• 235 syf.
    ·10/10
    But i'll miss you when you're gone, that is what i do. hey, baby!
    And it's going to carry on, that is what i do. hey, baby...
    *
    "Ama seni özleyeceğim, gitmiş olduğun zaman..."

    Kitap bittiğinde aklıma gelen ve gökyüzüne bakıp dinlediğim şarkı. Bazı kitaplar vardır; siz kitabı okumazsınız da sanki kitap sizi okur. Çocukluğunuzu, özlemlerinizi, hislerinizi, söyleyemediklerinizi, ağlama isteklerinizi, ne varsa içinizden taşan, bulursunuz kitapta. " Ben yazsaydım da böyle yazardım, ne eksik ne fazla. Aynı cümlelerle anlatırdım dedirten bir kitap." Son sayfayı da bitirip, derinden bir iç çekince beynimin içinde bu cümle döndü bir süre. Sonra da When you're gone. Ah Nemescek, küçük yüzbaşı seni özleyeceğim...
    *
    Ece Temelkuran Muz Sesleri'nde bahsetmiş Pál Sokağı'ndan. Sahi siz sevgilinizin kokusunu hangi kitaba benzetiyorsunuz?

    .
  • “ either peace or happiness,
    let it enfold you

    when I was a young man
    I felt these things were
    dumb, unsophisticated.
    I had bad blood, a twisted
    mind, a precarious
    upbringing.

    I was hard as granite, I
    leered at the
    sun.
    I trusted no man and
    especially no
    woman.

    I was living a hell in
    small rooms, I broke
    things, smashed things,
    walked through glass,
    cursed.
    I challenged everything,
    was continually being
    evicted, jailed,in and
    out of fights, in and out
    of my mind.
    women were something
    to screw and rail
    at, I had no male
    friends,

    I changed jobs and
    cities, I hated holidays,
    babies, history,
    newspapers, museums,
    grandmothers,
    marriage, movies,
    spiders, garbagemen,
    english accents, spain,
    france, italy, walnuts and
    the color
    orange.
    algebra angered me,
    opera sickened me,
    charlie chaplin was a
    fake
    and flowers were for
    pansies.

    peace an happiness to me
    were signs of
    inferiority,
    tenants of the weak
    an
    addled
    mind.

    but as I went on with
    my alley fights,
    my suicidal years,
    my passage through
    any number of
    women-it gradually
    began to occur to
    me
    that I wasn't different

    from the
    others, I was the same,

    they were all fulsome
    with hatred,
    glossed over with petty
    grievances,
    the men I fought in
    alleys had hearts of stone.
    everybody was nudging,
    inching, cheating for
    some insignificant
    advantage,
    the lie was the
    weapon and the
    plot was
    empty,
    darkness was the
    dictator.

    cautiously, I allowed
    myself to feel good
    at times.
    I found moments of
    peace in cheap
    rooms
    just staring at the
    knobs of some
    dresser
    or listening to the
    rain in the
    dark.
    the less I needed
    the better I
    felt.

    maybe the other life had worn me
    down.
    I no longer found
    glamour
    in topping somebody
    in conversation.
    or in mounting the
    body of some poor
    drunken female
    whose life had
    slipped away into
    sorrow.

    I could never accept
    life as it was,
    i could never gobble
    down all its
    poisons
    but there were parts,
    tenuous magic parts
    open for the
    asking.

    I re formulated
    I don't know when,
    date, time, all
    that
    but the change
    occurred.
    something in me
    relaxed, smoothed
    out.
    i no longer had to
    prove that I was a
    man,

    I didn't have to prove
    anything.

    I began to see things:
    coffee cups lined up
    behind a counter in a
    cafe.
    or a dog walking along
    a sidewalk.
    or the way the mouse
    on my dresser top
    stopped there
    with its body,
    its ears,
    its nose,
    it was fixed,
    a bit of life
    caught within itself
    and its eyes looked
    at me
    and they were
    beautiful.
    then- it was
    gone.

    I began to feel good,
    I began to feel good
    in the worst situations
    and there were plenty
    of those.
    like say, the boss
    behind his desk,
    he is going to have
    to fire me.

    I've missed too many
    days.
    he is dressed in a
    suit, necktie, glasses,
    he says, "I am going
    to have to let you go"

    "it's all right" I tell
    him.

    He must do what he
    must do, he has a
    wife, a house, children.
    expenses, most probably
    a girlfriend.

    I am sorry for him
    he is caught.

    I walk onto the blazing
    sunshine.
    the whole day is
    mine
    temporally,
    anyhow.

    (the whole world is at the
    throat of the world,
    everybody feels angry,
    short-changed, cheated,
    everybody is despondent,
    disillusioned)

    I welcomed shots of
    peace, tattered shards of
    happiness.

    I embraced that stuff
    like the hottest number,
    like high heels, breasts,
    singing,the
    works.

    (don't get me wrong,
    there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism
    that overlooks all
    basic problems just for
    the sake of
    itself-
    this is a shield and a
    sickness.)

    The knife got near my
    throat again,
    I almost turned on the
    gas
    again
    but when the good
    moments arrived
    again
    I didn't fight them off
    like an alley
    adversary.
    I let them take me,
    i luxuriated in them,
    I bade them welcome
    home.
    I even looked into
    the mirror
    once having thought
    myself to be
    ugly,
    I now liked what
    I saw,almost
    handsome, yes,
    a bit ripped and
    ragged,
    scares, lumps,
    odd turns,
    but all in all,
    not too bad,
    almost handsome,
    better at least than
    some of those movie
    star faces
    like the cheeks of
    a baby's
    butt.

    and finally I discovered
    real feelings of
    others,
    unheralded,
    like lately,
    like this morning,
    as I was leaving,
    for the track,
    i saw my wife in bed,
    just the
    shape of
    her head there
    (not forgetting
    centuries of the living
    and the dead and
    the dying,
    the pyramids,
    Mozart dead
    but his music still
    there in the
    room, weeds growing,
    the earth turning,
    the toteboard waiting for
    me)
    I saw the shape of my
    wife's head,
    she so still,
    I ached for her life,
    just being there
    under the
    covers.

    I kissed her in the,
    forehead,
    got down the stairway,
    got outside,
    got into my marvelous
    car,
    fixed the seatbelt,
    backed out the
    drive.
    feeling warm to
    the fingertips,
    down to my
    foot on the gas
    pedal,
    I entered the world
    once
    more,
    drove down the
    hill
    past the houses
    full and empty
    of
    people,
    I saw the mailman,
    honked,
    he waved
    back
    at me.”
  • ZAMAN
    Sıradan bir günü oluşturan anları sayarak.
    Zamanı parçalarsın, kolaycacık harcarsın
    Doğduğun topraklarda bir parça toprağın üstünda dolanarak
    Sana yol gösterecek birini,- birşeyi bekleyerek.
    Yoruldun eve kapanıp yağmuru seyretmekten ve güneşte mayışmaktan
    Daha gençsin ve yaşam uzun, harcayacak vaktin var bugün
    Ve bir gün bakmışsın ki on yılı bırakmışsın ardında
    Kimse söylemez sana koşacağın yeri, başlama İşaretini kaçırmışsın
    Ve koşarsın koşarsın güneşi yakalamak için ama güneş batmakta
    Ve dolanmakta tekrar sana görünmek için
    Güneş aynı güneş aslında ama sen yaşlısın artık
    Bir nefeslik ömrün var ve bir gün daha yakınsın ölüme
    Gittikçe kısalmakta yıllar, vakit bulamayacağız galiba
    Tasarılar ya sıfır ya da yarım sayfa karalama
    Umutsuzluğa sarılarak avarelik etmek İngiliz'lere özgüdür
    Vakit geçti bitti şarkı, söyleyeceklerim bitmedi ama.



    TIME
    Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
    You fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way
    Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
    Waiting for someone or something to show you the way
    Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
    You are young and life Is long and there. is time to kill today
    And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
    No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun
    And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but It's sinking
    And racing around to come up behind you again
    The sun is the same In the relative way, but you're older
    Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
    Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
    Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
    Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
    The time is gone the song is over, thought I'd something more to say
    Orhan Kahyaoğlu
    Sayfa 53 - Metronom, 1986