My job was to separate clothes from the people what were with our transport when they went to the gas chambers. They brought the clothes back, and we have to separate the things. (That’s) how I found out. When I came to work and I start to separate the clothes what they brought in, I found the clothes from my brother, his pictures and everything he had with him.
During the course of this evening’s program I read excerpts like the one above from Witness: Voices from the Holocaust.
In the introduction for tonight’s program I talk about how certain names, places and things whether they be real or fictional have become iconic. I list names like Elvis, Sherlock Holmes, Napoleon, Abraham Lincoln and Alexander. Then added places and things like Golgotha, Transylvania, The World Trade Center, Auschwitz, Treblinka and the number…six million.
The good thing about becoming iconic is that when you say a name like Auschwitz you needn’t explain what it is–everyone knows what you mean. The bad thing about an icon is that it has become symbol. In the case of concentration camps there is the danger that the torture, the beatings, the starvation, the murders, the inhuman treatment will be replaced by symbols…a shorthand. That’s why books like Witness:Voices from the Holocaust and photographic exhibitions like Sylvia: Auschwitz, Birkenau, Majdanek, and Treblinka are so vitally important. They keep us in touch with the reality of the horror.
It was people–living people. People who breathed and bleed who were taken to these places. Many–MOST–who never returned. And let it be remembered it wasn’t six million but possibly more than twice that number–if you include the people with disabilities, the homosexuals, the Romani, and all the others the nazi considered enemies or inferior–who went and never came back.
Yesterday marked the commemoration of 
International Holocaust Remembrance Day a pure and noble event to be sure but let’s not let it become the remembrance of “six million” or “twelve million” or “seventeen million”. No, let us remember Chaim E. who discovered his brother had been exterminated when he “processed” his brother’s belongings. Let us remember Helen K. who held her sister-in-law in her arms till she was stiff and cold with the rigor of death. Let us remember Arnold C. who, at age 11, Mengele slapped and called a liar because he swore he was 14 thus saving himself while his friends of the same age were taken to the gas chambers. 
Let us remember Sylvia, Viktor Koen’s grandmother, who survived while her family perished. Remember Sylvia, who watched her little sister, Ida, die in the bunk beneath her.
For more photos from and information about the exhibition Sylvia: Auschwitz, Birkenau, Majdanek, and Treblinka please see the previous entry.
CLICK HERE! To hear the interview with the artist, Viktor Koen.
Photos by Viktor Koen
Transport ticket available from: Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 3.0 Germany License (CC-BY-SA)
Preview of the January 28 Graffiti: Viktor Koen speaks about his Grandmother–a Holocaust survivor
Sylvia is a series of photographs shot in the spring of 2004 in Poland from the Auschwitz, Birkenau, Majdanek, and Treblinka concentration-camp sites. Sylvia is my maternal grandmother’s name, an Auschwitz inmate and survivor. Sylvia was also in Auschwitz (her third visit since liberation) while I was shooting, guiding the Greek “March of the Living” delegation through the camp.
Viktor Koen, January 2010
About three weeks ago I got a phone call from my friend, the artist, Viktor Koen. He told me he had an opening at the end of January at the Greek Consulate General in New York for The Holocaust Remembrance Day event taking place on Thursday, January 28th. We spoke for a few more minutes but I was in a hurry so I told him to send me some information about it. A few days later I opened an e-mail from Viktor and found some of the pictures that will be shown. A short time after that there was another e-mail from him–part of which I’ve excerpted above.
The Holocaust Commemoration event will take place on Thursday, January 28th, 6-8pm at the Consulate General located at 69 East 79th Street in Manhattan. It will be there through February 12th.
Click here to listen to excerpts from the interview.
The Greek Poets: Homer to the Present
Peter Constantine and the publication of the book.
In the introduction to “The Greek Poets: Homer to the Present”, Robert Hass writes:
So this anthology is not only fundamental because it places before English-language readers the crucial texts of early greek poetry but also because in every generation the translation of that poetry is a fundamental part of contemporary literature–so this fresh gathering of work done in translation in the last half century is also a reading of the present state of our poetry.
Translation fascinates me. When I think of it, the craft of translation, I reflect on the story Gail Holst Warhaft told me when we spoke about her book of poetry “Penelope’s Confession”. At the time she was preparing a Greek edition of the book. Being fluent in Greek, and not wanting to impose on her friends, she was doing most of the translation herself but felt there were a few poems she’d ask some of her Greek colleagues to tackle. A few days before we had our conversation she’d called one of them and when she asked how the translation was going he replied: “I wrote a beautiful poem today…to bad it wasn’t mine.”
On tonight’s program I’ll be speaking to Peter Constantine one of the editors of the massive and much needed: The Greek Poets: Homer to the Present published this year by W.W. Norton.
Peter’s Wikipedia entry is daunting. Right off the bat it lists nine languages, including modern and ancient Greek, that Peter has used to translate literary works. If that isn’t enough to give one pause you then look at the list of authors he’s translated: Thomas Mann, Chekhov, Dostoevsky, and Babel. Then you hit the section that lists honors and awards.
I should have stopped there, e-mailed Rebecca Carlisle, the publicist
at Norton who arranged for me to speak to Peter, and begged off due to this all being way out of my league. Three things stopped me: First this book is monumental. Not only in size–over 650 pages, consisting of more than 1,000 poems by 185 poets; but in scope–more than 3,000 years of poetry is covered here. Think of it. Three thousand years! It also points to the monumental importance of the book. Second, I love talking about translation with masters of the craft. The levels of creativity involved in translation are so deep and intricate. It is art and craft combined. Third, I wanted to thank Peter for not only for his on work this volume but for his toils on “A Century of Greek Poetry: 1900-2000”–to me one of the most important books published in the last decade.
There is actually a fourth thing I’d like to ask him about. In the biographical section of the Wikipedia entry it mentions that his first translations were entitled: “Japanese Street Slang” and “Japanese Slang: Uncensored” in which he, and here I quote: “explored Japanese slang and criminal jargons in their many varieties, focusing on aspects of the Japanese language that had been traditionally marginalized. ‘Previously unprintable things that will inform, amuse, shock and maybe even disgust’ (Joseph LaPenta: Daily Yomiuri Newspaper, December 6, 1992).” I feel there is a sense of adventure here that needs to be explored.
Click here to listen to Peter reading his translation of “Bronze Age” by Yannis Kondos.
You might also want to read Peter’s article in the recent “Quarterly Conversation”.
Viktor Koen will be joining me on the next “Graffiti” scheduled for Thursday, January 28, 2010. We’ll be talking about his photographic exhibition: “Sylvia” AUSCHWITZ, BIRKENAU, MAJDANEK, TREBLINKA at the CONSULATE GENERAL OF GREECE IN NEW YORK. It will be there from the 28th of January through February 12.
Don’t forget to check out my other blogs: Just So… and Things We Need (to make it thru the day).
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It seems that we were just celebrating the advent of a new year–the coming of 2009. Where has 2009 gone? The good thing is, that for me at least, 2009 was a great year. Better than any year I can remember in the recent past.
I had an article published–a photo/comic/collage–of my trip to Washington, DC for the inauguration last January.
Then a chance comment to a friend opened an unexpected door and I received a grant to purchase a video camera. For me this was a dream-come-true. I’ve been interested in film and film making for as long as I can remember. Back in the late 60‘s-early 70‘s when I was in college, all the talk was of the coming video revolution; how everyone would own a video camera and be making their own individual films. We all thought the price of video cameras was going to drop drastically making it very affordable and all very doable in just few years’ time. Unfortunately the technology wasn’t quite as quick as our dreams and it would be decades yet before cameras were really inexpensive and computer editing and outlets like Youtube really brought about the Video Revolution.
I’ve been video taping some poets, authors and others for a group I’m involved with, PoemAlley, up in Stamford, CT. The first video is now available on Youtube.
“Graffiti”, my show on Hellenic Public Radio, for those of you who 
might be new to this blog, also blossomed this year. Maybe it wasn’t the show that blossomed as much as I did. Ever since my first show back in 1992 I’ve been comfortable behind that mic. This year I was as excited as I’ve ever been but I’ve also felt more in command of my craft.
Here is a list of the new shows I produced this year and if available links to the shows or links to links for the shows. What’s a link to a link you ask? Well that’s another thing I started this year that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed–blogging.
For years friends have been telling me I should be blogging–and since you are reading this you can see that I finally decided to take up their suggestion. As of August of this year I did not have a blog or really know how to start one. Since then I’ve now started four blogs: This one “Just My Eyes” (http://billbuschel.wordpress.com/), “Things We Need (to make it thru the day)” (http://thingsweneed.tumblr.com/), “Just So…” (http://billbuschel.tumblr.com/) and “Holiday Decorations” (http://bestxmasdecorations.wordpress.com/).
“Just My Eyes” is my take on the world as I see it. It’s also where I put my “Graffiti” programs. “Things We Need (to make it thru the day)” is a gathering place for the goofy and the informational things I find interesting. “Just So…” is a place where I put some of the photos I’ve taken over the years. “Holiday 
Decorations”, though the last blog I started, was actually the one that got me thinking about blogging.
I love driving around around at Christmas time. I spend hours every year looking at all the holiday decorations. I love them…all of them. The gorgeous and the ghastly. Last year I mentioned to a friend who’d joined me on one of my night-time drives that I’d like to document some of them in a blog. Mind you I didn’t really know what a blog was but I thought that this had to be the type of thing that would be perfect in one. I didn’t start there but the seed was planted.
My first blog (Just My Eyes) started with documenting the interview I did with Tom Stone and Chris Cassel for the History Channel’s presentation of the series: “Clash of the Gods”. I had no idea what I was doing but once I got the hang of it it was loads of fun.
List of shows:
January 22, Marie Phillips, author of “Gods Behaving Badly”.
February 19, Scott Huler, author of “No Man’s Lands”.
March 5, Anthoula Katsimatides, star of “3PennyYouth”.
March 19, A new translation of Cavafy by Aliki Barnstone.
April 16, The Easter Program, readings from the Bible.
June 11, The singer, Alkinoos Ioannidis.
June 25, The death of Michael Jackson and reading poetry.
July 9, Another new translation of Cavafy, readings from the Daniel Mendelsohn edition.
August 6, Tom Stone and Chris Cassel, “Clash of the Gods”
August 20, An interview with Alexandros Lambrovassilis, Chris Kuklis and Luke Damrosch.
September 3, Scott Reynolds, Director of Handcart Ensemble’s production of “The Odyssey”
October 1, Beth Bernobich, author of “Medusa at Morning”
October 29, Fund-raising with Anthoula, Sergio Salvatore and Christos Rafalides.
November 19, The 100th anniversary of the birth of Ritsos with Prof. Peter Bien
December 17, Chris Cokinos, author of “The Fallen Sky: An Intimate History of Shooting Stars”
I apologize to anyone who came here earlier looking for tonight’s program. Click here for that.
Of course there were plenty of programs dedicated to fund-raising and a few that were repeats of earlier shows.
About a dozen years ago, give or take a year or two, a friend called me and asked if I’d like to go camping. Now camping isn’t one of my favorite things to do, I’m prone to what I’ve come to call the “Wet Bag Syndrome”. I might be camping someplace where it hasn’t rained for weeks yet, for some reason, my sleeping bag is always wet. And wet, when camping, means miserable. But upon hearing this invitation I didn’t hesitate for a moment. I immediately said yes.
The reason being that the invitation came from my friend, Chaz, who was, at the time living in Moab, Utah and working as the botanist for all the National Parks in the area including Arches and Canyonlands. I knew this would be an extraordinary experience.
We ended up in Canyonlands–in a part of the where no tourist is allowed and Park personal rarely goes. We had it to ourselves.
We climbed down into the canyon and hiked for miles, getting deeper and deeper into it, finally stopping to set up camp by a large, low, flat rock. This would be our base for the next few days. Days we filled by exploring side canyons, finding the skulls of long dead wild animals and searching out the pictographs of ancient tribes that had long since disappeared. These were exactly the extraordinary experiences I was expecting but the thing I’ll never forget, the thing that will go with me to my grave, is how we spent our nights.
Each night, after dinner, we’d all get up on that flat rock–still warm from the sun’s heat that it had absorbed–and lie on our backs, heads together, and look up into the night sky. Being so far out from Moab there was no light pollution, yet I remember never needing to turn on my flashlight, the light from above being so bright. The night sky became our canvas. Chaz told us where and how to identify the constellations and I’d dig into the ancient past and tell the myths associated with each of them.
…then it would start. First one…then another. Shooting star after shooting star. And these weren’t the tiny golden smudges we see in the skies over our cities like here in New York. These were huge with long flowing tails trailing behind. A golden shower of sparkles. It reminded me of when I was a kid and would light one of those sparklers and a moment after it would catch–flaring up with a whoosh–I’d toss it up into the night sky and watch as it came back to earth.
Watching shooting stars in the night skies above Canyonlands is something I’ll never forget.
A wonderful memory, but I never feared it would become more than that. Not an obsession. Never that. Not like what happened to Harvey Nininger that night in November 1923 when he stood on the corner of Euclid and Maxwell Streets in McPherson, Kansas and saw a piece of the sky falling to the earth and became obsessed with meteors and meteorites. The story of Harvey Nininger and so many other collectors and dreamers and so much more is in Chris Cokinos’s book The Fallen Sky: An Intimate History of Shooting Stars.
Chris Cokinos
Tonight (Thursday, 12/17 at 7 pm on 91.5 fm or streaming on www.gaepis.org) I interviewed Christopher Cokinos, author of The Fallen Sky: An Intimate History of Shooting Stars. 
Click here to reach The International Meteorite Collectors Association (IMCA Inc.). If you heard the interview this is the organization Chris referred to tonight.
In a few days time I hope to have a link to that interview posted here so you can listen to it.
In the meantime why not visit my Holiday Decorations blog. It’s loads of fun.
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It’s tough keeping up with all my blogs. I have a hard time doing it so I’ve no doubt everyone else who’s interested in them must feel the same way. Many of you might not know that I’ve started a fourth blog that has the uninspiring title: Holiday Decorations. While some feel it’s my best blog yet, I, like all parents, love all my “children” equally, though this has the position, like the Pope, of being “first among equals”. It was the idea of commenting on all the different holiday displays that lead me to blogging. Check it out. Doing it is almost more fun than one person should be allowed to have–legally.
But onto what I really want to talk about which is art and its relevance in the “real” world. This coming Tuesday night, December 8, 2009, at 8 pm, a group of people, poets mostly, will gather in Columbus Park in Stamford to mark Human Rights Day. It is being billed as: Poetry by Candlelight Human Rights Day 2009.
My friend, the poet and educator, Ralph Nazareth, who organized the event writes the following:
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the most translated document in history, starts with the momentous words, “All humans are born free and equal in dignity and rights.”
Sixty years later, this declaration is observed mainly in the breach. Imperialist designs, corporate greed, nationalist and religious fanaticism fuel poverty, hunger, terror, torture, murder and rape.
Raise your voices—against oppression, for human decency.
PoemAlley will lead area writers in this resistance reading. Come with a passion for justice and fire in the belly.
Please spread the news.
“Please spread the news”. So that’s what I’m doing. But…. But…I wonder…what is the poet’s voice worth against so many bombs, so much hate and greed and self interest and sheer exhaustion from the effort made in trying to be heard? Does it matter? Are we…are poets…relevant? I want to give a resounding “YES!” but hesitate. Didn’t Gandhi, though not a poet, but one man, make a difference? Didn’t he change the course of history? Yes, and there’s Martin Luther King, Jr. and countless others, including, more recently: Mr. Mandela. So why do I continue to hesitate? Why do I have such grave doubts in the “voice of the people”, the “voice of the poet”?
The Many Faces of Josh Harris
Maybe I hesitate because I’ve witnessed such over indulgence in the obsession displayed by so many artists. The “my art above all else” attitude is so destructive, so arrogant, so full of greed and self interest (am I repeating myself?). The best example of exposing this obsessiveness that I’ve seen lately is the masterful movie, a true gem of storytelling: “We Live in Public”. I saw it months ago and it’s haunted me ever since. Ondi Timoner, the film’s director/producer is a master storyteller and here she has two great stories to tell. The first story is the rise and fall and rise and fall of Josh Harris one of the early and true creative geniuses of the internet. Since his story coincides with the rise of the internet Ms. Timoner documents that as well. Brilliant. What angers me about Mr. Harris is how once his genius turns dark he doesn’t do anything to stop it from dragging all those around him down.
As I said I saw it months ago and it’s haunted me ever since but, strangely, I haven’t been able to write about it. Too many connections. Too many tree roots to stumble over if I’d launch into the deep forest of my own artistic obsessions. My own obsessions–period. Too many questions about the meaning and use of art. Hell, of life. I’ll stop here today but I’ll be re-visiting this theme over and over and over again. It’s too close to the bone right now.
So–three things: First, do come and raise your voice in support of Human Rights, this Tuesday night at 8 PM at Columbus Park (in front of Curley’s Diner, 62 West Park Place, Stamford, CT–where, if the weather is inclement we will convene), in Stamford, CT. Second, visit my newest blog: Holiday Decorations (Hell–visit ALL my blogs: Besides this one and the Holiday one, there’s also my goofy blog: “Things We Need (to Make it Thru the Day)” and “Just So…”, my photo blog). Finally, it is criminal that “We Live in Public” was not listed (along with “It Might Get Loud”) for Academy Award consideration; it might have made it easier to see if it had; but it is out there but, as with “It Might Get Loud”, you need to track it down.
And finally…really…I saw two very interesting, bordering on “Great”, films in the past three days. First, I saw the French movie: Il y a longtemps que je t’aime (I’ve Loved You so Long) directed by Philippe Claudel and starring Kristin Scott Thomas. Though there are some huge plot holes in the film, her performance is wonderful. And speaking of wonderful performances, the ones that director So Yong Kim gets out of then 7 year-old, Hee-yeon Kim, and 5 year-old, Song-hee Kim in Treeless Mountain are nothing less than brilliant. I watched this on DVD and it is worth watching two extras contained on it–the two little girls sitting in a park in Turkey talking to the director two years after the movie’s filming and the Q&A at New York’s Film Forum.
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Yiannis Ritsos was proposed for the Nobel Prize for Literature nine times–he never won. His great poem Epitaphios was burned at the foot of the Acropolis by the Metaxas regime. Tuberculosis and repressive regimes were his bêtes noires. Exile and confinement in prison camps or the hospital marked a large portion of his life. The tuberculosis that took away his mother and eldest brother when he was a child haunted his health for years. He spent many years in institutions getting it under control. His poetry and his lifelong relationship with the Communist party (he joined in 1931) resulted in confinement of another sort in 1948-52 and parts of 1967 through 1970. Some of that time was broken by more time spent in the hospital.
He’s been considered by many to be one of the great Greek poets of the 20th Century (along with Kostis Palamas, Giorgos Seferis, Odysseus Elytis and Cavafy); while others, like the French poet, Louis Aragon, thought him “one of the greatest, one of the most remarkable poets of our time”.
Despite the persecution, the illness, the hardship Ritsos published 117 books, including numerous plays and essays by the time he died on November 11, 1990.
Born, May 1, 1909, if still alive Yiannis Ritsos would have celebrated his 100th birthday this year. Since he’s not here to share this moment with us, I’ve invited Professor Peter Bien to speak about the poet and his work.
Professor Bien is a Professor of English and Comparative Literature, Emeritus, at Dartmouth College, Hanover, New Hampshire. He’s translated three of Kazantzakis’s novels plus Myrivilis’s LIFE IN THE TOMB.
He’s also translated Ritsos’s MOONLIGHT SONATA, PHILOCTETES, and the short poem “Peace.” He wrote the introduction to the Penguin collection of Ritsos’s poetry, plus critical studies of “Philoctetes” and “Moonlight Sonata.”
Besides translating Ritsos’s work he was a colleague–having visited Ritsos several times in Athens.
Professor Bien is also one of the author/editors for the book: A Century of Greek Poetry. This is an essential volume for anyone interested in modern Greek literature. The anthology is unique in its breadth– encompassing 109 poets and 456 poems. The original poem in Greek is on one side and the English translation on opposite pages.
Don’t forget to check out my photo blog: “Just So” and my other blog: “Things We Need (to make it thru the day)“
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I watched my mother die. Slowly. My mother died from lung cancer. My mother died from smoking.
It’s ten years ago now yet those last six months are as clear, as fresh in my mind, as if it was only ten months or ten days ago. I only bring it up because a friend of mine is a smoker and I want to do an intervention…of sorts. I won’t use her real name so let’s call her Elsie. Good, old-fashioned name. Rock solid name. Rock solid like my friend.
I was a bit shocked when I found out she smoked. When together at functions and she’d duck out from time to time I didn’t think much of it. A tiny bladder I figured, no big deal, I have a tiny bladder. Once in a while I’d catch a hint of cigarette smoke wafting off her, but it never set off the alarms. It should have. How many nights did my mother have to bribe me with the promise of a lamb dinner to get me to stop by for a visit? After dinner and a hand or two of cards, I’d leave and, as soon as I walked into my apartment, strip down, putting every stitch of clothing into plastic bags left by the door for this purpose, then I’d climb into the shower and scrub. And scrub.
The amazing thing is that both of my parents were heavy smokers and yet neither my sister or I ever smoked. You’d think after nearly 20 years of growing up in a smoke-filled house that I wouldn’t mind it. The opposite was true. Once I was out of the house the smell became repulsive. My sister was even more rabid about it than I.
As I grew up I watched as the tide turned. In the fifties and sixties you’d see people smoking everywhere. I watched an early James Bond movie the other night. Sean Connery so young, so lean, so debonair, so…smoking. Everyone in the movie’s smoking. I remember my parents going on bus trips with my father’s business colleagues and every one smoking. The few non-smokers were the distinct minority. Years later, in the eighties, after my parents retired, they began to travel for pleasure. It was a struggle for them. It wasn’t their age, nor was it the fact that they hadn’t travelled much when they were younger and this was all new to them–no, it was that they had suddenly become “the distinct minority”.
I always stood up for their rights as smokers. Though I was personally glad when restrictions on smoking made it easier for me to breath clean air, I never thought it was right that my parents, people who had been smoking since they were kids, who when they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary probably had been smoking for nearly a decade more than that, were suddenly pariahs. I don’t like tyranny of any stripe. Even the tyranny of the greater good.
My mother was as tough as nails. When I was old enough that I didn’t need constant adult supervision she went back to work. I don’t remember making a fuss about it but I must have said something because in the back of my mind, to this very day, I know I learned how to cook, sew, wash my clothes–how to become self-reliant–because somewhere along the line she told me: If you’re hungry, learn how to cook; if you need your clothes clean before I can do a wash, learn how to wash them. Sewing was just something I picked up. I still thank her for that lesson. So it was particularly hard to watch as her toughness, her personality, her life slowly drained away during those last months. Hard to watch the chemo rip into her. To watch pain make her draw inward. To watch her, when heavily dosed with pain killers, do bizarre things that, after the drugs thinned, she denied, wondering why would make up such stories. It was hard to watch her deteriorate. To watch her die.
I wasn’t there for the final minutes. My father had all but pushed me out the door that night. There was an opening I needed to attend. I left my father the number of where I would be. “Call me…for any reason,” I’d said. As soon as I got to the gallery, forty minutes later, I stopped at the reception desk; “Oh, yes, Mr. Buschel, there was a call from your father. Let’s see…where did I put that note…?” By then I had turned and was heading toward the door, “Yes! …Mr. Buschel?”, he called after me, “Ah, it says…’It’s time to come home’.”
By the time I got back she was gone. I walked into my parent’s room and found her on her bed, curled nearly into the fetal position. There was nothing grand here. Nothing glorious. She was shriveled. Her body diminished. She was…dead.
I know smoking is harder to stop than quitting heroin. I know this. But Elsie now you know this. It is time to stop.
We’re still having fun FUN-raising! Get used to it. We’re doing it until the 15th. Tonight, though we don’t have anyone in the studio with us,
Amalia Goros and I will be featuring the music of Tereza. The big song from this disk is “Fly me to the Moon”. Written by Bart Howard in 1954 the song was first recorded by Kaye Ballard then covered by many other great artists including Johnny Mathis, Nat King Cole, Julie London, Patti Page, Doris Day. In 1969 (forgive me–a pun this good just can’t be ignored) it reached dizzying heights when astronaut Buzz Aldrin of Apollo 11 played the Frank Sinatra version as he walked on the moon. On July 20th of this year the 40th anniversary of the moon walk was celebrated at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum and to commemorate this historic event Diana Krall serenaded the three Apollo 11 astronauts with her version of the song.
In May 2003 Tereza released her version of this classic on the aptly titled Double cd: Fly Me To The Moon. It was catapulted into the public arena when Cutty Sark picked it for their TV ad campaign that year.
The disk we’re offering at the $100.00 pledge level has this and many other great songs by Tereza in both Greek and English. Though she grew up in New York her roots are Greek.
Click here to check out her video for “Akouse Me”.
So, while they last, call (718.204.8900) and pledge $100.00. Not only will you get this great disk you will also be supporting HPR (Hellenic Public Radio).
This is a veritable quickie! Tonight on Graffiti you will be confronted by the joys of fund-raising or as I call it: FUN-raising. But we also have in the studio with us (Anthoula Katsimatides from “Color Your Life” will be co-hosting tonight) Sergio Salvatore and Christos Rafalides.
They will be talking about their concert tomorrow night (Friday, October 30) at Carnegie Hall’s Weill Recital Hall at 8 pm–and their new disk, “Dark Sand”.
Click here for a sample of what you can expect.
After the interview Sergio and Christos signed a copy of “Dark Sand” for Anthoula.
bb 10/29/09
