8.9.07

Maestro morte.... Lamentiamo...

In memoriam maestro Luciano Pavarotti...

Nessun Dorma

Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma!
Tu pure, o, Principessa,
nella tua fredda stanza,
guardi le stelle
che fremono d'amore
e di speranza.

Ma il mio mistero e chiuso in me,
il nome mio nessun sapra!
No, no, sulla tua bocca lo diro
quando la luce splendera!

Ed il mio bacio sciogliera il silenzio
che ti fa mia!

(Il nome suo nessun sapra!...
e noi dovrem, ahime, morir!)

Dilegua, o notte!
Tramontate, stelle!
Tramontate, stelle!
All'alba vincero!
vincero, vincero!

***

Kimse uyumuyor bu gece, kimse uyumamalı
Sen de tatlı prenses
Soğuk odanda
Yıldızları izlemektesin
Aşkan ve umuttan titremekte ışıkları.

Benimse saklı içimde sırrım
Kimse bilmeyecek adımı
Hayır, hayır ! sadece senin dudaklarına fısıldayacağım onu
Gün ışığı içeri süzülürken !

Ve öpüşlerim bölecek
Seni benim kılan sessizliği !

(Kimse bilmeyecek adımı
Ve biz ölmek zorunda kalacağız !)

Git ey gece! Sönün yıldızlar! Sönün ! Şafakta kazanacağım ! Kazanacağım, kazanacağım !

İtalyanca'dan çeviri: Aslı Özgen


12.8.07

Ithaca

Ithaca’ya yelken açtığında,

Uzun olsun yolun,

Macera ve bilgi dolu.

Korkayım deme sakın

Ne Lestrygonianlar ne Kikloplar,

Ne de kızgın Poseidon’dan:

Çıkamazlar yoluna onlar, duramazlar karşında

Eğer rahat tutarsan içini,

Tatlı bir duygu okşamaktaysa, bedenini ve zihnini.

Lestrygonianlar, Kikloplar,

Veya acımasız Poseidon çıkmayacaktır yoluna,

Ruhunda yer yoksa onlar gibisine,

Eğer ruhun izin vermezse onlarla karşılaşmana.

Uzun tut yolunu sen.

Düşün, sıcak yaz sabahlarında

İçin heyecan ve mutlulukla kıpır kıpırken

Ilk defa gördüğün limanlara yanaşacaksın;

Fenike pazarlarında oyalanacak,

Güzel kumaşlar, ipekler satın alacaksın,

Büyük inciler, mercanlar, kehribar ve abanozlar serilecek önüne,

Aklını başından alan parfümler bulacaksın,

Ve hayal edebildiğinden de çok parfüm alacaksın;

Mısır kentlerinde dolaşacak,

Bilgelerle karşılaşacak, öğrenecek ve öğreneceksin.

Ama Ithaca hep aklında olacak.

Oraya ulaşmak hep en önemli amacın olacak.

Ama acele ediyim deme sakın.

Bırak, onlarca yıl sürsün bu yolculuk;

Yaşlandığında demir at adana,

Yolda kazandığın onca şeyle birlikte,

Ithaca’nın sana bir zenginlik sunmasını beklemeden.

Ithaca, sana güzel bir yolculuk verdi.

O olmasaydı, asla çıkamazdın yola.

Artık sana verecek birşeyi yok Ithaca’nın.

Şimdi eğer aciz görüyorsan onu, Ithaca sana ihanet ettiğinden değil.

Yolculuğun ve tecrübelerinin verdiği bilgelikle anlamalısın,

Anlamış olmalısın ‘Ithaca’lar ne demektir...


şiir: Kavafis
çeviri: Aslı Özgen

7.8.07

Geç kalmanın metafiziği: Ulus Baker için..

Gilles Deleuze, zamandan konuşmanın mümkün olmadığını söylediğinde, “şimdi”nin kaypaklığından çıkmıştı yola. “Şimdi”den konuşmak, “şimdi”yi kavramak imkansızdır, çünkü “şimdi” farkına vardığımız an, geçmişe gömülür.
Ulus Baker, 12 Temmuz günü geçmişe gömüldü. Benim için küllerinden doğdu. Mecaz yapmıyorum. Onu hayatıma sokan ne yazık ki ölüm haberi oldu. Köşe bucak izini sürerken, yüzümü gizlemek, görünmez olmak istedim. Onun varlığından haberdar olamayışımın, onu tanıyamadan ellerimden kayıp gidişinin utancı vardı gözlerimde. Oysa Baker, hep olur ya, sadece bir nefes uzakmış benden... Elimi uzatsam oradaymış; ama her neyse körebenin kolları o yönü yoklamamış. Az yaklaşmış, eli Deleuze’e çarpmış, Spinoza’dan beride Ulus’a dokunamamış...
Kıbrıs’ta bulunduğum son 11 ay boyunca, ilk defa bu atmosferin anlamlı bir esintisi olduğunu bana hissettirdi Ulus. Onun annesi, Kıbrıslı Türk kadın şair Pembe Marmara; babası ise adanın en tanışmış psikiyatrlarından Sedat Baker’di. Kıbrıs’ta, orada, burada, şurada, farklı köşelerde Ulus’un parmak izleri var gibiydi. Düşünceli ve sorgulayan gözlerinden çıkan bir ateş, sigarasından bir nefes salınıyor olmalı Afrodit’in adasında.
Tanıl Bora, Ulus’un “Kendi fizikî varlığını hesaba katmayan, bahse konu etmeyen, sâfî Intellect gibi” olduğunu söylerken bunun “Kendisinin, fizikî varlığının sorumluluğunu almamasının görünüşü” olduğunu vurgular. Necmi Erdoğan da benzer bir duyguyu ifade ederken, Ulus’un “kendi bedenini Deleuze'ün deyişiyle ‘organsız beden’ gibi başsız sonsuz bir akış, serbest bir yoğunluk, göçebe bir tekillik, taşlaşmamış bir üretkenlik şeklinde” kurmuş olmasından bahseder. “Tıpkı Deleuze'ün ‘organsız beden’i gibi ‘sınırlanmasına’, akışının ‘kesilmesine’, müdahale edilmesine karşı durduğu için sağlıkla ilgili baskılara direndi”ğini düşünür Necmi Erdoğan.
Descartes’ın kartezyen ikilik ile ortaya attığı günden bu yana düşünce sistemimizi biçimlendiren ruh-beden ikiliğine karşı duran sayılı postmodern figürlerden biri olarak çıkıyor karşımıza Ulus. Her zaman “sağlıklı” olmanın “normal”, “bedenine iyi bakmayı reddetmenin” de “tuhaf” karşılandığı bu gelenek, bugün “beden” kavramının yarattığı tüm çağrışımlar açısından sorgulanmakta.
Ulus, felsefeyi yaşıyor, onu içselleştiriyordu... Bir yazısında dediği gibi felsefeyi, onu sadece kendi alanında uygulamaktan uzak gören ve Burjuva ikiyüzlülüğüne denk düşen “Batı pragmatizmi” çerçevesinde algılamıyor; yaşıyordu. Felsefelerini hayatlarının bir ölçüsü ve ritmi haline getirmeyi başaran Spinoza ve Nietzsche gibi, Ulus da Deleuze'ün bu felsefecileri tanımlamak için kullandığı, "kamusal" değil "özel" filozoflar kapsamına girebilir miydi?
1960 yılında Leningrad’ta dünyaya gelen Ulus, Dostoyeski’nin gri kentinde doğmuş olmayı da benzer biçimde içselleştirmişti. Şöyle diyordu bir yazısında: “diyelim ki bu Rus insanını biraz da kaderini paylaşarak daha iyi tanıma şansım oldu”. Bu toprakların halkı, tarihi, felsefecileri ve üstatları hakkında imrenilecek bilgiye ve fikre sahip Ulus’un Dostoyevski ve Tarkovski üzerine makalesi, Rus sanatının bu iki duayenini nasıl özümsediğinin basit bir resmi olarak çıkıyor karşımıza.
Bu yazısında cevabı hazır olan sorulara değinyor Ulus, Dostoyevski’den hep alıntılanan o “Tanrı yoksa her şey mubahtır” sözünden hareketle. Öteki türlü söylemeyi deneyelim: Her şeyin mubah olduğu bir toplumda, Tanrı ölmüş olmalıdır. Yani cevap sorudan önce vardır ve Dostoyevski bunu bu şekilde ifade etmiştir. Ulus, Godard’tan örnek verir netleştirmek için: "demek ki ölmemişim, çünkü bütün hayatım bir film şeridi gibi gözlerimin önünden geçmedi." Ulus, bu tür Cogito’lara “kapalı soru” der.
Ulus’un yaşamı, bedeni ve zihni, tüm göstergeleriyle, postmodernizmin o sorgulayan tavrının bir göstereni gibiydi. Ersan Ocak, yazısında “onun yaptığının bir düşünce-duygu dokumacılığı olduğunu” düşündüğünden bahseder; “Aynı meseleyi her yeniden ele alışında farklı desenler dokuyan yaratıcı bir usta”... Deleuze ve Guattari’nin “rizom”u gibi; ilişkiler yumağı halinde, birbirini dürten, kavuşup kavuşup çözülen ve oradan bambaşka bir ontolojiye filiz veren bir bütünsellik ve etkileşim yumağı.
Bir tür “açık soru” Ulus’un deyimiyle, cevabı önceden hazır olmayan cinsten... Bizi hayrete düşürmeyi hedefleyen, cevaplanmayı değil hissedilmeyi bekleyen bir soru cümlesi gibi Ulus’un yaşamı. Deleuze'ün tanımıyla "şeylerin ortasından", birdenbire türeyen, neredeyse amaçsız; ama sormayan, söyleyen ve anlatan sorular.

22.6.07

City of one thousand lights: Birmingham

As our plane descends, our sight is enchanted by the enormous green fields that encircle the city of Birmingham. Situated in the West-Midlands region of England, Birmingham lies at such a position that it almost holds the centre of what is known as the ‘historic heart of England’, where traces of many a medieval town still remain. This quality offers the city a different kind of importance, for the thrill it offers with its gorgeous shopping centres is doubled with the journey it offers into the depths of Britain’s history.
Birmingham is considered to be the second largest city of England. It has a big airport and an efficient railway web, which makes it quite easy to get around. As we leave the airport, we take the first train to the city centre. We are planning to have a quick look at the city, to breathe its unique air. The following day will see a high-rhythm tour of the city. I would like to remind you that there are three big railway stations at the city centre. This may give you an idea about the tourist flow and size of the city.
Unjust promotional campaignBirmingham is mainly famous for being an industrial city. The city's reputation was strengthened as a powerhouse of the Industrial Revolution in Britain. The city was referred to as "the workshop of the world" or the "city of a thousand trades". Today, nothing so old or historic is observable at the city centre. For today's Birmingham is chiefly a product of the 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries, as its real growth began with the Industrial Revolution.
Mainly Birmingham is marked with being the centre of bubbling nightlife and scintillating shopping. However, this seems to me a monocular way of promoting the city as there is so much in Birmingham both historically and artistically. Not to mention the 17th and 18th century houses scattered around the city; museums in Birmingham boast an elite selection of paintings ranging from those of Rubens, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Monet, Renoir, Degas, and René Magritte. Housing also a science museum, botanical gardens and jewellery quarter; Birmingham is home to two famous football clubs: Aston Villa and Birmingham City. The famous City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, a prominent orchestra worldwide-acknowledged for their memorable performances, offers you an unforgettable soirée of classical music in the gorgeous Symphony Hall. You may get a chance to watch one of the amazing performances of Birmingham Royal Ballet. In brief, Birmingham has something to offer for every taste.
Victoria Square: the heart of the cityWe head for the Victoria Square, which is one of the most vibrant places in the city centre. Crowned with the Victorian-style architecture of Birmingham City Council on one side and Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery on the other, the square is adorned with Dhruva Mistry's sculpture, 'The River'. Everyone is very relaxed in this square, either sunbathing, having a break, taking a drink, or watching spontaneous dance and music shows held in the open space. Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery boasts having the largest collection of Pre-Raphealite art in the world. Do not overlook this experience!
One of the most beautiful buildings in the city centre, Birmingham Cathedral is very close to Victoria Square. I do not want to turn back to the hotel without seeing the four famous Pre-Raphaelite stained-glass windows by Sir Edward Burne-Jones.
Another thing to do before going to the hotel is of course stopping by a pub and drink beer. A tiring day of a long flight can only be celebrated with a lazy ending. Leaving the Victoria Square behind, we head for Brindley Place, a popular waterfront location combining restaurants, bars, cafés and shops. This is the right place for many people who wish to have good food in a pleasant atmosphere. We stop here and sip our drinks taking delight from the enchanting sight of the canal.
Historic heritage of BirminghamAs there is a lot to see in Birmingham, we leave our hotel early in the morning and head for an exceptional experience: Blakesley Hall. This is a 17th century house, still preserving its Tudor style. Delightfully restored, this handsome timber-framed Yeoman farmer’s house is one of the last surviving examples of its kind in Birmingham. Conveniently decorated to reflect the life-style of its time, the house opens a gate into the world of the Tudors. The wood flooring, oak-tree furnishings, painted wall hangings, and specially-designed settings in the rooms promise an unforgettable journey into the past. What is more, Blakesley Hall is set in landscaped grounds with a beautiful herb garden, which supply the owners with various herbs for pharmaceutical purposes, and an orchard.
Another experience of the Tudors is Selly Manor which is home to a stunning collection of furniture dating from 1500 to 1750.
Leaving the enchanting atmosphere of Tudor homes behind, we head for Sarehole Mill, which is rumoured to have provided early inspiration to J.R.R. Tolkien, the author of ‘Lord of the Rings’. A part of the official Tolkien Trail, Sarehole Mill is the only working watermill in Birmingham. The mill we see today was built in the 18th century; however historic evidence shows that there has been a mill on the site since 1542. Sarehole Mill houses various displays of agricultural implements and industrial machinery. Besides, it is located in the exquisite Shire Country Park, which is haven for birds and all kinds of wildlife. If you have the time, a stroll in the park might be relaxing and peaceful.
If you would like to make the most of Birmingham, you need to be on your feet. Fortunately, you can access most places by using the in-city buses.
Our next stop is Soho House. This elegant home once belonged to the industrial pioneer Matthew Boulton, who lived here from 1766 to 1809. This splendid house was the meeting place of Lunar Society – the greatest thinkers and scientists of the age. To much of our dismay, the owner of the house, Boulton, was also an artisan. His works, ranging from silver to ormolu, coins and cut steel are on display at the Soho House. As we walk along the rooms, richly decorated, the house manifests itself like a work of art.
There is the advantage of seeing a high-fashioned Jacobean house in Birmingham; and if you have never seen one before, you must head for Aston Hall. This house dates back to 1618 and boasts of unimaginably beautiful plasterwork, ceilings and exquisite friezes, a magnificent carved oak staircase and a spectacular Long Gallery. The textiles, furniture and paintings are a distinct pleasure to look at.
As the sun sets out to wane, we prepare our minds for a romantic evening and head for the canal to take a boat tour along. Just beside the Brindley Place, there are many boats moored waiting to take passengers on a sweet cruise along the canal. I think it is the best thing to do in order to relax after a tiring day, before hitting the shops.
As our boat sails on accompanied by ducks by the canal, we are charmed by the reflection of cloudy skies on the water.
Unlimited shoppingThere is no limit to shopping in Birmingham. The main street where the shops are located and people flock all day long is New Street. You may find expensive and chic shops side-by-side with the moderate ones. This means shopping for everyone! If you are not yet a shopaholic on your way to Birmingham, you will become one!
Besides moderate shopping centres such as Pallasades and Mailbox, Birmingham has one of the biggest shopping centres in Europe: Bullring. Built at a cost of over £500 million, Bullring brings over 26 football pitches worth of shops, boutiques and restaurants into the centre of town. Situated just at the opposite of the medieval church of St. Martin, Bullring creates a unique effect with its striking contemporary architecture.
Rubens, locomotives and precious gemsAnother day in Birmingham must be devoted to museums. Fascinating with its rich collection ranging from Rubens, Gainsborough, Turner and Rossetti to Monet, Renoir, Degas, Van Gogh, Picasso, and Magritte; the Barber Institute of Fine Arts should not be overlooked. Besides key paintings, the institute also offers a regular programme of exhibitions and concerts.
A must-visit museum is Think-tank science museum in Birmingham, renowned as an industrial city. This is a truly modern museum where visitors can investigate everything from locomotives and space travel to intestines and robots. I highly recommend you to take a tour of the night sky in the amazing digital planetarium. It is a matchless experience.
Seductive with the name for the ladies, the Jewellery Quarter is a unique area, which dates back to 250 years. Home to 400 jewellery businesses, the quarter has been described by English Heritage as a unique historic environment in England which has few, if any, parallels in Europe. Visitors should not miss a visit to the Museum of the Jewellery Quarter, based in an old jewellery factory. You can take a guided tour and learn about the history of the gems and the craft of jewellery making. Do not be afraid to shop in the Jewellery Quarter. One cannot help it anyway while surrounded by exclusive and elegant examples of handcrafted jewellery! Unexpectedly, the prices are competitive and affordable for an everlasting souvenir that will mark your Birmingham trip.
England is blessed with miles long green fields, which is a feast to the eyes and the soul. Birmingham is no exception. However, one must not leave without visiting the huge Botanical Garden & Glasshouse and Birmingham Nature Centre. Housing finest collection of plants in the Midlands, Botanical Garden is fifteen acres wide. The four glasshouses situated within contain a wide array of exotic and economic flora. On the other hand, Birmingham Nature Centre is home to over 130 species of animals, including the amazing red pandas, meerkats, guinea pigs, owls, snakes and lizards. Great fun for children is at hand in this environment.
Sweet world of CadburyAnother children attraction is without doubt the Cadbury World. Here you can enjoy the taste of Cadbury’s chocolate and discover its history and origins. Packed with chocolate, information and fun, an unmatchable experience awaits young and adult alike in the world of Cadbury.
As we step in the magical world of Cadbury, we are taken to Aztec Forests where the story of chocolate begins in the 600 AD. Travelling back through the centuries to the time of the Mayan Indians and the Aztecs, we walk through their forests and witness how cocoa became central to their way of life. We discover who was responsible for bringing the secret of chocolate to Europe. Then we meet Mr. John Cadbury who initiated the Cadbury today. He and his sons tell us about the story of how their family business developed. Next step is more and maybe the most thrilling one: How Cadbury chocolate is made. It is impossible not to be enchanted as we see the appetizing liquid chocolate pouring slowly. A peerless experience and a must for visitors of Birmingham...

City where the Renaissance never ends

As our plane approaches Florence, the city is visible from above for a brief instant. Displaying the city structure common to the Middle Ages, the city seems like a star from above. There is a grand square at the city centre where all roads end, and a majestic cathedral rises amongst scarlet roofs...
In fact it has been some time since I returned from Florence. Ever since it touched my life with its magic wand, I cannot take it off my mind. If you ever breathe in Florence, ever got lost in its streets with the sounds of cello, watched city-folk all night long sitting on the stairs of Santa Maria del Fiore, took a walk on Ponte Vecchio accompanied by a wave of wine fragrances, it means your life has already changed.
The odour of this city will never leave you alone... And nothing is going to be like it was before.

The capital city of Renaissance
When I landed in Peretola Airport, the sun was not yet down. I already marked the house I was going to stay on the map: it was in Piazza Beccaria, the east end of the historical city of Florence. Taking a cab, I enter the streets of the city.
This is Florence - narrow streets, centennial buildings, a secret of art piece in every corner. I am not attracted at all by the modern city around the old city with wide streets and grand buildings.
While the night is falling on the crimson tile roofs of the city, a glare floods inside the taxi cab: Santa Maria del Fiore. This monumental Duomo’s magnificence is breathtaking when flushed with lights at night.
Divided by Arno River, Florence is the capital city of Renaissance. Raised many a renowned artist in its bosom such as Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Botticelli and Dante, Florence is a privileged city dominated by the spirit of art.
As we arrive at Piazza Beccaria, I enter the 200 year old building, an old mansion divided into flats for modern use. I am going up to the top floor using the newly-added elevator inside a net. My flat is a small one opening onto a cute flowery courtyard, in which noisy Italian clamour echoes in the day time. Looking from the window at the lights of the city, I dream I will embrace Florence in the morning. Only a few hours later, I say to myself, to calm my excitement.

City tour
In the old city of Florence, it is easy to get around on foot. In any case most of the streets are too narrow for car access. Even the Municipality of Florence has very small buses to cruise around the narrow streets. Streets are so narrow that these buses warn pedestrians with constant signals.
My advice is a comprehensive Florence tour, which relies strictly on foot. Comprehensive yet not exhaustive, this is going to be a tour into the heart of Florence; breathing the mildewy air of the city reminding one of the scent of old books, feasting your eyes on Renaissance-masterpiece buildings, getting into the cityfolk and joining them.
The first point I will visit is Dante’s house, the poet whom I admire. Thus first I have to go through the San Giovanni Square where the city’s cathedral Santa Maria del Fiore Duomo stands. Hardly conceivable that it has been built by human power, this is the fifth greatest cathedral in the world. The Duomo has the fingerprints of the most famous architects and artists. For instance; the great dome was built by the architect genius Brunelleschi; its campanile was erected by a pioneer of Renaissance, Giotto; frescoes were coloured by Leonardo da Vinci’s master Verocchio. Duomo’s exterior bedecked with green and pink marbles peculiar to Toscana. Santa Maria del Fiore means ‘Mary of the Flowers’. Duomo, as might have been expected, was dedicated to Virgin Mary. Over the entrance door there is a statue of Virgin Mary on one side and a statue of Gabriel holding a lily, a symbol for innocence, on the other. Thus, the scene of “the Annunciation”, and of the most significant pieces of Christian iconography... Annunciation is the scene where Gabriel delivers the word of God to Mary, announcing her that the baby she is carrying is the Christ-child. The composition over the entrance of the Duomo places the word of God above the door; hence every-comer is blessed while entering the church.
The plans and drawings about the construction of Duomo, the machinery used, and most of the artworks collected from the interior are exhibited in the museum ‘Museo dell’Opera del Duomo’, situated just behind the Duomo.
The hexagonal structure before Duomo, is the baptistery, built over the traces of a Roman sanctuary. Believed to be the oldest heritage in Florence, the interior of the baptistery is covered with golden granoliths. Dedicated to Saint John the Baptist, the baptistery features three bronze doors, illustrating the life of the saint. These works of art were completed in 21 years by the Ghiberti. Thousands of tourists flock to the baptistery everyday both to see the granoliths and the doors. By the way, the original door panels are exhibited at ‘Museo dell’Opera del Duomo’.

Tracing the Divine Poet
Suddenly I find myself standing in front of Dante’s house, situated at an intersection of narrow streets. With its garden, gate latchers and structure, the house stands just like it was 650 years before. The impact is so strong that it feels like the divine poet would appear at the door and say, ‘prepare my horse’. The small church, just before the house, is the church where the Poet married Gemma Donati. The interior of the church is bedecked with pictures representing scenes from the Poet’s life. Lighting a candle in memory of my beloved Dante I leave the church...
As much as Renaissance, Florence reminds one of the patrons of Renaissance, the Medici Family. Ruling in Florence from the 13th to 17th century, the Medici family are renowned for their patronage in arts. Many eminent artists such as Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Rafaello, Masaccio, Botticelli were patronized by the Medici Family. You may still feel the spirit of the Medici dominating the city. Structures such as Palazzo Vecchio, Palazzo Pitti, Giardino di Boboli, Palazzo Medici, Uffizi, Ponte Vecchio, Capelle Medicee are heritages of the Medici Family in the city of Florence. Moving into Brunelleschi-design Palazzo Pitti, after taking sojourn for many years in Palazzo Vecchio, the Medici had Boboli Gardens built behind their grandiose palace, equal in beauty to the Gardens of Versailles. Florence City State’s administrative centre, Uffizi today serves as a museum harbouring enchanting works of Italian art. Today a market place for romantic evening walks, Ponte Vecchio was originally constructed for Medici Family members to walk from Uffizi to the Palazzo Pitti, situated on the other side of the river, without mingling with the people.

Michelangelo
Constructed for the burial of Medici Family members Capelle Medicee, is both a splendid mausoleum and a museum with a rich collection of holy relics. Michelangelo’s famous allegories; Night, Day, Dawn and Dusk, are also located in the Medici Chapels.
Michelangelo’s noted sculpture of David is in Florence as well. While a copy of the sculpture stands before Palazzo Vecchio, the original piece is exhibited at Galleria dell’Accademia. Most of the statues from Michelangelo’s ‘Prigioni’ series are also exhibited in Galleria dell’Accademia. ‘Prigioni’ (Prisoners) series feature semi- and raw figures coming out of the marble block. Let the question be discussed whether these pieces are incomplete or Michelangelo consciously left them incomplete, the significant thing is what he thought: Michelangelo believed that each marble block hid a figure. According to him, the sculptor should set this figure free. Prigioni embody the ideas of their creator.
Galleria dell’Accademia features a rich collection of Italian artists. In the small building behind the main building, there is also an instrument museum belonging to Luigi Cherubini Conservatory.

Florence at dusk
The best thing to do in Florerence at sunset is to watch the city from above while supping your wine at Piazzale Michelangelo. Pray do not get it wrong, Piazzale Michelangelo is not a luxury restaurant, looking over the city. Instead, it is a large panoramic square on one of the small hills around the old city. Make sure you do not forget to take a bottle of wine with you, as you set out to climb this gorgeous square.
In order to reach Piazzale Michelangelo, you need to depart from Piazza della Signoria, marked by Palazzo Vecchio, towards Arno. Passing along Ufizzi, you need to cross on Ponte alle Grazie on the left.
It is possible to get up the hill, covered with beautiful flora, both by following the road or using stairs built for pedestrians. This is a cosy square where people potter putter modestly, children rush and skate, colourful vans sell Italian ice cream. As the sun goes down all the monuments of Florence come to the scene. Major part played by Duomo; Palazzo Vecchio, Badia Fiorentina and Santa Croce in the supporting roles.
The sine qua non of a Florence tour is visiting the museums and seeing as many works of Italian art as possible. Besides the national museums like Ufizzi, Galleria dell’Accademia, Palazzo Vecchio, Bargello, Museo dell’Opera del Duomo; churches and palaces boast important works of art no less than museums.
Marking the first scene in the ‘Decameron’ of Boccaccio, the Church of Santa Maria Novella displays unique samples of gothic and early Renaissance art. Santa Croce Church houses Galilee’s and Michelangelo’s tombs. San Miniato al Monte Church, situated on the heights of the city just like Piazzale Michelangelo, showcases Luca della Robbia’s works, ceramic master of the Middle Ages.

Ice cream, music and entertainment alla Italiana
Besides a rich artistic heritage as the city of Renaissance, Florence has a vital social life. You may have the chance to get delighted with amateur street performances at Piazza della Repubblica while you are having your ice cream. Florence is adorned with music at every corner. While wandering along the streets, the melodies of Vivaldi or gypsies accompany your walk, putting butterflies in your stomach.
One of the tourist-ridden places of summer nights is the front side of Uffizi Museum. This rectangle square is mostly stage to concerts, plays or dance performances. If you pass through Ponte Vecchio by chance, you can enjoy the lights of Florence with the melodies of the street singer, who is much like a phenomenon playing his guitar on the bridge for many years now. Or you might get into a crowd in front of Santa Maria del Fiore and enjoy a romantic Italian night under the lights of the Duomo.
Florence is situated in Toscana region, the heart of Italy. Famous for its rich and nutritious flora and fauna, Toscana is the perfect place to taste the Italian cuisine. Piazza della Signoria houses a number of pizza restaurants, with a beautiful view and affordable prices. However, if you think sitting and eating is a waste of time while there is a lot to see; you may find take-away pizza eateries on Via dei Calzaiuoli or Via Roma.
Although the capital of Italian fashion is known as Milano, there are also classy shops in Florence. Generally concentrated around Duomo, shops not only sell stylish garments, but also fascinating house decoration products. Shopaholics, especially for the Italian wonder shoes should spare a special budget.
While walking along on the streets of Florence, I can feel why this city has been the flower of arts for ages. Today a new Renaissance is at hand in the streets of Florence, the beautiful capital of culture, shaped in the hands of artists. Despite its artistic sway, Florence does not have frowning eyebrows and is absolutely not clumsy. Students flocking all over the world to Florence to study arts and design, carry the enthusiasm and dynamism of the Renaissance to present.

Don’t leave without...
• Watching the city above at Piazzale Michelangelo
• Visiting the worlds fifth greatest cathedral Santa Maria del Fiore
• Getting up to the campanile of Giotto
• Tasting Italian style ice cream
• Getting high with guitar melodies at Ponte Vecchio
• Visiting Uffizi, where works of da Vinci, Botticelli, Michelangelo, Caravaggio and many more are exhibited.

30.5.07

The Goddess of Beauty and Love: Aphrodite Cypridis

Born out of foams in the Mediterranean Sea, the goddess of beauty and love Aphrodite was attracted to the land of Cyprus to put her gentle feet on. Today, thousand years past alike, Cyprus is recognised as home to Aphrodite. This article searched the footsteps and the exalted spirit of the goddess across the island.

Across Cyprus, numerous temples or sacred sites devoted to the goddess Aphrodite would enliven with the rise of spring. As the spring fairy Persophene breathed the spring putting flowers in bloom, every girl used to make a pilgrimage to the sanctuary of the goddess for marriage rites ‘to invoke the goddess within’. Exquisitely dressed priestesses of the goddess would welcome the girls in the sacred gardens surrounding the temple. A man would throw an offering at the feet of his preferred pilgrim whereupon the sacred intercourse was performed.
This sort of ritual and offerings actually have deeper roots than Hellenistic culture. The figure of a mother goddess responsible for procreation dates back to matriarchal era when women were considered holy and mysterious due to the inexplicable act of conception.
Standing at the crossroads of Europe, facing the Asia Minor and the Middle East, Cyprus was a kind of ‘melting pot’ of the ancient world comprising many civilisations on its bosom.
Chronologically Mycenaeans, Achaeans, Phoenicians, Assyrians, Egyptians, Persians, Romans, Crusaders, Venetians, Ottomans and British have all passed by bringing their own customs, religion, and art necessarily changing the current, adapting to or coexisting with it.
An exhibition held in New York in the year 2003 entitled “From Ishtar to Aphrodite” revealed this fact with artefacts discovered around the sanctuaries or graves in Cyprus. These artefacts including grave offerings, vases, bowls, and figurines contributed our conception of the ancient cosmopolitan character of Cyprus as a melting pot. The exhibition proved that various styles of burial traditions coexisted even within short distances.
The figures generally represented a mother goddess of fertility and balance, suggesting an antecedent persona of Aphrodite, brought to the island by Mesopotamian tribes of matriarchal order. Remembering the “Epic of Gilgamesh” will give us the initial clue to start searching the traces of the goddess Aphrodite the Cypriot. A Mesopotamian epic, also the oldest written work of literature, Gilgamesh introduces the goddess of love, Ishtar, aka Inanna.

Origins of the goddess
The cult of the “goddess of love” was actually brought to the island by Phoenecians, who used to name her Inanna, Ishtar or after an Egyptian goddess Astarte. She is called the goddess of the Morning and Evening Star. She presides over the birth of both night and day. Next to her is the sacred star sign of brilliant Venus, symbol of both death and rebirth.
The winged goddess could move freely between the world of the death and that of living. Thus, she is also the goddess of balance. Among her many other titles, Ishtar is the goddess of love and procreation. Sacred marriage rites were performed at New Year. Not to forget that this “new year” is not what we understand today under the imposition of Christianity. The new year in the pagan world started with the wake of nature, that is Spring. The blessings of Ishtar were sought to insure fertility in the month of May when nature was in flourish.
Another interesting fact is that the nature of Ishtar reflects the peaceful Phoenecian society in which she developed. All the other goddesses of the Near East and Greek world wore armour, except Ishtar, or later Aphrodite. Thus, it is time for you to stop and think the famous saying of modern novelist Virginia Woolf: “to fight has always been the man’s habit, not the woman’s”.

Aphrodite as Ishtar’s successor
This goddess image, the Greek confronted on their journeys to the island was rather interesting due to its “different” nature. Living in a world of male dominancy, the Greek were conquered with the peaceful image of the goddess, a holy figure of love and fertility.
Not unwillingly, the Greek adopted the image of the goddess bringing her back to the island in a few centuries later in full Hellenistic disguise. This is clear considering many similarities that exist between the attributes of the goddesses.
Isthar was called the “Queen of Heaven” while Aphrodite was given the name “Urania”, meaning “celestial” or “heavenly”. Isthar is described as having wings and Aphrodite travels always on the back of winged animals such as doves or geese. Moreover, marriage rites were held in the temples of the both goddesses in the wake of spring. One of the most noticeable parallels in their myths is Aphrodite’s lover, the vegetation god Adonis and his counterpart in Babylonian mythology, Ishtar’s lover Tammuz.

The Mythical “birth”
Necessarily, the fact that Aphrodite was brought from Mesopotamia to Greece by way of Cyprus was reinforced in literature as Aphrodite’s mythical “home” is Cyprus.
The birth of Aphrodite, apart from its logical historical roots, is related as a marvellous phenomenon revealing the astonishment of the Greek before the sacred image of the goddess. The scene inspired artists all through the centuries regardless of the branch or art, movements, or countries. The magical moment was rendered in the lines of the English Romantic poet Shelley with these words:
“Look, look why shineThose floating bubbles with such light divine?They break, and from their mist a lily formRises from out the wave, in beauty warm.The wave is by the blue-veined feet scarce press'd,Her silky ringlets float about her breast,Veiling its fairy loveliness, while her eyeIs soft and deep as the heaven is high.The Beautiful is born; sea and earthMay well revere the hour of that mysterious birth.”
The word “Aphrodite” means “the foam-born” in Greek. The myth tells us that Cronus (representing time), the son of Uranus (the skies), castrates him and throws his genitals into the sea, which later turn into the foam giving birth to Aphrodite. This myth explains her attributes as goddess of love, marriage, childbirth; and her Roman title as “Venus” which is mentioned above to symbolize death and life.
Coming back to the myth again, the goddess Aphrodite was carried to the shores of Cyprus on a shell by the breath of Zephyr, the west wind, and Chloris, his wife the breeze of spring. The shores that Aphrodite was carried on her shell by the winds Zephyr and Chloris are claimed to be Petra Tou Romiou bearing a noticeable endemic flora on its bosom or the long golden beach at the Karpaz Peninsula with a fantastic scene. Comparing the likeliness of both of these sites to the painting by the Italian painter Botticelli, “The Birth of Venus”, most famous of representations. But it is still another question, whether the painting reveals the photographic truth or simply an allegoric representation of the myth of Aphrodite’s birth.

Footsteps of the goddess on the isle
It is presumed that there were many a number temples or sacred sites across Cyprus devoted to the goddess. One of these used to stand at the very northern tip of the island dominating the blue waters of the Mediterranean that bore the goddess, while another was built at Palea Pafos.
As previously mentioned, in the old days, with the rise of the spring, every girl used to make a pilgrimage to the sanctuary of the goddess for marriage rites and ‘to invoke the goddess within’. Amphorae and ceremonial bowls collected from these sites depict exquisitely dressed priestesses in some scenes from these ceremonies, which are in some sense erotic.
Aphrodite is generally called as Aphrodite Urania, or Celestial Aphrodite to refer her attributes of pure and spiritual love. An ancient site named “Urania” stands on the Karpaz Peninsula today exposing a few remains. Ruins of an ancient marina, tombs, and a fortress are left from the glorious city of Urania, aka Aphendrika, which was one of the six major towns in Cyprus in the 3rd century BC.
Visiting this site will give you the opportunity to imagine yourself in one of the towns built most probably in the name of the goddess. A similar delight is hidden in the face of the fragile beauty in Botticelli’s painting or in the elusive but strong image of the woman portrayed by Dali.
On the other hand, not to forget to remind that it was still Aphrodite to make Paris and Helen fall in love and prepare the scene for the Trojan War. The peaceful spirit of Ishtar, Inanna, Astarte embodied in the image of one goddess, the Cyprus-born, foam-born, Aphrodite Cypridis.


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Aphrodite in art
The birth of Aphrodite was frequently pictured throughout the ages should it be on the face of a vase, or a big painting. She is mostly represented sitting or riding birds or geese.
The most famous work of art concerning the goddess is the painting by Botticelli (1485). In this scene Aphrodite is depicted rising from the water with a rather shy and innocent expression on her face. On the upper left, Zephyr (the west wind) and Chloris (his wife, the breeze of spring) are puffing to move her shell towards the shores; while, on the right, a nymph, one of the three Horae (hours) gives Aphrodite a gorgeous robe adorned with flowers, implying her as goddess of all seasons.
Salvador Dali also painted a picture “Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite” depicting her in the lines of abstract movement.

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“And so soon as he had cut off the members with flint and cast them from the land into the surging sea, they were swept away over the main a long time: and a white foam spread around them from the immortal flesh, and in it there grew a maiden. First she drew near holy Kythera, and from there, afterwards, she came to sea-girt Kypros, and came forth an awful and lovely goddess, and grass grew up about her beneath her shapely feet. Her gods and men call Aphrodite, because she grew amid the foam.”
from Hesiod’s “Theogony”.

22.5.07

Tu sei come una terra

Tu sei come una terra
che nessuno ha mai detto.
Tu non attendi nulla
se non la parola
che sgorgherà dal fondo
come un frutto tra i rami.
C'è un vento che ti giunge.
Cose secche e rimorte
t'ingombrano e vanno nel vento.
Membra e parole antiche.
Tu tremi nell'estate.

29 ottobre 1945

Cesare Pavese

Ölümü göreceksin ve gözlerin olacak

Bir ruhun var, bir nefesin.
Etten yapılmışsın
Saçlar, bakışlar
ve sen olandan. Toprak ve nebat,
mart seması, güneş
titreşir ve sana benzer;
gülümsemen ve yürüyüşün
hırçın akışı gibidir suyun;
gözlerinin arasındaki o kırışık
toplanan bulutlar gibidir.
nazik tenin,
güneşten bir parça..

bir ruhun var bir nefesin.
Bu topraklarda yaşarsın.
Kokusunu bilirsin
Mevsimlerin uyanışını,
Güneşte oynardın,
Bizlerle konuşurdun.
Berrak su, bakir
ilkbahar, toprak,
tomurcuklanan sessizlik,
küçük bir kız çocuğuyla oynamıştın,
değişen o göğün altında,
gözlerinde sessizlik vardı,
ve sonra bir bulut, büyüyen
şimdiyse gülümsüyorsun ve akıyorsun hırçınca
bu sessizliğin altında.

Tatlı bir meyvesin
Berrak göğün altında yaşarsın,
Soluk alıp verir, yaşarsın işte
Şu bizim mevsimimizde,
Kapalı sessizliğindedir
Delişmen gücün. Tıpkı
Havaya uzanan ağaç gibi
Ürperir ve gülümsersin,
Ama sen, sen topraksın
Yırtıcı köksün.
Sen, bekleyen topraksın.

21 mart 1950

Cesare Pavese
(çeviri:Aslı Özgen)

Orhan Pamuk’un paralel dünyaları


Proust kadar içe dönük, Umberto Eco kadar maceracı, Italo Calvino kadar masalsı, Joyce kadar karmaşık, Borges kadar çok yüzlü, Marquez kadar büyülü, Dante kadar gözü pek... Cannes Film Festivali’nin jürisinde yer alan Orhan Pamuk, Türkiye’de adına düzenlenen iki sempozyumla gündemdeydi...

Market ve kitapçı rafları, ‘Benim Adım Kırmızı’ ile dolup taşarken tanışmıştım Orhan Pamuk’la. Kitabın arkasındaki düşünceler, sorular ve yazılar arasında kaybolmuş hınzır bakışlı fotoğrafı, elimde tuttuğum kitabın bir şeyler değiştirebileceğini fısıldıyordu. Büyük ve kalın gözlüklerini delercesine gözlerime değen bakışları, aynı baskıdan milyonlarca olmasına rağmen, bana özel bir şey söylemeye çalışıyordu sanki: Sana anlatacağım öyle çok şey var ki...
‘Benim Adım Kırmızı’nın elimden tutup beni kapılarından geçirdiği dünya, Dante’nin macerasından daha fazlasını sunuyordu. Kişisel Virgilius’um Orhan Pamuk, beni Yeni Hayat’a sürüklüyordu. Kitapların altını çizen karakterle bu kitapta karşılaşmıştım. İlk altını çizdiğim satır bu oldu.
Sınırları bulanıklaşan gerçeklik ve rüya, birbirine geçen karakterler... Karanlık atmosfer ve yanıltıcı hafıza... Kelime oyunları ile kurulu bir paralel dünya... Babil Kitaplığı gibi karmaşık kurgular... Sessiz Ev, Beyaz Kale, Öteki Renkler, Kar... Marcel Proust kadar karanlık ve içe dönük, Umberto Eco kadar maceracı, Italo Calvino kadar masalsı, James Joyce kadar karmaşık, Borges kadar çok yüzlü, Marquez kadar büyülü, Dante kadar gözü pek Orhan Pamuk romanları, hayatımın vazgeçilmezleri arasında yerini almıştı...
Orhan Pamuk’u anlamakBillboardlarda kitaplarının reklamı yapılan bu adama herkesin kızgın olduğu bir zamanı hatırlıyorum. Edebiyat; böyle alanlara, sokaklara taşınamaz diye karşı çıkanları. “Orhan Pamuk çok satıyor, ama çok okunmuyor” diyenleri ve “Yeni Hayat’ı eline alan 10 kişiden sadece biri sonuna kadar okuyabiliyormuş” diyen istatistikleri okudum. Orhan Pamuk dili kullanamıyor diye atıp tutanları, kültürümüzü bilmiyor diye ona saldıranları duydum... Orhan Pamuk’u anlamadıklarını çok iyi biliyordum.
Engin Kılıç’ın yayına hazırladığı ‘Orhan Pamuk’u Anlamak’ kitabı ile böyle bir zamanda karşılaşmıştım. Derlediği makaleler, yazarın o zamana kadar yayımlanan eserleri üzerine açılımlar getirmeyi hedefleyen, Orhan Pamuk’u anlayan akademisyenler tarafından, Orhan Pamuk’u anlamak isteyen insanlar için yazılmışlardı. Orhan Pamuk’u anlamak istemeyenler bu kitabı anlamadı; almadı, okumadı ve onu mahkeme salonlarına sürükleyip kitaplarını yakma cüretini bile gösterdiler.
Edebiyat camiasının Nobel’e pek rağbet etmediğini biliriz. Öyle ya vakti zamanında Sartre ödülü reddetmişti. Ancak Pamuk’u, Sartre gibi ödülü reddetmeye davet edenlerin unuttukları bir şey vardı. Fransız muhafazakârları, 1960’larda Fransa’nın Cezayir’e müdahalesini acımasızca eleştirerek şimşekleri üstüne çeken Sartre’ın tutuklanmasını istemişti Charles de Gaul’den. De Gaul’ün yanıtı kesindi: “Asla! Sarte da Fransa’nın bir yüzüdür”...
Pamuk’un Nobel’i kazanmasının ardından yapılan en yerinde yorum, bu ödülün, Türk Edebiyatı’nın uluslararası alandaki saygınlığını artıracağına dikkat çekiyordu.
Nitekim Pamuk, yedi ay sonra Cannes’da jüri olarak yerini aldı. Pamuk ile birlikte Cannes’da bir de Türkiye çıkarması oldu.
Doğum günü hediyesiOrhan Pamuk’u hâlâ anlamak istemeyenler için umut kalmamışken, anlamak isteyenler için geçtiğimiz ay iki önemli etkinlik vardı: 11 Mayıs günü Kadir Has Üniversitesi’nde düzenlenen ‘Orhan Pamuk Edebiyatı’ başlıklı sempozyumun ardından, 14 ve 15 Mayıs tarihlerinde Boğaziçi Üniversitesi bir Orhan Pamuk sempozyumu düzenledi.
Kadir Has Üniversitesi’ndeki sempozyum, yabancı akademisyenlerin katılımıyla daha çok yazarın yabancı dildeki okumaları üzerine yoğunlaşırken; Boğaziçi Üniversitesi Murat Belge, Engin Kılıç, Jale Parla gibi Orhan Pamuk’un eserleri üzerine uzun süredir inceleme yapan ve yazarla aynı dili paylaşan akademisyenleri konuk etti. 14 Mayıs sabahı Orhan Pamuk’a fahri doktora unvanı sunulmasıyla başlayan sempozyumda, yazarın eserlerinin farklı boyutları derinlemesine incelenerek katılımcılara yeni açılımlar sağlanması amaçlandı. Orhan Pamuk’un çevirmeni Maureen Freely, her iki sempozyuma da katılarak, yazarı İngilizce konuşan ülkelere aktarma serüvenini dinleyenlerle paylaştı.
Boğaziçi Üniversitesi’ndeki törene katılmak için Amerika’dan gelen Pamuk, konuşmasında, "Kitapların korkulacak ya da imrenilmesi gereken kutsal şeyler değil, anlaşılması gereken şeyler olduğunu burada öğrendim" diyerek ‘anlaşılmak’ konusuna bir kez daha dikkat çekti.
Pamuk, 7 Haziran’da 55. doğum gününü kutlayacak. Yazarın Cannes ve İstanbul’da Mayıs ayı içinde yaşadığı coşku, ona en güzel hediye olmuşa benziyor...

Orhan Pamuk’s parallel universes

Introvert like Marcel Proust, adventurer like Umberto Eco, fantastic like Italo Calvino, complex like Joyce, multi-faceted like Borges, magical like Marquez, and courageous like Dante... Included in the jury of Cannes Film Festival, Orhan Pamuk made headlines once again with two symposiums held in his name.

I remember a time when shelves in supermarkets and bookshops were packed with copies of My Name is Red. As I took one copy of the book in my hands, I faced his image lost in contemplation, directly looking at me from the backcover of the book. Suddenly I thought that this face was so familiar and I was sure he had something to reveal me and he knew something that might bring a change in my life. Although there were a hundred copies around, I was taken by his looks in the photograph reaching to me from behind those thick glasses whispering: “I have so much to tell you”.
Orhan Pamuk took me by the hand and opened the gates of new universes with ‘My Name is Red’. My Virgil from then on, Pamuk took me to a ‘New Life’... I remember a character in this book who was underlining the books while reading. I immediately underlined the sentence and many other sentences thereafter.
Reality and dream intermingled in his books, the borders blurred; characters got into each other... A dark atmosphere dominated and memory was deceptive as ever... Parallel universes were created with puns and riddles... Complex plots followed like corridors of the Library of Babel... The Silent House, The White Castle, Other Colours, Snow... Introvert like Marcel Proust, adventurer like Umberto Eco, fantastic like Italo Calvino, complex like Joyce, multi-faceted like Borges, magical like Marquez, and courageous as Dante... Pamuk’s books suddenly became indispensable to my life.

Understanding Orhan Pamuk
I remember a time when everyone was angry with this man whose books were advertised on billboards. They said, literature should not be popularised. I remember those claiming “A lot of people buy Orhan Pamuk books, but very few read them”. I remember reading statistics stating that “only one person out of ten people can read New Life until the end”. I was watching all these with a certain idea on my mind; they understood nothing of and about Orhan Pamuk.
It was on such a day that I encountered a book prepared by Engin Kılıç; ‘A Guide to Understanding Orhan Pamuk’. The articles in this book were collected with an aim to suggest new readings of Pamuk’s works. No doubt they were written by academics who understood Orhan Pamuk for those who want to understand Orhan Pamuk. Those who do not want to understand Orhan Pamuk did not read this book. Furthermore, they drove him to courts and even burnt his books.
Prizes, as the Nobel, are usually handled critically in literary circles, as it should be. It is widely known that Sartre denied the Prize. However, the aftershocks of Pamuk’s winning the Nobel Prize were quite controversial as many comments had no depth, and therefore no value. Those who invited Pamuk to renounce the prize “like Sartre did” failed to remember something. In the 1960s, Jean Paul Sartre made a series of controversial statements during a public lecture, upon which a group of French conservatives turned to Charles De Gaulle to caution the man of letters. After listening to their complaints, De Gaulle said to them "No way. Sartre is also France".
The most important and appropriate comment on Pamuk’s winning of the Nobel Prize emphasised the significance of the Prize in raising a world-wide interest in Turkish Literature and culture.
Not much later, Pamuk was invited to take a place in the jury of Cannes Film Festival. In its 60th year, Cannes also saw a big promotional campaign on Turkish culture.

Birthday present
Forget those who do not take pains to understand Orhan Pamuk; the city of İstanbul witnessed symposiums organised in name of the writer, for those who wish to understand him better. Kadir Has University organised a conference, entitled ‘the Literature of Orhan Pamuk’, on May 11, 2007. Subsequently Boğaziçi University held a two-day symposium where the works of the writer were discussed on May 14 and 15, 2007.
The conference at Kadir Has University focused on the international readings of Pamuk, with the participation of mainly foreign academics and critics; whereas Boğaziçi University housed many acknowledged Turkish academics such as Murat Belge, Engin Kılıç, and Jale Parla, who have been working on Pamuk’s works for some time. The symposium at Boğaziçi University was launched on May 14 with a ceremony, in which Mr.Pamuk was presented a honorary doctorate. Maureen Freely, translator of Pamuk’s works into English, joined the two symposiums and related the adventure and responsibilities of translating Pamuk.
Pamuk came to İstanbul in order to receive his honorary doctorate from Boğaziçi University and he gave a speech to mark the opening of the conference. “This is the place where I learned that books were not to be scared, or to be worshipped; instead books were to be understood”, he said emphasising the significance of mutual understanding.Pamuk celebrates his 55th birthday on June 7. It seems that the excitement he lived through at Cannes and his native city İstanbul in the month of May have been the best presents for him...

17.5.07

Gecenin Sonunda Aynadan Geçerken

(Bu öykü ‘San Lorenzo Gecesi’ filminin ayna sahnesinin değişik bir yorumu olarak da okunabilir)

Hayır, sen görmedin o filmi, sevgilim.
O filmi, yalnızca benim anlattığım kadarıyla ve benim anlattıklarımdan bilmektesin. Ama sen, o geceyi nice filmi görmüşlerden daha iyi yaşadın. Çünkü görenler arasında pek azı bu geceye, şimdi bizim yaşamakta olduğumuz geceye varabildiler; pek azı, bu odaya, böyle bir odaya girebilme cesareti gösterebildiler.
Biz, o filmdeki yaşlı kadın ve yaşlı erkek gibi, elli yıldır evli olmadıktan sonra ve ancak rastlantı sonucu bir odaya, aynı odaya düşüp gecemizi yaşamış değiliz.

Çünkü biz, yaşamayı hiçbir zaman ertelemedik.

Belki bizim, senin ve benim İthaka’ya yolculuğumuz, o Yunanlı şairin dizelerinde üstü örtülü savunduğunun aksine , o kadar zaman almadı. Oysa biliyorsun, yine o şairin bir başka şiirinin dizelerinden yelken açmıştım sana. Gürültülü Bir Kahvenin İçerdeki Odasında, gençliğinde eline sevgi adına ne fırsat geçmişse, beklemenin düzmece bilgeliği uğruna hoyratça harcayıp sonra yaşanmamış anıların ağırlığıyla gözleri kapanan o yaşlı adama benzememek için, yıllarıma meydan okuyarak sana elimi uzatmıştım.

Ama sonunda İthaka’dayız işte.Bir anlamda, belki benim de yolculuğum yıllarca sürmüştür, şairin öğüdünü tutmuşçasına; bir anlamda , dizelerde yazılı olduğu üzere, ylda kazandığım onca şeyle zenginleşmiş gibi. Gelgelelim bir noktadan sonra bizim bütün serüvenimiz, sanki o şiire bir meydan okuyuş; çünkü “İthaka’dan zenginlikler beklemeyesin...” diyen koca şaire inat, bütün zenginliklerin bu odada olduğunu, bu gecede gizlendiğini bilmekteyiz; hep biliyorduk.

Bu bilgi, mezhebimizin henüz kitaplara geçmemiş dualarında yazılıydı.

Şimdi birbirimize bunca yakın, bizi aşıyan döşeğin bir kenarından gözlerine baktığım anda, gece ayinlerinin ilk çanlarını duyuyorum.
Şimdi, şu an, yalnızca seni hissetmekle sınırlanamıyor.
Bir sarılış var, bir birliktelik, ama yalnızca bu değil.
Şimdi bende ve ta içimde, derinliklerimdesin, yalnızca şehvetin anahtarlarının hiçbir zaman açamayacağı kapılarından girmişsin, ve ben susuzluğumu seninle gidermekteyim; önce damla damla, sonra gür bir kaynağın fışkırmalarıyla.

İthaka’ya götüren denizlerin hepsi, ansızın içilebilir olmuş...

Mussolini’nin faşistleriyle antifaşistler, artık son savaşlarını veriyorlar. İtalya’nın tarlaları savaşın son yılında insanlıklarını çoktan unutmuş, umarsız canlılarla dolu. Ama San Lorenzo Köyü’nün bir evinde, iki kişilik bir yatağın, basit bir konsolun ve küçük bir duvar aynasının bulunduğu bir odada, hala umut var. Elli yıldır birbirleriyle evli olmayan –bir zamanlar birbirleriyla evli kalmış- bir kadın ve bir erkek, sabahın ilk ışıklarıyla ilk ortak günlerine gözlerini açmışlar. Belki bundan sonra birlikte kalacaklar, belki yolları –isteyerek veya istemeksizin- yine ayrılacak; belki bir daha sınırlı bir yatağın uçsuz bucaksızlığını hiç ama hiç paylaşamayacaklar; filmin akışı, bu konuda bize bir açıklık getirmiyor. Ama kesin olan bir nokta var: Elli yıldır birbirleriyle evli olmayan bu kadın ile bu adam, bundan sonra her şeylerini ortaklaşa yaşayacaklar. Çünkü sabahın ilk ışıklarıyla kalkan ve köy meydanından gelen seslerin kimlere ait olduğu –bir gece öncesinin aksine, bunların faşistelrden mi yoksa antifaşistlerden mi geldiğini artık hiç ama hiç umursamaksızın- anlamak için pencereye doğru yürüyen kadın, pencere ile yatak arasındaki duvarda asılı, sağ alt köşesi kırık aynanın önünden geçerken, evli olmadığı onca yıl boyunca ilk defa bir aynanın önünde duracak. Sağ elinin parmaklarını, yılların ve Campan bağlarındaki üzümlerin çoktan morarttığı parmaklarını belki de ilk kez sert bir biçimde değil, ama okşarcasına –bir gecelik okşama, en kökleşmiş sertliklerin geleneğine son verebilir- kaldırıp saçlarında gezdirecek; belki o güne kadar bir sabah vakti içinde bir erkeğin de bulunduğu bir odada alna düşmüş saçları kaldırmak için hiç başa götürülmemiş olan o parmaklar, tatlı bir acemilikle ilk anda yolunu bulamayacak ve aynanın yanında asılı Meryem tasvirinin yanmakta olan minik kandiline değecek. Ama kadın, evli olmadığı elli yıldan bu yana ilk kez, ocak başlarında sıçrayan kıvılcımlardan acı duyduğunda yaptığının tam tersine, parmaklarına değen sıcak kandil yağından ötürü yüzünü buruşturmayacak. Sadece, birkaç saniye için parmaklarının yolculuğuna ara verecek ve dönüp Meryem tasvirine bakacak, ellerini kavuşturmadan...

BU GECEKİ GİBİ HİÇ SEVMEDİĞİMİ DÜŞÜNMEK DUA YERİNE GEÇMELİ SAHTE TAPINAKLAR GÜN GELİP BOŞALMALI VE HERKES YENİ ZAMAN DUALARINA KULAK VEREBİLMELİ ZATEN DUA DİYE BİR ŞEY VARSA EĞER BU GECEDEN SONRA SENİNLE ÖĞRENDİM DAHA ÖNCE SAHİBİNİ ARAYAN DUALAR VARDI İÇİMDE ŞİMDİ TANRISINI BULMUŞ DUALARA DÖNÜŞTÜ

Yarı karanlıkta, konsolun çok yakınındaki aynada yüzünü görmek için bir an doğruluyorsun.
Neyi aradığını biliyorum.
Dönüp uzun uzun bana bakıyorsun.
Aynada bulamadığını benim yüzümde buluyorsun.
Yine yarı karanlıkta, bir gülümseme yayılıyor dudaklarına.
Bir zafer sevinci. En pahalı Venedik aynalarının bile yansıtamayacağı bir şey var, ancak bakışlarımızla paylaştığımızda yüzlerimizden yansıyabilen. Dudaklarımızda ise, dediğim gibi, bir zafer sevinci.
Artık hiçbir utanca yenik düşmeyecek bedenlerimiz, onca zamanın ardından yine bizden yana. Kimi zaman parmak uçlarımızla çıkartıyoruz bu bedenlerin haritasını; biz, gerçekte kim olduğumuzu bulma işini ilerde daha güzel, daha özgür olacağı söylenen bir toplumda, sözde tıpkı bize benzeyecek başkalarına bırakmıyoruz. Biz bu gece bu odaya kadar varabilmişken, yüzyıllar boyunca mezhebimize yağdırılış bütün lanetleri sonunda yerine gelebilmiş dualara çeviriyoruz. Biliyoruz ki, hiçbir kitapta yasaklanmamıştı birbirini bunca özlemiş bedenlerin bir araya gelmesi, ve o bedenlerin arasına dikilmiş çatık kaşlı tanrı tasvirlerinin hepsi de düzmece putlardı.


Şimdi dışımızdaki aynayı bütünüyle unutmuşsun; belki bize kadar gelenler, yarını olmayan gecelerin düzmece adlarla girilen otellerinde seralarda yetişme sevgilerle yetinebilirlerdi. Ama bizim bu gece aradığımız, umudun kurtlanmış bağbozumlarından arta kalanlar değil.
Biz bu gece, bu odada insanların tanımlamaktan bile korktukları, hep hasıraltı ettikleri tutkulara, peş peşe çöken günlerimiz yüzünden sığınmadık.
Hayır, biz sığınmadık.
Çünkü biz, nicedir hazırdık bu geceye.
Çünkü kimbilir kaç hüzün öncesinde yazılmış öyküleri ikimiz de çoktan okumuştuk.
Bugüne kadar kaç coşkunun yelkenlerinin insan ağzından çıkma kötülüklerle paramparça edildiğini, sen ve ben BİZ olmaya kalkışırsak eğer, daha kaç cehennem söylencesinin gerçekte hiçbir tanrıya adanmamış tapınaklarda, sevgisizliğin taşlarına kazınacağını biliyorduk.
Bu gece bu odaya girdiğimizde, ve sen artık ışığı kapatabileceğimizi söylediğinde, yüzlerimizde Zeytindağı’ndan bu yana bütün hüzünlerin haritası çiziliydi.
Belli ki bu geceye, bedenlerimiz yüzünden sonradan tövbelere sığınmayacak kadar hazırdık. Yarının insanları, değil mi ki biz bu geceyi BİZ olarak yaşayabildik, ayna diye bizlere bakacaklar; işte o zaman hep güneşten yana olanların tarihini yazanlar, bizi sürüden kovanları anımsayacaklar ve kanlı söylentilerin işkence odalarını sonrasız kapatıp, onlar da BİZ olacaklar...

BİZ KAÇ HAYATTAN SONRA BULDUK DERSİN BİRBİRİMİZİ KAÇ TÖVBENİN BOZULMUŞLUĞUDUR BU YERYÜZÜ CENNETİ ŞİMDİ SABAHIN VE AKŞAMIN IŞIKLARINDA DİZ ÇÖKMÜŞ HEP BİZİM TAPINAKLARIMIZDAYIM ÖLDÜRMEYECEKSİN DEMİŞTİ MUSA ŞİMDİ BU ODANIN ÖTE YAKASINDAKİ İNSAN DENİZLERİ HEP KANLI GÜNLER VARDIR GECEYİ BEKLEMEKLE GÜZELLEŞİR YAĞMURU HEP BEKLİYORDUK VE BANA DEĞEN DUDAKLARINDAKİ ISLAKLIK İLK YANITIYDI BUNCA YAĞMUR DUASININ VEREN HANGİ TANRIDIR BULDUK MU BANA İLK SARILDIĞINDA PARİS’Tİ DÜŞLERİMDE HELENA TROYA’YI TEK BAŞINA KURTARABİLİRDİ O ZAMAN BELKİ SÖYLENCESİZ KALACAKTIK TARİH ÖNCESİNDEN DÜN GECEYE UZANAN YOL DAHA KISALACAKTI TEN YOLCULUKLARI VARDIR BÜTÜN ÖLÜMLERİ VE UTANÇLARI YENER

Kadının duraklamış eli yolunu sürdürecek. Alnına düşmüş iki tutam saç itilecek geriye doğru, yatırılarak. Ve kadın aynaya bakıp elli uzun yılın yüzüne çizmiş olduğu haritayı aradığında, o güne kadar hiç gitmediği ülkelerin yolunu bulacak. Bir sabah yeli geceliğinin içine süzülüp, bedeninin daha yeni sürülmüş toprağına can katacak. Sonra silah sesleri duyulacak dışarıdan, odanın içinde direnen yaşama karşın. Belki ölüm, belki d kurtuluşun müjdecisi. Ama kadın hiç bilmeyecek hangisi olduğunu, çünkü artık bilmeyi istemeyecek. Sırtını pencereye dönüp odanın içine, yatağa, o yataktaki elli yıldır evli olmadığı adama bakacak. Her şeyin, o gecede olup bitmiş her şeyin belki de yalnızca o gece için geçerli olduğunu düşünecek. Aldırmayıp, adamın mavi gözlerine dalacak. Musa’nın yardığı denizin maviliği kaplayacak her yanını. Şimdi o denizin ve bu odanın dışındaki bütün insan denizşerinin kanlar içinde olduğunu düşünecek. Silah sesleri sıklaşacak. Merdivenden yukarı çıkanların ayak sesleri duyulacak. Adam da artı doğrulmuş olacak yataktan.Elini konsoldaki tabancaya uzatacak. “Neden?” diye bağıracak kadın. “Kendimizi savunmalıyız,” diye karşılık verecek adam. “Hayır!” diye haykıracak kadın, geceliğini üstünden koparırcasına çıkarırken. Odayı dolanmakta olan sabah yeli, artık hiçbir engelle karşılaşmaksızın bu bedende izlerini sürebilecek. “Hayır!” diye yineleyecek kadın. ÉBen aynanın önünden geçebildim artık! Şimdi silahla karşı koymak yok. Şimdi öldürmeye karşı yaşamın söyleyebilecek bir şeyi olmalı.” Ve anlayacak adam. Kadını elli yıllık bir gerdek özlemiyle kendine çekecek. Bu sırada da kapı belki durmadan tekmelenecek, tekmelenecek...

Film böyle bitmemiş olabilir. Dahası, böyle bitmemişti. Bu, benim sana anlattığım son.
Aslı başka türlü olabilir.
Ama ben sana başka türlü anlatamazdım.
Çünkü şimdi bedenimde soluklarını doyasıya öğütürken, filmdeki adama silah çektiremezdim.


Hafif bir aydınlık.
Sabahın ilk ışıkları ya da yoldan geçen bir araba.
Şimdi, senin yanında eski kitaplardaki ölümsüzlüğün adının yaşamamak olduğunu öğreniyorum.
Solukların yüzüme yaşamın dizelerini yazıyor.
Dünya, günah çıkartmak için kapımızı vuruyor.
Oysa bizim odamızda bir sevginin gece vardiyası başlamakta.
Artık zaman geçmez oluyor, çünkü onu birbirimize armağan ediyoruz.
Şimdiye kara uzatmalı yalnızlıkların gece bekçisiydim, diye bağırmak istiyorum.
Dün gecenin yağmurlarıyla bitti uzatmalı yalnızlıklar, diyorsun, aynanın önünden geçtik artık.
Şimdi bu döşeğin salında kulaçladığımız cennet, bilinen bütün dua kitaplarından çıkarılmalı.

Çıkarılmalı ki, insanlar yeniden birbirlerinin duası olabilsinler...

AHMET CEMAL

At the End of the Night, Through the Looking-Glass...

(This short story can be read as an interpretation of the mirror scene in the film “The Night of the Shooting Stars”[1])

No, you haven’t seen that film, my love.
You only know that film as far as I recount and from what I recount. But you lived that night much better than those who have already seen the film. Because so few among those who have watched it could reach this night; the night that we are living through; so few could dare to enter this room, a room like this.
We are not like that old woman and the old man in the film, who, after not being married for fifty years, but only coincidentally meet in a room, in the same room and spend the night.

Because, we have never postponed living.

Maybe our, your and my journey to Ithaca, contrary to the Greek Poet’s veiled argument in his lines, did not take that much time. However, you know from the lines of another poem of the same poet that I had sailed to you. In the Back-Room of a Noisy Coffeehouse, I gave my hand to you challenging my years, just in order not to be like that old man, who in his youth for the sake of the fake wisdom of waiting, clumsily wasted every opportunity that came over about love, then with the weight of those unlived moments whose eyelids were going down.

But at last we are in Ithaca. In a sense, maybe my journey also took years, like obeying the poet’s advice; in a sense, as expressed in the lines, like getting richer with all the things I have gained on the way. However, after a point, all our adventure is as if a challenge to that poem; because contrary to the great poet saying “Shall you not expect any richness from Ithaca...” , we know that all the richness is within this room, hiding in this night; we have always known it.

This information, was written in the prayers of our sect, which have not yet been included in the books.

At this moment we are so close to each other; looking into your eyes from one edge of the bed carrying us, I hear the first bells of the night prayers.
Now, this moment, can not be limited by only feeling you.
There is an embracing, a togetherness, but not only this.
Now you are in and even inside me, within the depths of me, you had entered through the doors which cannot be opened only by the keys of passion, and I am quenching my thirst with you; at first drop-by-drop, then as if the gushing out of a bold spring.

All the seas to Ithaca, are suddenly drinkable...

The fascists of Mussolini and the antifascists are having their last fight. The fields of Italy, in the last year of war, have already stripped off humanity, full of hopeless creatures. But in a house in the village of Saint Lorenzo, in a room, where a bed, a simple console and a little wall-mirror exist, there is still hope. Not being married for fifty years – yet been married to each other for some time- a woman and a man opened their eyes to their first common day with the first lights of the morning. Perhaps from now on they will stay together, perhaps their ways –willingly or unwillingly- will be parted again; perhaps they will not be able to share the eternity of a limited bed once more; the later scenes of the film, does not bring any clarity on this subject. But here is a certain point: Not being married to each other for fifty years, this woman and this man will live everything in common from now on. Because, waking up with the first lights of the morning, and walking towards the window in order to understand to whom belong the voices coming from the village square –unlike the night before, not caring whether they belong to fascists or antifascists-, the woman will stop in front of the mirror which is hanged on the wall between the window and the bed and broken on the right side below, for the first time in fifty years she has not been married. She will move the fingers of her right hand, which already turned purple by the years due to the grapes of Campon vineyards, through her hair maybe for the first time not harshly; but like stroking –stroking only once may end the tradition of a most established harshness-; maybe it was not until that day that in a morning, in a room where a man is present, those fingers, which have never been taken to head in order to put away the hair fallen on the forehead, will fail to find their way in a sweet inexperienced manner and touch the little oil-lamp of a Mary icon hanged near the mirror. But the woman, for the first time she has not been married for fifty years, unlike how she reacted when she suffered from the sparks of the hearth, will not crumple her face because of the hot oil of the oil-lamp. Just for a few seconds she will stop the journey of her fingers and have a look at the Mary icon, before she unites her hands...

THINKING THAT I HAVE NEVER LOVED LIKE TONIGHT SHOULD BE UNDERSTOOD AS A PRAYER COUNTERFEIT TEMPLES SHOULD BECOME VACANT AND EVERYBODY SHOULD BE ABLE TO LISTEN TO THEIR PRAYERS OF THE NEW TIMES IN ANY CASE IF THERE IS SOMETHING AS PRAYER TONIGHT I LEARNED IT WITH YOU BEFOREHAND THERE WERE PRAYERS INSIDE ME LOOKING FOR THEIR OWNER NOW THEY HAVE TURNED INTO THE PRAYERS WHICH HAVE FOUND THEIR GOD

In the half-darkness, for a moment, you straighten up to see your face in the mirror very near to the console.
I know what you are looking for.
You turn and look at me for a long time.
You find on my face what you could not find in the mirror.
Still in the half-darkness, a smile conquers your lips.
A joy of victory... There is something even the most expensive Venetian mirrors cannot reflect, but it is reflected on our faces when we share it with our looks. On our lips, as I said, is a joy of victory.
From now on our bodies will not be defeated by any shame, after all those times; again they are on our side. Sometimes with our fingertips we draw the map of these bodies; we do not let the job of finding who we are to those who would be “exactly” like ourselves in a society which is predicted to be much free and much beautiful. As tonight, having been able to reach this room, we turn all the curses that have been cast upon our sect to fulfilled prayers. We know that in no-book it was banned, the coming together of the bodies who have missed each other so much, and those frowning god icons cast between the bodies were all fake idols.

Now you have completely forgotten the mirror outside us; maybe the ones, who have come up to us, might be satisfied in the hotels of futureless nights under fake names with loves raised-up in greenhouses.
Tonight, in this room, we did not take shelter in the passions which people have been afraid of even defining and facing, not because of our days falling one after another.
No, we did not take shelter.
Because we were already ready for this night.
Because we had already read the stories written who knows how many periods of mourning ago.
We have already known that until today how many sails of enthusiasm have been destroyed by the wickedness of human tongue; if you and me try to be WE, how many phrases of hell will be engraved on the stones of lovelessness in the temples not dedicated to any god (we have already known it).
Tonight as we entered this room, and when you said we can turn off the light, there appeared on our faces a map of all the sorrow since the Mount of Olives.
Evidently, we were ready for the night so as not to take shelter in repentances on account of our bodies. The people of tomorrow, as we lived tonight as WE, will look into us as mirrors, it is when those who have always written the history of the supporters of the sun will remember the ones who have dismissed us from the flock, and closing the torture-rooms of bloody conversations, they will become US, too.

HOW MANY LIVES AFTER WE HAVE FOUND EACH OTHER DO YOU THINK IT IS THE BREAKING OF MANY REPENTANCES THIS EARTHLY PARADISE IS NOW ON ITS FEET IN THE LIGHT OF MORNING AND EVENING I WAS ALL THE TIME IN OUR TEMPLES YOU WILL NOT KILL SAID MOSES NOW THE SEAS OF PEOPLE BEYOND THE SHORES OF THIS ROOM THERE ARE ALWAYS BLOODY DAYS WAITING FOR THE NIGHT MAKES IT BEAUTIFUL WE WERE ALWAS WAITING FOR THE RAIN AND THE WETNESS OF YOUR LIPS TOUCHING ME WAS THE FIRST RESPONSE TO ALL THAT PRAYERS FOR RAIN WHICH GOD WAS IT THAT GAVE IT HAVE WE FOUND WHEN YOU FIRST EMBRACED ME IT WAS PARIS IN MY DREAMS ONLY THEN HELEN COULD HAVE SAVED TROJA ALONE MAYBE WE WOULD BE LEFT SPEECHLESS THE WAY FROM THE PREHISTORY TO YESTERNIGHT WOULD BE SHORTHENED THERE ARE BODY VOYAGES CONQUERING ALL DEATHS AND SHAMES

The woman’s hesitated hand will go on its way. Two small pinches of hair fallen on the forehead will be put backwards, slightly. And when the woman looking into the mirror, searches for a map drawn on her face by those fifty years, she will find the ways to the countries that she have never travelled before. A morning breeze creeping into her nightgown will refresh the newly-ploughed soil of her body. Afterwards sounds of gunfire will be heard coming from the outside, in contrast to the life, resisting in the room. Perhaps it is death, perhaps the herald of salvation. But the woman will never know which one, because she will not want to know. Turning her back to the window, she will look, into the room, to the bed, at the man in that bed, whom she has not been married for fifty years. She will think that everything, everything that happened that night was peculiar to that night only. Not minding, she will dive into the blue eyes of the man. The blueness of the sea that Moses had split, will cover all around. She will now think that all the seas of humanity outside this room are in blood. The sound of gunfire will become more frequent. The footsteps of the men coming upstairs, will be heard. The man will be straightened from the bed. He will move his hand towards the gun in the console. “Why?” will cry the woman, as she takes off her nightgown roughly. The morning breeze hanging about the room, can now trail on this body without any prevention. “No!” will repeat the woman. “I was able to pass in front of the mirror! No resisting with gun now. Now there must be something life wants to say against dying”. And the man will understand. He will pull the woman to himself with a fifty-year bridal longing. At this while the door will continually be kicked, kicked...

The film may not have ended this way. Actually, it did not. This is the end that I am telling you.
The actuality may be different.
But I could not have told you it in any other way.
Because now, as I am grinding your breath on my body, I could not have let the man in the film draw a gun.

A weak light....
The first lights of the morning or a car passing-by...
Now, by your side I learn that the name of the immortality in the old books was not-living.
Your breath is writing on my face, the poetry of life.
World is knocking at our door for confession.
Yet, in our room a nightwatch of love is just starting.
Time passes no more, as we gift it to each other.
I want to shout as, until now I was the night-watchman of extensive loneliness.
With the showers of yesternight the extensive loneliness is over, you say, we have passed through the mirror.
Now, the paradise, which we are sailing through on this bed as our raft, must be removed from all prayer books.

It should be removed, so that people can become the prayers of each other again.

AHMET CEMAL

[1] “La Notte di San Lorenzo”(org.title) Italy, 1982. Vittorio & Paolo Taviani, dir.s (translator’s note)
translated by Aslı Özgen