Η Μαριλένα Ζακχαίου κατέχει Πτυχίο Φιλοσοφίας και Πτυχίο Αγγλικής Γλώσσας και Φιλολογίας με ειδίκευση στην ποιητική γραφή από το University of Virginia. Κατέχει Μεταπτυχιακό στα Αγγλικά από το Queen Mary, University of London. Είναι κάτοχος επίσης Μεταπτυχιακού στα Αγγλικά και Διδακτορικού στα Αγγλικά από το George Washington University (με ειδίκευση στις Μετα-αποικιακές Σπουδές). Εργάζεται ως Διευθύντρια του Κυπριακού Κέντρου Διαπολιτισμικών Σπουδών και Επίκουρη Καθηγήτρια Κοινωνικών Επιστημών στο Πανεπιστήμιο Λευκωσίας. Έχει εκδώσει άρθρα για την μετα-αποικιακή λογοτεχνία, τις πολιτισμικές σπουδές, τις λογοτεχνίες νησιών στην αγγλική γλώσσα και σε μετάφραση, το φύλο και τη σεξουαλικότητα, την ψυχανάλυση και το τραύμα. Επιμελήθηκε τη συλλογή δοκιμίων για ‘κακές’ γυναίκες με τίτλο Vile Women: Female Evil in Fact, Fiction, and Mythology (2014), τη συλλογή καρτ-ποστάλ From Cyprus With Love (2016) και τη συλλογή δοκιμίων για το ρόλο της εκπαίδευσης σε μια πολυπολιτισμική Κύπρο Education in a Multicultural Cyprus (2017). Είναι συνδιευθύντρια στο μη κερδοσκοπικό κέντρο Write CY όπου διδάσκει δημιουργική γραφή εστιάζοντας στη ποίηση στα αγγλικά. Η πρώτη της ποιητική συλλογή «Carmine Lullabies» εκδόθηκε από το A Bookworm Publication το 2016. Ποιήματα της έχουν μεταφραστεί στα Ελληνικά, Τούρκικα, Αλβανικά, Σέρβικα, και Γερμανικά. Έχουν δημοσιευτεί σε λογοτεχνικά περιοδικά και ανθολογίες στην Κύπρο και στο εξωτερικό. Είναι επίσης τραγουδοποιός. Το μουσικό της άλμπουμ “Oh My” κυκλοφόρησε το 2017 με το συγκρότημα Grendel Babies.
Marilena Zackheos holds a BA in Philosophy and a BA in English Language and Literature with a concentration in Poetry Writing from the University of Virginia. She also holds an MA in English Studies from Queen Mary, University of London, an MPhil in English and a PhD in English (specializing in Postcolonial Studies) from George Washington University. Zackheos is Director of The Cyprus Center for Intercultural Studies and Assistant Professor of Social Sciences at the University of Nicosia. She has published on postcolonial literary and cultural studies, island literatures in English and in translation, gender and sexuality, psychoanalysis and trauma. She co-edited Vile Women: Female Evil in Fact, Fiction, and Mythology (2014), From Cyprus With Love (2016) and Education in a Multicultural Cyprus (2017). She is co-director at the non-profit organization Write CY where she leads creative writing workshops with a focus on poetry in English. Her first poetry collection Carmine Lullabies was published by A Bookworm Publication in 2016. Her poems have been translated in Greek, Turkish, Serbian, Albanian, and German. They have been featured in regional journals, anthologies as well as literary magazines across the Atlantic. She is also a music-maker. Her music album Oh My was released in March 2017 under the band name Grendel Babies.
Δείγματα Γραφής
My father slept most of the afternoon in front of the couch while my mother watched
sitcoms. At night, they’d go to bed together but he’d rise at four or five and scribble
on little pieces of paper. In the morning, Mom would find them
scattered like confetti after a carnival in the study, the bedroom, the pantry,
on the staircase, the pouffe, the Persian carpet, in the kitchen bowl
next to the quince my father had half-eaten minutes before daybreak.
He had composed a great number of articles and speeches this way—pacing about,
leaving small traces: a slipper, a pen, an eyeglass case, two used Kleenex,
a scattering of seeds, one honey-licked spoon, a cough drop wrapper.
He was an exquisite writer but if it weren’t for Mom, half of his writing
would have never surfaced. She collected his little pieces in a folder.
She typed his first book up on the house computer.
Dad now reads his farewell speech at the funeral but his general vibe is missing. “I was
amazed. For the first time your father’s scraps made no sense whatsoever.
What could I do? I wrote it for him,” Mom whispered on the way to the cemetery.
Then out of the blue comes: “‘Ητανε μια special αδερφή.” That addition.
My father’s own. She was a “special” sister. That was genuine. That was true.
It broke him down. My father who had scribbled and scratched away
in the early hours of all those days while we waited for Aunt Toulla’s
corpse to arrive from Germany. He added that one small word.
All I kept thinking was that her casket looked unusually small.
Small like the tumor that took her away from us. Small but loaded
with the biggest soul to carry through to the afterworlds
where the remainder is heavy and dense as love.