of my fathers breath, (we were seven siblings) much like him I’d say, he loved writing, we have hundreds amongst hundreds of his couplets saved. His compassion and generosity, his elegance of spirit for his family and those who crossed his path, left to us, in his words.

Father played, the Karpathian Lyre, the Tsambouna, as all his family members, it is a right of passage, one can say I learned everything from him.

And what I learned from my parents far outweighs anything I acquired in my formal education. Loyalty, sacrifice, family, and to love without reservation.

I am a very reserved person by nature as apposed to the precociousness of my childhood. I tend to stay on the sidelines, my writing tends to cause a ruckus amongst my people, as I never reveal the source of what/who inspires me to write. I probably never will.

What I write usually isn’t always what it seems, I leave it up to interpretation. Unless otherwise noted.

I plant my feet on two continents, two opposing world views, the world of western ideals and the evolving, traditional old world of my island, which I refuse to fight against, it pulls on my heartstrings. My poem “Foreign Affairs”, alludes to that. Home is home and where I belong.

I am of the mindset that I am a collage of those who I’ve been privileged to have had in my life, the daughter, the sister, the aunt, the poet, the storyteller, their love, my love and their memory.

Credentials mean absolutely nothing to me. I’ve been blessed with the eccentric simplicity of my people and the halls of higher learning, I choose simplicity and civility.

Everyone I meet I view as my equal, that is how I wish to conduct myself, here on Illumination, no greater, no less.

I show my support through the clap function, I may not agree with the views of some posts, but I will clap in support of the right to free speech, I leave my ego (I do have one) where it belongs, out of the rights of others.

I try to live my life, beneath the shade of the umbrella of three Greek proverbs, amongst others…

«Η γλώσσα τιμά το πρόσωπο»,

“The tongue honors the face”

Anything one speaks, reflects upon their character.

«Η γλώσσα κόκαλα δεν έχει, μα κόκαλα τσακίζει»

“The tongue has no bones, yet bones it breaks”

I try never to use words to harm another.

This of course comes with a caveat, everything has its limits,

“I am a pacifist, until I’m not”.

«Η αρχαίοι σκέπτονταν σαράντα μέρες να πουν μια κουβέντα»

“The ancients thought forty days before uttering one word”

We must always ponder before you speak…

Therefor I write.

That is who I am the daughter of a shepherd, humble origins, the salt of the earth,

Letters before or after my name are bells and whistles,

Simply put, I am a piece of what is left of his legacy,

Not so simply — his witness.

Thank you, Dr Mehmet Yildiz, and everyone at Illumination, editors, fellow writers, I am honoured to be part of your family here at Illumination. Again, thank you, for having me, I’m grateful.