Dimitris Lyacos was born and raised in Athens. He is the author of the “Poena Damni” trilogy (Z213: EXIT, With The People From The Bridge, The First Death). The work, in its current form, developed as a work in progress over the course of thirty years with subsequent editions and excerpts appearing in journals around the world, as well as in dialogue with a diverse range of sister projects it inspired — drama, contemporary dance, video art, sculp- ture installations, photography, opera and contemporary music. So far translated into six major languages and performed worldwide, “Poena Damni” belongs to the canon of post- modern texts published in the new millennium while being, at the same time, the most widely acclaimed and best-selling title of contemporary Greek literature in English translation. A second revised edition of Z213: EXIT appeared in autumn 2016 and a new edition of The First Death is due to appear in the coming months.
POENA DAMNI TRILOGY Z213: EXIT (Extract from the play)
Nobody is coming after me. Surely they have forgotten about me. Nobody will ever come here to find me. He will never be able to find me. Nobody ever. And when I fled they didn’t even realize. They took no notice of me no one cared no one remembers. Now they will remember neither when nor how. Not even I. Tracks only, a hazy memory and those images when I look at what I have written tracks of footprints in the mud before it starts raining again. Uncertain images of the road and thoughts mumbled words, and if you read them with- out the names you won’t understand, it could have been anywhere, and then I spoke with no one and those who saw me no chance that they remember me. Every so often a face seeming familiar, from another time, someone looked at you, you recognized him, no, a part of another on a stranger’s face. Or the rhythm of the steps that sound behind you, the rhythm of your own steps, which occasionally you think follow you, they stop when you stop, or for a moment you think he is coming behind you, or you think that someone is breathing behind the door and will now come in. And then nothing, and then back again, and you suddenly turn your head as if you had heard him. But no one.
Translated by Shrosha Sullivan