Dimitrios Zacharakis

EULOGY

for the publication of Dimitris Zacharakis’ collected works.

Dear reader, the book that you hold in your hands includes the completed works – poetry, theatre plays, translations, songs, short stories – together with the unfinished works, sketches not developed and memoir type notes of Dimitris Zacharakis: a name that could have left a deeper trace in literature if it had been converted into a more suitable pen name. This act of the deceased would have signified his decision to overcome any obstacle in the path of his artistic development and any weakness of his character. It could be a way to declare, first to himself and then to the rest of the world, that he didn’t recognize in this tedious array of syllables the name that is truly his own, representing his spiritual origins and objectives. This shaping, nominating gesture never took place though, and his fatal negligence shouldn’t be ascribed to a lack of knowledge or sentience but rather to this stalling that plagued his life. He studied biology, music, Greek and English languages but never became an active scientist, performing musician or scholar. His belated occupation with literature seems therefore as a natural result, if not a sign of our times: the scattered knowledge that he reaped was channeled to a quest for the word. Perhaps this stalling didn’t come from within but originally appeared as an invasion from his environment. In any case it was not shaken off early enough, so it became part of his character. Consequently, the fight with one’s own self – something indispensable for every artist – produces two main components in his work: contemplation and a sense of ridicule. Surely, there will be many different views about the quality of his contemplation but the sense of ridicule in his work is undeniable. Besides, even if such an effort is proven ridiculous, in the end it’s right on the mark. (A ridiculous sense of the ridicule? Obviously I have been influenced by the study of his work.) The way that he left this life, the acute heart attack during the presentation of his first - and last – book that he saw printed, confirmed with the most tragic manner his personal commedia. Should we seek the cause in some hidden, festering ambition that suddenly erupted ? Or did he collapse under the weight of all these things that he knew would inevitably follow? Commissions, interviews, trips, speeches, reviews, all those that accompany the life of a well known writer. In any case, I hope that this facetious aspect of his life and death will not obstruct the respect or the delight that his work might offer you, dear reader.

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Dimitrios Zacharakis