“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
“İyi geceler, iyi geceler! Ayrılık ne tatlı bir hüzündür.”
Benden ne söylememi beklediğini biliyorum," dedi. "Genç olmayı yeğlerdim dememi bekliyorsun. Çoğu insana sorsan, genç olmayı yeğleyeceğini söyler. Gençken sağlığın, gücün kuvvetin yerindedir. Benim yaşıma geldiğinde ise hiç iyi olamazsın. Ayaklarımdan fena çekiyorum, mesanem de berbat durumda. Gecede altı yedi kez yataktan kaldırıyor beni. Öte yandan, yaşlı adam olmanın da büyük avantajları var. Aynı dertlerin tasaların olmuyor.
'I know what you expect me to say,' he said. 'You expect me to say as I'd sooner be young again. Most people'd say they'd sooner be young, if you arst 'em. You got your 'ealth and strength when you're young. When you get to my time of life you ain't never well. I suffer something wicked from my feet, and my bladder's jest terrible. Six and seven times a night it 'as me out of bed. On the other 'and there's great advantages in being a old man. You ain't got the same worries.
Her çiçeğin bir mevsimi, her kitabın bir zamanı vardır. Haziranın tadını yeni hikâyelerle çıkarın.
şu ayağı yere basmayan cümlelerle adama saldırmak.. neyse..
He learnt ball-room dancing, methodically with a teacher, and then danced whenever possible, but always as if he was on parade. He frequented the drawing-rooms and tried to become the society gallant, making love to the ladies of Sofia, but they found him excessively gauche. He was a smartly turned-out and wellset-up Turkish officer and that was all. They had no liking for Turks, at any time, and Mustafa Kemal was neither good-looking nor attractive. His manners were crude. Either he stalked stiffly about with his face set and grey, or he talked abruptly. He had no small talk, no easy gallantry or ready flattery. He understood nothing of the pleasant play of light flirtation. He bluntly demanded that each lady should bed with him; if she refused he ceased to be interested, but, as bluntly, asked another. For a short time he was half in love with a fluffy-haired pretty girl, the daughter of General Kovatchev, but she gave him the cold shoulder. Very soon the ladies found him an uncouth fellow, the traditional Tartar in contrast to Fethi, the suave, polite, easygoing
Turk. They laughed at his dancing and his attempts to learn the drawing-room manner. They found him a prodigious bore and forgot him.
And Mustafa Kemal, touchy and sensitive, became more lofty and aloof than ever. He began to hate the society women with their soft ways and their chatter, who would not make love wholeheartedly and yet teased and tormented his desire, who sneered at him, and who would not make a hero of him.
With men-and especially men who were deferential-and with the loose women of the capital, Mustafa Kemal was far more at ease. With these, in the cafes and the brothels, he drank and revelled night after night far into the dawn. He gambled and diced for hours against anyone who would sit
what's source material? armstrong's ass.. lol.
MUSTAFA KEMAL was twenty, wiry in build, with a tough constitution and unlimited vitality.
He had no experience of life. Salonika had been a mean little port; Lazaran a country village; Monastir a dull provincial town. He had none of his mother's deep beliefs or principles to keep him steady.
At once he plunged wildly into the unclean life of the great metropolis of Constantinople. Night after night he gambled and drank in the cafes and restaurants. With women he was not fastidious. A figure, a face in profile, a laugh, could set him on fire and reaching out to get the woman, whatever she was.
Sometimes it would be with the Greek and Armenian harlots in the bawdy-houses in the garbage-stinking streets by Galata Bridge, where came the pimps and the homosexualists to cater for all the vices; then for a week or two a Levantine lady in her house in Pangaldi; or some Turkish girl who came veiled and by back-ways in fear of the police to some maison de rendez-vous in Pera or Stambul.
He fell in love with none of them. He was never sentimental or romantic. Without a pang of conscience he passed rapidly from one to the next. He satisfied his appetite and was gone.
He was completely Oriental in his mentality: women had no place in his life except to satisfy his sex. He plunged deep down into the lecherous life of the city. Suddenly he reacted from all this rioting and concentrated on his work with the same energy.
“If you watch it objectively, you will come to see that much of what the voice says is meaningless. Most of the talking is just a waste of time and energy. The truth is that most of life will unfold in accordance with forces far outside your control, regardless of what your mind says about it. It’s like sitting down at night and deciding whether you want the sun to come up in the morning. The bottom line is, the sun will come up and the sun will go down.”
RENOİR. BRESSON. COCTEAU. TATI
Renoir?
Bana çocukluğumdaki ileri kır karakollarını hatırlattığı için özellikle sevdiğim bir filmi var. Le Fleuve (Irmak) filmi. Oradaki şiir yazan kızı sevmem, ama yılanı arayan çocuğu severim. Ganj'a inen bayırları, verandaları, siestaları, bahçeleri severim. Filmdeki Hintlileri sevmem. Onları göstermenin bir anlamı yok. Her yerde rastlanılan o inceliği, nezaketi de sevmem. Renoir'de aşk çok yapmacıklıdır. La Règle du jeu (Oyunun Kuralı) benim gözümde buna, ağır aksak, ölçülü bir dansa dönüşen arzuya bir örnek. En iyi ihtimalle çehre değiştiriyor -galiba hizmetçiler de. Pek iyi hatırlamıyorum.
Bresson? Cocteau?
Bresson çok büyük bir yönetmen; gelmiş geçmiş yönetmenlerin en büyüklerinden biri. Pickpocket (Yankesici), Au Hasard Balthazar (Rastgele Balthazar) tek başına tüm bir sinemanın yerini doldurabilir. Cocteau'yu çok az tanırım. Onun hakkında pek söyleyebileceğim bir şey yok, çünkü hiç düşünmedim. Cocteau sanırım çok güzel, ama benden başkalarına göre. Bunlar daha sinemadan söz açar açmaz Cocteau'yu sevdiklerini anlarım.
Tati?
Kesinlikle hayranım. Bence dünyanın belki de en büyük sinemacısı. Playtime (Oyun vakti) akıl almaz bir filmdir; modern zaman üstüne çevrilmiş en büyük film. ''Kaybolan Zaman Peşinde'' düzlemine benzer bir düzlemde; öte yandan site ölçeğinde de ''halkın kendisi oynuyor'' diyebileceğimiz tek örnektir. Film sanırım bu yüzden iş yapmadı; halk bir soyutlamadır ve kaderine terk edilmiş kişinin hikâyesini her şeyden çok sever.
Bununla birlikte, Tati bana Bresson'un filmlerindeki kadar kendi mekânımda olduğum duygusunu vermez. Benim için Bresson'un acıya kadar yolu vardır. Tati'nin sevince kadar. Ancak, kuşkusuz Tati benden, Bresson'a göre daha az şeyi alıp götürür, daha az şeyi sürükler. Şu tarz bir eliştiri başlatmamız gerekir: Filmden zaman dışı
