Giannis Varveris is not a dramatising poet. By the time he starts to speak the game is already over. He is leisurely, a 'lover of bets which are lost before they are placed', he always has in mind the voyage, without displaying the least desire of going anywhere, since that would imply a glimmer of hope. With no hope of change, he sees movement as the fate that he knows he was never born for. His body racked by his sexual desires, by longing and by the devious footsteps of death which hover around him every so often, he lives with the acceptance of his defeat, and it is but seldom that he allows his bitterness to shed an audible sob.

And that is because the poetry of Yannis Varveris is not afraid of sentimentality, it lives inside him and he exists in order to express it. His speech is perennially tested by the inherently melodramatic tendency of sentimentality to choke with tears whatever she can lay her hands upon, and the challenge of Varveris poetry lies in precisely that: within conditions of a somewhat fluid and incoherent intention, of a fluidity which is there in his works, his poetical voice manages to speak, to distinguish itself and make itself heard. His whole work dares to confront and be heard. In similar fashion, his work dares to come face to face with something more: the unspeakable, yet also commonplace nature of death. The narrator lets his soul soak in his fear, he studies his fear, addresses it and attempts to comprehend it.