ilk soruları "kaçacak mısın?"
"Kaçacagım" diyorum,
kapılarını kapatıyorlar hemen
"aç mısın?" diye sormuyorlar.
Ocak 30, 2007
Ocak 23, 2007
201
a fat piranha hopped to my heart
it stroked and kissed and hoped a big bite
hey little fellow you can rest as you like
long since my heart's grown teeth like mouth
it stroked and kissed and hoped a big bite
hey little fellow you can rest as you like
long since my heart's grown teeth like mouth
200
suyun canı yok mudur
yoktur ki konuşmaz
kolun konuşmaz, bacagın konuşmaz
eger olsaydı dilleri
'bildigini bilmezden gelme' derlerdi
ama onların sırları yoktur ki konuşsunlar
sen konuşursun
yoktur ki konuşmaz
kolun konuşmaz, bacagın konuşmaz
eger olsaydı dilleri
'bildigini bilmezden gelme' derlerdi
ama onların sırları yoktur ki konuşsunlar
sen konuşursun
Ocak 22, 2007
198
Bizim avludan mı kalkacak cenazem?
Nasıl indireceksiniz beni üçüncü kattan?
Asansöre sığmaz tabut,
merdivenler daracık
Belki avluda dizboyu güneş ve güvercinler olacak,
belki kar yağacak çocuk çığlıklarıyla dolu,
belki ıslak asfaltıyla yağmur.
Ve avluda çöp bidonları duracak her zamanki gibi.
Kamyona, yerli gelenekle,yüzüm açık yükleneceksem,
bir şey damlayabilir alnıma bir güvercinden; uğurdur.
Bando gelse de, gelmese de çocuklar gelecek yanıma,
meraklıdır ölülere çocuklar.
Bakacak arkamdan mutfak penceremiz.
Balkonumuz geçirecek beni çamaşırlarıyla.
Ben bu avluda bahtiyar yaşadım bilemediğiniz kadar.
Avludaşlarım, uzun ömürler dilerim hepinize...
Nazım Hikmet
1963 Moskova
Nasıl indireceksiniz beni üçüncü kattan?
Asansöre sığmaz tabut,
merdivenler daracık
Belki avluda dizboyu güneş ve güvercinler olacak,
belki kar yağacak çocuk çığlıklarıyla dolu,
belki ıslak asfaltıyla yağmur.
Ve avluda çöp bidonları duracak her zamanki gibi.
Kamyona, yerli gelenekle,yüzüm açık yükleneceksem,
bir şey damlayabilir alnıma bir güvercinden; uğurdur.
Bando gelse de, gelmese de çocuklar gelecek yanıma,
meraklıdır ölülere çocuklar.
Bakacak arkamdan mutfak penceremiz.
Balkonumuz geçirecek beni çamaşırlarıyla.
Ben bu avluda bahtiyar yaşadım bilemediğiniz kadar.
Avludaşlarım, uzun ömürler dilerim hepinize...
Nazım Hikmet
1963 Moskova
Ocak 20, 2007
Ocak 17, 2007
196
you know he's mad
has monsters in his head
now one of them is given my name
to silence it,
he would have to bang
has monsters in his head
now one of them is given my name
to silence it,
he would have to bang
Ocak 16, 2007
Ocak 15, 2007
Ocak 13, 2007
Ocak 12, 2007
191
"One went to the door of the Beloved and
knocked. A voice asked, 'Who is there?'
He answered, 'It is I.'
The voice said, 'There is no room for Me and Thee.'
The door was shut.
After a year of solitude and deprivation he returned and knocked.
A voice from within asked, 'Who is there?'
The man said, 'It is Thee.'
The door was opened for him."
Rumi
knocked. A voice asked, 'Who is there?'
He answered, 'It is I.'
The voice said, 'There is no room for Me and Thee.'
The door was shut.
After a year of solitude and deprivation he returned and knocked.
A voice from within asked, 'Who is there?'
The man said, 'It is Thee.'
The door was opened for him."
Rumi
190*
scribes' syrup
Lord Byron knew about it. Long before the capricious literary gentlemen of the Belle Époque. Since, there is no one left to tell the tale; this old, rotten secret is hereby for me to say.
It was a white sorcerer who found it ages ago. He was in the forest collecting dead bees when he saw it smoothly floating under the leaves. It was red, but almost green. They say, with a blink, the old man understood something was wrong with it. Yet, his inquisitive nature could not hinder him to take a closer look at the shady thing.
It was a ghost. It was a bodiless fume. It was an ardent mist which the old wizard bottled quickly and slid into his chest. Then he silently rushed it into his hut, for more inquest. There was hardly one drop, yet it illuminated his dark room bright enough. The old man worked till morning, using all his instruments; but, couldnot find anything about the alien substance to arrive at some judgments.
The next day when he woke up, the air was filled with warnings for the trouble that comes. He recognized the open cap, and the empty bottle all at once. It was enough for him to hear the sounds coming from the village, to leave the place without taking any luggage. They say, it was the wife of Bath's who captured it again accidentally, and then sold it to Chaucer for six pence on his way to Canterbury.
The rumor says, it traveled from hand to hand, from Africa to Newland, until one day the last driblet was spoiled by Wilde, during an unsuccessful suicide attempt. An admirer after seeing him depressed for the loss, promised him to find the formula at any cost. With this admirer I met on a long train trip. He told me the secret he found after thirty years of pursuit:
"Two bodies that die of excessive pleasure, exhale an exquisite vapor during decay. This miasma thickens under the shadow of a wormwood leaf, day after day. If you collect it during spring, you'll arrive at a syrub that heals even the poorest decrepit. The pens that dip in this ink, write verses no one dares to speak. Even one line satisfies to craze the public with jouissance; that is why, all writers crave for this stance where their pens are blessed in ecstatic essence."
Lord Byron knew about it. Long before the capricious literary gentlemen of the Belle Époque. Since, there is no one left to tell the tale; this old, rotten secret is hereby for me to say.
It was a white sorcerer who found it ages ago. He was in the forest collecting dead bees when he saw it smoothly floating under the leaves. It was red, but almost green. They say, with a blink, the old man understood something was wrong with it. Yet, his inquisitive nature could not hinder him to take a closer look at the shady thing.
It was a ghost. It was a bodiless fume. It was an ardent mist which the old wizard bottled quickly and slid into his chest. Then he silently rushed it into his hut, for more inquest. There was hardly one drop, yet it illuminated his dark room bright enough. The old man worked till morning, using all his instruments; but, couldnot find anything about the alien substance to arrive at some judgments.
The next day when he woke up, the air was filled with warnings for the trouble that comes. He recognized the open cap, and the empty bottle all at once. It was enough for him to hear the sounds coming from the village, to leave the place without taking any luggage. They say, it was the wife of Bath's who captured it again accidentally, and then sold it to Chaucer for six pence on his way to Canterbury.
The rumor says, it traveled from hand to hand, from Africa to Newland, until one day the last driblet was spoiled by Wilde, during an unsuccessful suicide attempt. An admirer after seeing him depressed for the loss, promised him to find the formula at any cost. With this admirer I met on a long train trip. He told me the secret he found after thirty years of pursuit:
"Two bodies that die of excessive pleasure, exhale an exquisite vapor during decay. This miasma thickens under the shadow of a wormwood leaf, day after day. If you collect it during spring, you'll arrive at a syrub that heals even the poorest decrepit. The pens that dip in this ink, write verses no one dares to speak. Even one line satisfies to craze the public with jouissance; that is why, all writers crave for this stance where their pens are blessed in ecstatic essence."
189*
Decay is the vanishing contour that kept me defined at once. The bleaching threshold between me and what is not me. The borders collapse, so does the territory... within which I built myself. There is no more a membrane to secure the thing called "I". Now I'm a mere compound to a bastard entity. I fuse into a new assembly. I loose myself into a new animal that is called no more "I". And "it" likes it. Likes to see finally that nothing is pure. That, decay is the blessing of the impure.
And my friend, nothing was ever pure...
. . .
decay is a peep hole through which the Snow White strips
decay is a nursery rhyme that Cobain sings.
decay is a bird with plastic fins.
decay is a fairy with busted wings.
And my friend, nothing was ever pure...
. . .
decay is a peep hole through which the Snow White strips
decay is a nursery rhyme that Cobain sings.
decay is a bird with plastic fins.
decay is a fairy with busted wings.
188*
something happened on the way to babylon
woke up earlier than usual
still late
late again
rushed to clear my hair off my face
to see
whether the world is in its place...
my mother taught me everything you see.
to dress, to look, to cook
to fight, to fear in tear...
what she forgot is
what i had to learn myself
so, forgive me if i screw
something happened on the way to babylon
woke up earlier than usual
still late
late again
rushed to clear my hair off my face
to see
whether the world is in its place...
my mother taught me everything you see.
to dress, to look, to cook
to fight, to fear in tear...
what she forgot is
what i had to learn myself
so, forgive me if i screw
something happened on the way to babylon
187*
Tongue-eating bug found in fish. In Britain a bug has been discovered that eats the tongue of a fish down to a stub, then attaches itself to become a replacement!
Here's a better photo of the parasite that eats its fish host's tongue, and then pretends to be the tongue.
Cymothoa exigua, a crustacean, is the only known parasite that effectively replaces a body organ. It makes its home in the mouth of a fish, where it drains blood from the tongue until it withers and dies. It attaches itself to the remaining stub and the fish is actually able to utilize it as a replacement tongue to draw in and manipulate food, which the parasite shares.
Here's a better photo of the parasite that eats its fish host's tongue, and then pretends to be the tongue.
Cymothoa exigua, a crustacean, is the only known parasite that effectively replaces a body organ. It makes its home in the mouth of a fish, where it drains blood from the tongue until it withers and dies. It attaches itself to the remaining stub and the fish is actually able to utilize it as a replacement tongue to draw in and manipulate food, which the parasite shares.
186*
my segments are raving
rushing in multiplicities
to-wards, up-wards, in-wards,
imploding calmly
'nsynch with a hidden agenda.
fermenting.
bubling, foaming, dripping
though not liquid at all
my raw limbs are
stretched in ectasy
in a body colder than mine.
wrapped in mild flesh,
washed in mellow plasma.
let me get drown in what remains
from your five litres of ocean.
hello dear stranger,
let me exercise in you
how it feels to come home.
(whatever... Pluto's Cave or Parasites' Rave)
rushing in multiplicities
to-wards, up-wards, in-wards,
imploding calmly
'nsynch with a hidden agenda.
fermenting.
bubling, foaming, dripping
though not liquid at all
my raw limbs are
stretched in ectasy
in a body colder than mine.
wrapped in mild flesh,
washed in mellow plasma.
let me get drown in what remains
from your five litres of ocean.
hello dear stranger,
let me exercise in you
how it feels to come home.
(whatever... Pluto's Cave or Parasites' Rave)
185*
mostly moist
my shoes are
when it rains
mostly moist
my hands are
when mud fills
mostly moist
my mouth is
when flies nest
mostly moist
my chest is
when they feast
mostly moist
my tum is
when they crawl
mostly moist
my skin is
when it's slow
my shoes are
when it rains
mostly moist
my hands are
when mud fills
mostly moist
my mouth is
when flies nest
mostly moist
my chest is
when they feast
mostly moist
my tum is
when they crawl
mostly moist
my skin is
when it's slow
184*
I asked an approaching crocodile:
-'Hungry?'
She gazed into my eyes
indifferently.
Said: -'Nope,'
'I like it fully decayed.'
-'Hungry?'
She gazed into my eyes
indifferently.
Said: -'Nope,'
'I like it fully decayed.'
183*
Kin saçardı gözleri, severken bile. Çamurlu saçlarının arasından taze egelenmiş bakışları suçlu hissettirirdi bakanı. Oradaki hayal kırıklıgına sebep olmaktan şüphelenir, faydasız çırpınırdı karşısındaki. Belki de bir meziyetti bu yarınsızlıgı. Üzerine taşan sevgiyi gömleginin koluna siler, söker atardı üzerinden. Ve, yaptıgına inanamayarak devam ederdi yoluna...
182*
Ne çok öptüm onu o gece. Ne çok ‘gitme, n’olursun’ dedi. Ne çok söyledi beni sevdigini, ne güzel oldugumu... ve ben istedigi herşeyi yaptım.
Dedi ki, ‘bir daha bu yatakta bir başkasıyla olursan seni öldürürüm...’ güldüm.
Dedi ki, ‘seni bir daha asla, asla bırakmam; herşeyden, herkesten koruyacagım...’ güldüm.
Dedi ki, ‘seninle evlenecegim, sen benimsin...’ bu gerçekten komikti, güldüm.
Dedi ki, ‘ne istersen yaparım, söyle...’ ‘Hiçbir şey yapma, buradasın yeter’ dedim... güldü.
Ne çok öptüm onu o sabah. Ne çok seviştik. Ne çok inandık. Ne çok yalan söyledik... ve ben istemedigim hiçbir şeyi yapmadım.
Dedi ki, ‘bir daha bu yatakta bir başkasıyla olursan seni öldürürüm...’ güldüm.
Dedi ki, ‘seni bir daha asla, asla bırakmam; herşeyden, herkesten koruyacagım...’ güldüm.
Dedi ki, ‘seninle evlenecegim, sen benimsin...’ bu gerçekten komikti, güldüm.
Dedi ki, ‘ne istersen yaparım, söyle...’ ‘Hiçbir şey yapma, buradasın yeter’ dedim... güldü.
Ne çok öptüm onu o sabah. Ne çok seviştik. Ne çok inandık. Ne çok yalan söyledik... ve ben istemedigim hiçbir şeyi yapmadım.
181*
fakat son demde yine sırıtkan umutsuzluk
üzüntü, pekmez gibi ekmegin üzerinde
akıyor ellerime, doyamıyorum.
üzüntü, pekmez gibi ekmegin üzerinde
akıyor ellerime, doyamıyorum.
180*
'bak, ben seni seviyorum. böyle çok komik oluyor muyum', diyorum.
o da, 'sen hep komiksin' diyor, ama gülmüyor.
o da, 'sen hep komiksin' diyor, ama gülmüyor.
179*
Bekliyorum bir gün 68'dekine benzer bir özgürlük hareketi olacak. Şehirler boşalacak, bütün şirketler bir hafta içinde zarara geçip afet ilan edecekler. Yine de çalışacak kimseyi bulamayacaklar. Rekabet görgüsüzlükten sayılacak. Yükselme hırsı içinde olanlar politikacılardan daha çok nefret toplayacak. Büyük şirketler kar marjlarını küçültüp, sadece lokal ihtiyaçları karşılacak kadar üretecek. Televizyon seyretmek altından kalkılamayacak vergilere baglanacak. Zaten sadece gönüllülerle çalışabilecekleri için yayın saatleri iyiden iyiye azalacak. Hayattan başka bir anlam bulmak zorunda kalacagız.
178
ne ölüm getirenden,
ne ölümün kendinden,
ne uçurumdan,
ne derinliginden,
söyleyim mi en çok neden
kendin istediginden
korkarsın.
ne ölümün kendinden,
ne uçurumdan,
ne derinliginden,
söyleyim mi en çok neden
kendin istediginden
korkarsın.
Ocak 11, 2007
177*
In a movie there was a jukebox
that played the songs not
immediately as ordered.
People were thinking
that it was out of order,
demanding their money back.
It was out of order,
–though not totally.
Only after some time,
people could recognize
it was their song now playing.
If they were patient,
or careful enough...
May be this is the case
when we make a wish.
Amongst many others on the list
our song is just too late.
that played the songs not
immediately as ordered.
People were thinking
that it was out of order,
demanding their money back.
It was out of order,
–though not totally.
Only after some time,
people could recognize
it was their song now playing.
If they were patient,
or careful enough...
May be this is the case
when we make a wish.
Amongst many others on the list
our song is just too late.
176*
Three witches cast spells in a cave
to make people regret
for everything they craved.
But, they are bad witches
instead they give only headaches
which can be cured by aspirin.
to make people regret
for everything they craved.
But, they are bad witches
instead they give only headaches
which can be cured by aspirin.
175*
Tough I loved once, one is never enough.
This I thought since I loved once.
But, I still think about the love that I had once.
Could it not be more unfair
when you are acting upon yourself.
The cruelest words you'll hear
as they 're spinning around your head.
'Love is a one way street' you say
and 'only me is on the wrong track.'
Even my love is traveling the other way.
I saw him waving his hand; cheerful was he.
If I didn't know he was going to the opposite direction,
I could have thought he was happy to see me.
But, it was just the kind of excitement people feel
when they are in the comfort of a seat to leave.
Probably to go for a holiday
on a nice crispy summer day.
Thus, he went on a long holiday.
While, I -like as often- stay,
working hard for the sake of passing day.
'Work makes you free', I doubt.
Work makes you forget about freedom.
So, I work to forget how free he was.
He is on a long summer holiday.
I'm here to save money,
for a holiday I'll never be able to pay.
This I thought since I loved once.
But, I still think about the love that I had once.
Could it not be more unfair
when you are acting upon yourself.
The cruelest words you'll hear
as they 're spinning around your head.
'Love is a one way street' you say
and 'only me is on the wrong track.'
Even my love is traveling the other way.
I saw him waving his hand; cheerful was he.
If I didn't know he was going to the opposite direction,
I could have thought he was happy to see me.
But, it was just the kind of excitement people feel
when they are in the comfort of a seat to leave.
Probably to go for a holiday
on a nice crispy summer day.
Thus, he went on a long holiday.
While, I -like as often- stay,
working hard for the sake of passing day.
'Work makes you free', I doubt.
Work makes you forget about freedom.
So, I work to forget how free he was.
He is on a long summer holiday.
I'm here to save money,
for a holiday I'll never be able to pay.
174*
Nearby a deep ocean I stood. On the shallow edge, by the warm shore I've found a shelter. Underneath the wooden roof it was written:
"The deep end of the shore there thou shalt not dare to go."
But, he, who could have written the warning was far from being in sight. A pair of yellow slippers, near a castle by the sand was all there is left behind. I thought, as I ate his food and sat at his table, that he wanted to be left alone. His last words demanding privacy for himself
made me wait for some several days. Then curiosity won over comfort. I wet my feet, called out in the ocean his name. To hear, I approached.
I would rather get wet, instead of being alone.
"The deep end of the shore there thou shalt not dare to go."
But, he, who could have written the warning was far from being in sight. A pair of yellow slippers, near a castle by the sand was all there is left behind. I thought, as I ate his food and sat at his table, that he wanted to be left alone. His last words demanding privacy for himself
made me wait for some several days. Then curiosity won over comfort. I wet my feet, called out in the ocean his name. To hear, I approached.
I would rather get wet, instead of being alone.
173
çok şey mi isterim
namuslu bir tek adam?
olur mu olur mu
namus ne, mertlik ne
kimse toz kondurur mu?
tamam mertlik kalsın
sözün degeri kaybolmasın
sözünün degeri olan
bir tek adam kalsın
tek bir insan olsun bana
namuslu bir tek adam?
olur mu olur mu
namus ne, mertlik ne
kimse toz kondurur mu?
tamam mertlik kalsın
sözün degeri kaybolmasın
sözünün degeri olan
bir tek adam kalsın
tek bir insan olsun bana
Ocak 10, 2007
172
I
On the calm black water where the stars are sleeping
White Ophelia floats like a great lily;
Floats very slowly, lying in her long veils...
- In the far-off woods you can hear them sound the mort.
For more than a thousand years sad Ophelia
Has passed, a white phantom, down the long black river.
For more than a thousand years her sweet madness
Has murmured its ballad to the evening breeze.
The wind kisses her breasts and unfolds in a wreath
Her great veils rising and falling with the waters;
The shivering willows weep on her shoulder,
The rushes lean over her wide, dreaming brow.
The ruffled water-lilies are sighing around her;
At times she rouses, in a slumbering alder,
Some nest from which escapes a small rustle of wings;
- A mysterious anthem falls from the golden stars.
II
O pale Ophelia! beautiful as snow!
Yes child, you died, carried off by a river!
- It was the winds descending from the great mountains of Norway
That spoke to you in low voices of better freedom.
It was a breath of wind, that, twisting your great hair,
Brought strange rumors to your dreaming mind;
It was your heart listening to the song of Nature
In the groans of the tree and the sighs of the nights;
It was the voice of mad seas, the great roar,
That shattered your child's heart, too human and too soft;
It was a handsome pale knight, a poor madman
Who one April morning sate mute at your knees!
Heaven! Love! Freedom! What a dream, oh poor crazed Girl!
You melted to him as snow does to a fire;
Your great visions strangled your words
- And fearful Infinity terrified your blue eye!
III
- And the poet says that by starlight
You come seeking, in the night, the flowers that you picked
And that he has seen on the water, lying in her long veils
White Ophelia floating, like a great lily.
Arthur Rimbaud
As translated by Oliver Bernard: Arthur Rimbaud, Collected Poems (1962)
Ocak 09, 2007
Ocak 07, 2007
170
"That which is static and repetitive is boring. That which is dynamic and random is confusing. In between lies art."
John A. Locke
John A. Locke
Ocak 05, 2007
169
- Go ahead.
- After you.
- No no, you first.
- Why me?
- You're lighter than I am.
- Just so!
- I don't understand.
- Use your intelligence, can't you?
(Vladimir uses his intelligence.)
(finally). I remain in the dark.
- This is how it is. The bough . . . the bough . . . (Angrily.) Use your head, can't you?
- You're my only hope.
- Gogo light? bough not break? Gogo dead.
Didi heavy? bough break? Didi alone. Whereas?
- I hadn't thought of that.
- If it hangs you it'll hang anything.
- But am I heavier than you?
- So you tell me. I don't know. There's an even chance. Or nearly.
- Well? What do we do?
- Don't let's do anything. It's safer.
- Let's wait and see what he says.
- Who?
- Godot.
- Good idea.
- After you.
- No no, you first.
- Why me?
- You're lighter than I am.
- Just so!
- I don't understand.
- Use your intelligence, can't you?
(Vladimir uses his intelligence.)
(finally). I remain in the dark.
- This is how it is. The bough . . . the bough . . . (Angrily.) Use your head, can't you?
- You're my only hope.
- Gogo light? bough not break? Gogo dead.
Didi heavy? bough break? Didi alone. Whereas?
- I hadn't thought of that.
- If it hangs you it'll hang anything.
- But am I heavier than you?
- So you tell me. I don't know. There's an even chance. Or nearly.
- Well? What do we do?
- Don't let's do anything. It's safer.
- Let's wait and see what he says.
- Who?
- Godot.
- Good idea.
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