Kalymnos: The Smooth and the Rough
Sarah-Jane Dobner shares her second poetry collection, this time inspired by a trip to Kalymnos.
Over Easter, I spent two weeks on the climbing paradise of Kalymnos, a Greek Island off the coast of Turkey. Whilst Britain basked in a heatwave, 40 mph gales blew non-stop from the North. I was sick for most of the trip, yet climbed the hardest grade I've ever led. There are chapels everywhere on the island, but underneath, an Ancient brutality. It was a curate's egg.
Parade
9am, the threshold of Masouri
A parade of mopeds and pairs on foot
Headed for Grande Grotta, the Cave
Packing climbing helmets, lifeline ropes
Clipsticks poking out, periscopes
Each one on a diving escapade
Into scoops and pockets and tufas
Crags which seem to be
Underwater or underground
Dripping and seeping in the morning shade
Opening Up
Three-in-a-room, so I get up and out early
And sit in the café. Thirty-five years! the owner
Declares, as he mops the floors. One son
And three daughters! All here! I sit
Where the tiles aren't wet. Say my coffee
Can wait. His wife steps through the tables
Cupping a dish of burning incense and
Moving her lips. Sweeps the street
Noise of steaming milk. A customer, I get
Served first. Then they settle at the gold-lettered
Family-designated table, with ceramic mugs
They don't use in the café, and a stack of
Rich tea biscuits. It still smells of incense.
Efcharistó
Each time I buy a single orange, or a handful of figs
Or a coiled-up Princess-hair-do of spinach in filo pastry
I stumble over this new tongue, blurt Gracias
Hold my hand to my heart, bow awkwardly
The shopkeeper (long-sleeved floral top
Pinafore, thick tights), takes a plastic bag bespoke
To that small supermarket, carefully presses it flat
On the counter, underscores each Greek letter
Whilst she slowly pronounces ευχαριστώ
The alphabet stuns me
Then she gestures to the printed Thank yous
In other languages, says Merci, merci!
I smile and point to Thank you in English lettering
We do this every morning
Honey
For all its apparent barrenness
The Kalymnian landscape is in fact
Mainly edible
The stones, you would spit out
But oregano, thyme, fennel, sage
Grow all over these hills
Figs and olives, the trees
Goats and sheep, free-range
And sharing the feast whilst making honey, bees
The island provides food with the least
Intrusive farming mechanisms. It all seems wild
Except the sheep and goats have bells
St Nicholas
At the quay-side church in the coastal town of Pothia
A painted Jesus preaches from a boat. One of the chapels
Features a scale model of a sponge-diving vessel
With miniature, real, sponges threaded stern to bow
Small helming wheels and large, local sponges
Are arranged amongst the mother-and-child iconography
Under high, blue-and-gold, sea-and-sun ceilings.
Tilted, yellowing candles burn down on a bed of sand
Guesthouse
On arrival, I knew I couldn't stay here happily
Squeezed in together like stuffed vine leaves
Dim, north-facing balcony, non-working light bulb
Shower-hose hand-held in the toilet cubicle
Soaking the seat (before the shower head broke off
And landed with a smash in the porcelain) and the
Noisiest, stompiest, brashest matriarch
Yelling Greek at her husband and daughter and us
We looked elsewhere immediately. Saw hotel rooms
Without kitchens, places being Spring cleaned
Establishments with barking, chained dogs and then
Got yelled at again for looking. Word gets around
So we climbed. Now, a week later, plastic chair
Dragged to the patch of sun in a walkway corridor
Propping my tea on the out-of-date fire extinguisher
The power cuts, disappearing cooking pots
Lack of hot water, the way a full set of keys
For every apartment is left, publicly, on a hook
Our proprietress patrolling and yelling. I've become
Oddly attached, like one of the many stray cats
Etesian Winds
Shutters bang, doors thwack, glass panes
Jerk and try to jump out, buildings howl
Washing rips from pegs, hair needs disciplining
In plaits and hats; the hats blow off
Fig trees self-flagellate as if suddenly acquainted
With a horrifying knowledge
Palm fronds stream in a tinsel-like, mid-winter tangle
These northerlies defy
Thought, relaxation, sleep
Marauders, sunbathing, warm breakfast
Diary-writing, delicate slab climbing
Day after day and night after night, they do not relent
Resista, Ghost Kitchen
Pocket to pocket, chalked and rounded
Good footholds, easy clips and then
What? A blank gap, go across, shiny step
Sidepull and push, wild launch to the lip
Of a gigantic hole. You have it! move
Both feet, get in! get in! Leg, thigh, hip
Jammed knee bar, arm still twisted inside
Overgripping. Be smart! Resting and looking
Upwards at the headwall, 100% jugs!
She calls up, Huge jugs! Go, and
Keep going, big moves, big pockets
100% jugs, clip, another clip, and then
What?? What is this? A crimp? Where's
The jug? 98% jugs, 2% crimp! she shouts
What??? Panic first, swap hands, shake out, eye up
The next bucket, out left, tiny polished foot-spike
Stacked fingers of the right, cross-over
Sharp, chalked slot. 2% crimps then lunge
There's a Thank God hold! she hollers
What?!?? Where? This is it?! Not enough!
Grip peeling, so steep, crazy angle, still pumped
Switch hands, and again, heart rate down
Forearms blasted, almost at the chain
Concentrate! Look at the feet, everything
Sticks, trust your toes, make the moves
And clip. Lower off into air. Yellow-red
Bowl scooping up the sunset and
Serving it up. 98% jugs.
Yacht
As if the island itself is a boat
And hasn't had time to pull in at a marina and fill its tanks
Only salt water comes out of the taps
We keep forgetting, boiling the kettle and drinking
Half a cup before registering that salt is on the tongue
And not just in the air
Nothing dries. Towels briny-dank
Freshly-rinsed hair salt-sticky
Plates pre-seasoned
What if it never docks? Just holds its course
Through the Aegean, letting its cliffs billow
As it sails on and on and on
Bingo
Over Mythos, Fliss suggests we invent Kalymnian Bingo -
Eyes down! Tufas, crozzly broccoli, drips, pipes, pillars, flowstone
Holes, pockets, scoops, slabs, stalactites, route-names painted on pebbles
Crimps, au cheval, heel hooking, knee bar, no-hands rest, safe bolting
Caged canary, tortoiseshell kitten, swordfish steak, a road full of goats
Balconies, sea, Greek coffee, honey, spinach pastries, oregano
Suncream, Sponges, Telendos Island, mopeds
(Without helmets) and Mythos, of course
Tick, tick, tick, tick, cross, cross, cross, cross……Bingo!
Good Friday
The Greek Orthodox Church celebrates Christ's resurrection a week later than the Gregorian calendar. Today is Greek Good Friday. Many shops are closed. Families are gathering, holding bunches of wild, white, fleshy-stemmed lilies. At St Nicholas church, a full-sized sailor doll is suspended, for the festivities, between a model sponging boat and the roof of the building. He swings in the breeze, more in limbo than resurrected.
Emily and I climbed this morning, a 6b in the Coeur d'Armeos and a three star, joyous 6c through tufa overhangs, featured slabs, flowstone and ending at a huge roof buttressed by stalactite pillars. Around the corner from us, there was an accident. A father dropped his teenage daughter. Ten metre ground-fall. Fractured skull and blood from her ears. He'd forgotten to tie a knot in the bottom of the rope. These are long routes. One of our team was nearby, responded, administered first aid, holding the back of her broken head.
The girl was breathing. I hope it is a good Friday, after all.
Our best wishes go to Lena and her family.