Interview with Hélène Cardona

Danijela: Hélène, you are a renowned poet and actress. When did you start writing? Was your father, as well a great poet José Manuel Cardona, your role model? Your father worked for the United Nations most of his life traveling a lot including Belgrade. Have you ever been with him to Belgrade, and if yes, what did you like the most about the capital of Serbia?

Hélène: I’ve always felt that writing began long before I put pen to paper, a kind of awakening to language and to the hidden worlds within it. I wrote my first poem when I was ten.

Both my parents were always reading. Many of their friends were writers. Our home was always full of books. I started reading very young, and in French schools we start reading poetry early on.

My father would have us do weekly dictations at home in Spanish, which made me attentive to the grammar, music, precision, and texture of language. From early childhood, I was reading in several languages, moving naturally from one to another. While my father was certainly an influence, it was less a matter of imitation than of immersion;  growing up surrounded by words, voices, and books made writing feel like a natural way of being in the world.

As for Belgrade, I haven’t yet had the pleasure of visiting, though I would truly love to one day. The city’s layered history, its resilience, vibrancy, and its position at the crossroads of so many cultures make it especially compelling to me. It’s a place I hope to experience in the future.

Danijela: You come from a mixed family. Your mother was Greek and your father Spanish. Would you like to share some memories from your childhood? What are your Greek/Spanish favourite dishes?

Hélène: Growing up in a household where Greek and Spanish cultures met was like living in a constantly unfolding poem, rich in rhythm, color, and flavor. Some of my most cherished childhood memories are the many trips we took together across Europe, and Christmas in particular. My mother always decorated the most beautiful Christmas tree, turning the season into something magical and deeply memorable.

From my mother’s Greek heritage, I remember the vibrant aromas of oregano, olive oil, and fresh herbs filling the kitchen. She would bake kataifi, kourabiedes, and baklava, and make spanakopita; those scents still evoke a sense of home for me.

From my father’s Spanish side, paella — brimming with saffron and fresh seafood — and a good gazpacho brought the Mediterranean spirit vividly alive in our home.

Food, for me, is a way to connect deeply with my roots, a sensory bridge that keeps my heritage alive.

Danijela: Your partner is John FitzGerald, another great contemporary poet in your life. How does it look like living together with a poet, who isn’t your father?Hélène: John has his own distinct rhythms and poetic vision, and that is one of the deepest joys of our life together. We both cherish language, but we approach it from different angles, which keeps the conversation alive and surprising.

It’s wonderful to be with someone who understands the internal logic of poetry—the patience it demands, the way it sometimes insists on solitude, and the vulnerability it requires. John’s work, with its fierce intelligence and moral attentiveness, reminds me daily that poetry is not only an art of language but also an art of consciousness.

And yet, we are not lost in abstractions. We cook together, we talk about the world—social justice, family, dreams, the next line that won’t come. Living with John is a partnership rooted in mutual respect, shared values, and a deep artistic kinship.

Danijela: What is your opinion about contemporary poetry in the world since you are active on social media, following other poets’ works, visiting Book Fairs, participating in poetry festivals…?

Hélène: Contemporary poetry today is extraordinarily vibrant and diverse. The digital age has created new spaces where voices from every corner of the world can be heard, transforming how poetry circulates, lives, and breathes. Through social media, poets connect across cultures and languages in real time, breaking down old barriers and opening new, ongoing dialogues.

At the same time, poetry is reclaiming its power as a force for social justice, healing, and personal transformation. Poets are not merely observers; they are deeply engaged participants in the conversations around identity, displacement, environment, politics, and spirituality that shape our world.

Book fairs, festivals, readings, and public conversations bring this energy into physical space and remind us that poetry is also a communal act. Through my participation in international festivals and fairs, and through my editorial work, I’ve witnessed how poetry builds bridges—between generations, cultures, and aesthetics—and how emerging and established voices learn from one another. These gatherings create moments of genuine exchange, discovery, and celebration.

Of course, poetry still faces challenges—visibility, finding, sustaining audiences—but I remain hopeful. Poets continue to adapt, innovate, and insist on the necessity of this art form. For me, poetry remains a vital, living practice that expands how we understand ourselves and each other in an ever-changing world.

Danijela: Apart from being a poet you act. What are the disadvantages and advantages of writing and acting? Do you feel equally happy when you succeed in both of the works you do?

Hélène: Writing and acting are two very different ways of entering the human experience, and I feel fortunate to live in both worlds. At their core, they are both ways of exploring the frontiers of what we know—language, the psyche, and the mystery of being. For me, the poem is a gesture, a movement, an opening toward a deeper truth or understanding. Art brings us to the edge of the incomprehensible. Poetry and life are prayer, enchantment, and a form of transmutation.

Writing, especially poetry, is a solitary act. Its greatest advantage is freedom: the freedom to follow an image, a rhythm, or an intuition wherever it leads, to take the time the work requires, and to transmute pain and lived experience into beauty. I write as a form of self-expression, fulfillment, transcendence, and healing. The disadvantage, if there is one, is solitude—the dialogue with the world often comes much later, sometimes years after the poem is written.

Acting, on the other hand, is profoundly collaborative. You become part of a living organism made up of directors, writers, fellow actors, and crews. Its great joy is immediacy—the body, the voice, the present moment. Whether writing, acting, or even dancing, I often enter an exalted state of concentration and consciousness, something close to meditation or trance. Time seems to stop or expand, and I feel connected to something larger than myself. The challenge of acting is that you are always in service to a shared vision, shaped by time, logistics, and decisions beyond your control.

Do I feel equally happy when I succeed in both? Yes—but the happiness is different. Writing fulfills a deep inner necessity; it feels like answering a call from within. Acting brings connection and embodiment—it places me in direct dialogue with others and with audiences. Art is transformative: by expressing yourself, you put your experiences to use. You heal yourself, and you heal others because they recognize themselves in the stories you tell. That’s why we go to the theater and the movies, why we respond so deeply to symbol and myth. This is how we tell stories, how we move forward, and how we remain human.

Together, writing and acting balance each other beautifully. One keeps me listening inward; the other keeps me fully present in the world. Both are essential to who I am as an artist.

Danijela: Do you ever connect authors’ biographies with their works? Do you believe one can write about something that is not familiar to him/her at all?

Hélène: Yes, I’m often curious about the life behind the work. Having grown up between languages and cultures, I’m very aware of how biography, history, and place shape a writer’s ear and imagination. Knowing something about an author’s life can illuminate choices of rhythm, silence, imagery, or obsession—it can deepen our understanding of where a voice comes from.

That said, I don’t believe literature is simply autobiography. If it were, it would be very limited. As a poet, translator, and actor, I live precisely in that space where empathy and imagination allow you to cross borders—linguistic, emotional, and existential. Translation and acting, in particular, have taught me how to inhabit another consciousness with humility and care.

I do believe one can write about what is unfamiliar, but it comes with responsibility. It requires listening deeply, observing attentively, researching honestly, and approaching the unknown with respect rather than appropriation. In poetry especially, the tension between what we know intimately and what we reach toward is often where the work becomes most alive. That act of imagining—of stepping beyond the self while remaining grounded in truth—is what gives language its transformative power.

Danijela: Please, recommend to our readers some new movies to watch. What do you think about new series and movies, for instance, on Netflix that change historical events, change the past, hide the truth from the youth?

Hélène: I love cinema because it allows us to inhabit other lives and other times in ways that feel immediate, visceral, and deeply human. There are far too many films and series to mention, so I’ll only highlight a few that have stayed with me or that I’ve had the joy and honor of contributing to.

Among recent series I’ve worked on and enjoyed are Emily in Paris, NCIS: Tony & Ziva, The New Look, All the Light We Cannot See, Upload, and Patriot. I’m also excited about a new film I’ve worked on, Now You See Me: Now You Don’t, which was great fun to make.

As a viewer, I’ve been drawn to series such as Professor T, Ludwig, Astrid, Down Cemetery Road, Pluribus, Carême, and The Queen’s Gambit. Among films, I loved Nouvelle Vague, The Ballad of Wallis Island, The Count of Monte Cristo, and The Banshees of Inisherin for its dark humor and emotional depth. I was also deeply moved by the documentary Ocean, which reminds us of our profound connection to—and responsibility toward—the natural world.

As for contemporary series and films, especially those on streaming platforms, that reinterpret or alter historical events, I think this is a delicate and important question. Imagination and creative freedom are essential to storytelling, but they come with responsibility. When history is reshaped purely for entertainment, there is a risk of obscuring truth—particularly for younger audiences who may be encountering these events for the first time. I believe the most compelling historical fiction emerges from a tension between invention and respect for the past. When creators approach history with curiosity, rigor, and ethical awareness, storytelling can illuminate rather than distort. Cinema has the power not only to entertain but also to deepen understanding, spark dialogue, and keep memory alive—and that responsibility should never be taken lightly.

Danijela: Is there anything you would like to suggest to the people who are about to start writing or acting?

Hélène: I would say: listen, deeply and patiently. Listen to yourself, to the world around you, and to the quiet impulses that arise within you. Both writing and acting require courage, vulnerability, and a willingness to sit with uncertainty. Don’t be afraid of silence or not knowing; very often, that’s where the work begins.Read widely, watch films and plays attentively, and stay curious. For writers, writing regularly matters, but so does trusting the process—even when the words feel fragile, unfinished, or resistant. For actors, observe life closely, inhabit experiences fully, and let empathy guide your choices. Every encounter, every emotion, every moment of attention feeds the work. You will encounter rejection, doubt, and moments of fatigue. That’s part of the path. Failure is not the opposite of success; it’s one of its teachers. Over time, it sharpens your voice, deepens your resilience, and clarifies why you do the work in the first place.

Most importantly, be persistent and gentle with yourself. Art is not a race or a competition, it’s a lifelong conversation with language, the body, emotion, and imagination. Stay connected to what brings you joy and meaning. If you do, the work will continue to grow with you, and you’ll find that the moment you begin, you’re already part of something much larger.

Danijela: For the end of our conversation, do tell us what are you currently working on, and thank you so much for the interview, Hélène! I wish you good health, more success and all the happiness in 2026!

Hélène: Thank you so much for your kind wishes! They truly mean a lot to me. At the moment, I’m immersed in several creative projects that bring together my two great passions: writing and acting. On the literary side, I’m working on a new poetry collection that explores memory, grief, identity, and the porous boundary between dreams and reality.

I’m also revising Primate, a screenplay I co-wrote with my partner, John, a project that continues to evolve and surprise us as we deepen its emotional and thematic layers.

As an actor, I have a number of upcoming film and voice projects that I’m very excited about, allowing me to inhabit characters quite different from myself and to explore new dimensions of storytelling. Each project—whether on the page or on screen—reaffirms why I chose this path: to explore, to connect, and to share moments of truth and beauty with an audience.

I wish everyone a 2026 filled with creativity, health, joy, and the courage to follow what makes their heart sing. For me, each day is a new opportunity to listen, imagine, and create, and I feel deeply grateful to be able to devote my life to the work I love.