You see Im a real poet
My life is my poetry
My lovemaking is my legacy
My thoughts are not for sale
they're about nothing
and beautiful and for free
i wish you could get that
and love that about me
because things that can't be bought can't be evaluated
and that makes them beyond human reach.
Untouchable
Safe
Otherworldly
Unable to be deciphered or metabolized
something metaphysical
Adaption and overcome
Later this life invaded the land.
Some of our own early stock took part in that invasion. The moving equilibrium of the cells' life in our carly stock was almost literally an energy-eddy in the sea. The water of the sea conditioned it. Its energy-exchanges were based upon the sea. How if cut off from the sea could such a life exist? The Canadian biologist, Archibald Macallum, gave a reading of this riddle. The salts dissolved in our blood today are those of that long past geological epoch. Already in that sea the vertebrate creature, with many of its cells buried in the body's bulk, away from actual touch with the seawater, had evolved a system of branching tubes and a muscular pump, the heart, bringing to each buried cell a blood of salinity similar to that of the archaic sea, a substitute for that sea- water in which its cells had first arisen, to which their ways of life were adapted. When it left the sea altogether for its Odyssey on land, it had but to carry that habit of manufacture with it. It has done so. With that it has crossed mountain ranges and desert sands carrying its own medium with it. It has invaded air as well as land. It runs, and flies, and walks erect. The water of ocean itself has changed from what in that old sea it was. It has changed with the washings of rivers into it for millions of years since then. But the blood, a dynamic equilibrium, has in respect to those salts remained steady. The poet sang, with more literal truth than perhaps he knew, in- voking the sea, "the salt is lodged for ever in, my blood"s That some of them did give up that old ocean allowed the possibility of our becoming what we are
Sayfa 136Kitabı okuyor
Sylvia Plath fig analogy
For Sylvia Plath, existence was a fig tree and each possible life she could live – the happily-married one, the successful-poet one – was this sweet juicy fig, but she couldn’t get to taste the sweet juicy figs and so they just rotted right in front of her. It can drive you insane, thinking of all the other lives we don’t live.
Sayfa 109Kitabı okudu
Derviş
Șimdi gül deyince insanın aklına tuhaf şeyler geliyor. Ben mahallede iki tur dolanıp mezarlık duvarından aşınca gül mü kopardım Ayșe'ye vermek için? Değil. Ayşeler çoktur da onlara çiçekçiler de çoktur, benim işim olmaz. Hayatta bi kere çiçek taşımışlığım var, onu da poșete koydum da yürüdüm. Lisede hem de rezillik. Okulun müdürüne
I have no ambitions or wants.
To be a poet is no ambition of mine.
It is my way of staying alone.
Yüzyüze eğitim.
Uzaktan eğitim kısa mesajla bir dostun hâlini hatırını
sormak gibidir.
Yüz yüze eğitim ise sıkıca sarılıp kucaklaşarak, hasret gidermektir. Birincisi karton bardakta
poșet çay içmeye benzer. İkincisi ise demlikten ince belli
bardağa dökülen taze çay kadar keyiflidir.
Bunları ben de öğretmen olduğum için söylemiyorum.
Sonuçta yaşıyoruz, görüyoruz.
Elbette teknolojiye karşı değiliz. Ama șunu da unutmamak lazım;
Edison ampulü kesfetti ama biz halâ en en keyifli yemekleri mum ışığında yiyoruz.
Vesselam
Sayfa 60 - Timaş
"The poet Rumi says the wound is the place where the light enters you."
John Bester, x:
The poet stands, as it were, between the primrose and the Pleiades: aware of the infinities of space and time, aware of himself as a single creature among countless living creatures of countless different species, whose tragedy it is to live by preying on each other […]
“François Rabelais. He was this poet. And his last words were ‘I go to seek a Great Perhaps.’ That’s why I’m going. So I don’t have to wait until I die to start seeking a Great Perhaps.”
Sayfa 10Kitabı okudu
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.
From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
Sayfa 40
"So this guy," I said, standing in the doorway of the living room, "François Rabelais, He was this poet. And his last words were, 'I go to seek a Great Perhaps.' That's why I'm going. So I don't have to wait until I die to start seeking a Great Perhaps."
Sayfa 11
After Ériu tells the Milesians that Ireland is the fairest of all lands under the sun and that the Milesians are the most perfect race the world has ever seen, the poet Amairgin promises her that the country will bear her name. Indeed, the Modern Irish name for the Republic of Ireland, Éire, is derived from Ériu, as is the anglicization Erin.
“Seize the day,” Keating repeated. “Why does the poet write these lines?”
“Because he’s in a hurry?” one student called out as the others snickered.
“No, No, No! It’s because we’re food for worms, lads!” Keating shouted.
“Because we’re only going to experience a limited number of springs, summers, and falls."
“One day, hard as it is to believe, each and every one of us is going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die!”
