Leszek Paul (born 1963 in Poland) is a painter, stage and television set designer, and translator of Greek poetry. He studied painting at the Academy of Fine Arts in Warsaw. For over a decade, he has been running a blog dedicated to poetry translation, with a special focus on the works of women poets. He was among the laureates of the competition organized by the Polish Book Institute and the Embassy of Greece for his translation of a short story by Andrzej Stasiuk (2015).
He has translated poems by Cypriot women poets published in the Fraza quarterly of the University of Rzeszów (2024), contemporary Greek theatrical plays by Andreas Flourakis and by Gerasimos Evangelatos. He collaborates with the Greek literary journals Peri Ou and Poeticanet.com, where he publishes translations of poems by Tadeusz Różewicz and Zuzanna Ginczanka. In 2025, he received the Kraków UNESCO City of Literature Award for the anthology of Greek women’s poetry that I may speak my own word.
You are the editor and translator of the Anthology of Greek Women Poets into Polish, a poetry collection that comprises works by 19 contemporary poets. Tell us a few things about the book?
The Anthology of Greek Women Poets, whose title borrows a line from Zoe Karelli’s poem Η άνθρωπος, that I may speak my own word, brings together over two hundred poems by nineteen contemporary Greek women poets. Most of the translations are my own. Amelia Szalewska*, who also makes her debut as a translator, has translated the poems of Katerina Gogou and Jenny Mastoraki. To the best of my knowledge, this is the most extensive anthology of Greek women’s poetry ever published anywhere in the world.
The subtitle of the anthology reads: A selection of poems from the time of the Junta to yesterday. The collection spans poems published from the early 1970s almost up to the present day. At the last moment, I was able to include a few poems by Zefi Daraki from her most recent collection, published in 2024. Unfortunately, some wonderful, already well-established poets could not be included in this edition. I hope, however, that in the future—perhaps in a second edition—Polish readers will have access to an even broader selection. The anthology also lacks poets born after the 1970s; in recent years, so many outstanding new voices have emerged that, had we wished to include them all, the volume would have been not three hundred but at least six hundred pages long.
The idea for this anthology was born more than ten years ago, when I first encountered the work of Kiki Dimoula. Enchanted by her poetry, I decided to translate a few of her poems into Polish. When I received the first editorial corrections from one of Poland’s leading cultural journals—where I had submitted my perhaps still raw and imperfect translations (if any poem translation can ever be perfect)—I realized that the edits had completely distorted both the style and meaning of Dimoula’s work. That was the moment I understood that her poetry needed to be presented in a broader context: as part of the wider landscape of Greek poetry written by women.
I should note that I am not a philologist; I have studied neither Polish nor Greek philology. My interest in this poetry grew out of a feeling—an intuition—that it was something unique, and almost unknown in Poland. As it turns out, judging from my conversations with Polish readers, that intuition did not mislead me.
So gradually I began exploring various collections, publications, and volumes of poetry. While still in Poland, my attention was drawn to the work of Veroniki Dalakoura, whom I soon had the chance to meet in person. It was she and later Aristea Papalexandrou who opened for me the world of Greek women poets: she introduced me to other authors, suggested what to read, and continually inspired me. I remain deeply grateful to her—for her generosity and support in those first steps, and beyond.
The poetic works cover a wide range of themes – from the personal and lyrical to the political and revolutionary. Which were the criteria based upon you chose the specific works?
As the title of the anthology suggests, I was drawn to poets and poems that, in various ways, confirmed my intuition about the unique character of poetry written by women. I avoid the label women’s poetry, as I find its undertone somewhat condescending. Still, I sense—intuitively rather than theoretically—that there exists a particular sensitivity, a distinct way of perceiving the world that is characteristic of women artists: poets, writers, painters alike. It was this sensitivity that became the guiding thread of the anthology.
The collection brings together poets who dismantle the androgynous order of language and those whose intimate, microcosmic gaze reveals universal truths through small, seemingly insignificant details—objects, gestures, moments. Among them are voices that explore solitude, aging, and the gradual loss of what, in a world governed by masculine ideals, is so often deemed the highest virtue: youth and beauty. Equally compelling are the poets’ defiant responses to a reality shaped by masculine politics—whether confronting censorship during the military junta or navigating the turmoil of the recent economic crisis. At the heart of many of these poems lies the question of female identity: as lover, poet, outsider, or stranger. While such themes might suggest a feminist agenda, that was never my intention. I did not wish for a manifesto to hover over this anthology; instead, I sought to let poetry itself—elusive, ungraspable, and beyond ideology—reign throughout.
What about the main challenges you were faced with while compiling and translating the anthology?
And, as always—language, language, and once again language.
Polish, much like Greek, is remarkably flexible and expressive. Both share a free word order, which offers a translator many possibilities but also countless traps. Polish, however, comes with the additional burden of seven grammatical cases and the need to specify gender whenever the lyrical subject uses past or future tense. All this makes certain intended ambiguities—so natural in Greek poetry, especially regarding the lyrical “I”—virtually impossible to reproduce in Polish.
In Polish, particularly in its literary and poetic form, we tend to avoid direct, simple statements, as though we were embarrassed to speak plainly. Many concise, striking Greek phrases require long, winding detours in Polish, inevitably disturbing the rhythm, subtlety and lightness of the original. Something I tried to avoid.
And then, there is the richness of the Greek language itself. I hadn’t realized before how beautiful, intricate, and full of subtle shades of meaning it truly is. I only hope that, at least in part, I have managed to convey some of that beauty in the translations gathered in this anthology.
What made you turn to the study and translation of Greek language and literature? Which has been your driving force?
I am not a philologist, nor have I ever worked professionally in literature. I am, above all, an avid reader. By training, I am a painter—I studied painting at the Academy of Fine Arts in Warsaw. Shortly after graduation, I left Poland for London, and from there life led me to Berlin, where I have now lived for nearly thirty years. My relationship with the Greek language—and, by extension, with Greek literature—has been entirely personal. I began learning Greek on my own, later attended a few language courses, took private lessons, and, above all, read voraciously in Greek. I started, as one might say, from the very top shelf: Ritsos, Karapanou—these were my first readings, my first encounters with a language that captivated me instantly with its rhythm and imagery.
What is that makes Greek poetry appealing to Polish readers? And, vice versa, what is in Polish poetry and literature that could attract the attention of a Greek audience?
That’s a difficult question. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. What I do know is that the poems included in the anthology received an exceptionally warm response at the launch event. The position of women in Poland—particularly during the socialist period—was quite different, perhaps even stronger and more independent, than that of women in Greece, where, unfortunately, a patriarchal system still persists. For that reason, Polish readers—and especially Polish women—were struck by the force and defiance of these Greek voices. In Poland, poetry written by women carries a different resonance; its tone, emotional depth, and social context are not the same.
That is one thing. The other is that Greece is gradually being rediscovered by Poles—not only as a beautiful, hospitable country and a popular holiday destination, now more accessible thanks to improved living standards, but also as a culture of remarkable depth. Young people are beginning to realize that Greece is more than λίγο κρασί, λίγο θάλασσα και τ’ αγόρι μου—more than Zorba and souvlaki. It is also the cinema of Yorgos Lanthimos, the poetry of Cavafy—finally available in decent translations—and much more. There is a growing curiosity, a hunger to discover Greece from a different angle. And that hunger is worth satisfying.
All the more so because it seems to me that Greeks are, in fact, more familiar with Polish literature—or at least have easier access to it—than Poles do to Greek literature. It is a pity, though, that translations of Polish poetry still too often appear not from the original Polish, but through English intermediaries. Such indirect translation inevitably flattens both meaning and rhythm, and yet it is precisely language—its sound and subtlety—that lies at the very heart of poetry.
Could translation act as a cultural bridge and translators as cultural ambassadors fostering deeper understanding between nations and its peoples?
I often feel that Poles and Greeks do not really need translators to serve as cultural ambassadors promoting mutual understanding between our nations. We already understand one another—perhaps even a little too well. We share, for better or worse, a similar temperament and mentality, the same strengths and, regrettably, similar history, the same flaws.
That said, I truly believe that culture, art, and even cuisine are among the finest stones from which bridges can be built—not only between nations, but, more importantly, between people from different cultural worlds. I say this without any trace of nationalistic sentiment, for what matters to me are not nations as abstract entities, but people—individuals who, through art, can draw closer to one another and discover a deeper sense of shared humanity.
Yet anyone who has ever built a bridge knows that materials and skilled hands alone are not enough. What is also needed—let’s be honest—is financial support. Such support should come first and foremost from public institutions, and only then from private ones.
Greece, like Poland, must remember that it survived centuries of oppression thanks to its culture and its language. Without culture, nations stand no chance of survival. Sadly, not everyone seems to remember this.
This anthology, too, could not have come into being in its present form without such support. It was made possible, to a large extent, thanks to the Kraków UNESCO City of Literature Award, which I had the good fortune to receive for this project.
And returning to the idea of building bridges, I hope that this anthology will mark the beginning of a fruitful collaboration between the Miłosz International Poetry Festival, held annually in Kraków, and a poetry festival in Patras or Athens.
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*Amelia Szalewska is manager, literary, scholar, translator and founder of Harmolipi Publishing House. She runs publishing, literary, and translation activities focused on contemporary Greek literature. Her translation work centers on modern Greek, with particular emphasis on poetry (including Katerina Gogou and Jenny Mastoraki) and drama (including Andreas Flourakis). She combines a passion for literature with years of experience in the advertising industry, creating promotional strategies based on modern communication tools and technology. She holds a degree in Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies from the Jagiellonian University.
Interview by Athina Rossoglou
INTRO PHOTO © Menelaos Liondos
TAGS: LITERATURE & BOOKS | READING GREECE
