Сборник цитат Эмине Севги Оздамар тематически. ч.2
Предисловие: Английский вариант этой книги мне прислал по почте Фаби, в оригинале она написана на немецком. После прочтения русской версии, мне хотелось иметь если не оригинал, то анлийский перевод, что бы можно было делится цитатами со всеми. Я перечитала его выделяя маркером все, что мне нравилось - страницы были такими плотными, а строчки такими крупными, что это было очень удобно, а потом забросила книгу. Сакин сгинул, Страна перестал со мной спорить, цитировать было некому.
Но недавно возник вопрос, примерно такой: "Ты все время врешь, скажи правду, почему ты не жалеешь, о том, что было в твоей жизни? Или жалеешь? Ты считаешь это ошибкой?" Я села за вопрос, ответила "нет" в гневе, ответила "возможно" с сожалением, ответила "да" с иронией. И задала сама себе более актуальный вопрос: "Откуда у нас это берется?" Потом достала Эмине Севги.
"Our new warden said, he was an artist and a communist. No one knew what a communist was... "
"He gave us books and said: "Here, Im giving you my best friend". One of his best friends was Chekhov.So he was not the only man we had.Other men came into our hossel with him: Dostoyevsky, Gorky, Jack London, Tolstoy, Joyce, Sartre and one woman, Rosa Luxemburg.... "
"We three girls... walked behind his back to the Turkish Students' Association. That Saturday the students were going to elect a new chairman, our communist hostel warden knew a student and wanted him to be elected..."
"One night I walked behind them.. All he women were sleeping, everything was quiet in the hostel.. The two men went on talking, but what they were talking about I didnt understand.. Towards the morning, as I went away, I said to our communist hostel warden: "Can I be a communist too?" - "Yes, Sugar", he said, and gave me a book to read. The book was in Turkish, Engels' Ailenin Asillari (The origin of the Family, Private Property and the State). He said, 'Marx is too difficult for you, perhaps you can read Engels, he's my favorite'....."
"After work I went to Turkish Students' Club.. Then the man who had come from Turkey spoke. He announced that the Socialist Workers' Party in Turkey had sent him to Berlin, he had come to set up a Socialist Association with us. Who else wanted to?.. Eleven students raised their hands.. somebody said: 'Eleven, let us be a round dozen'... In front of me a very slim girl had raised her hand. While they waited for twelfth hand, the eleven hands remained in the air for a long time. The girl in front of me had a small hand, it trembled in the air, I saw that and raised my hand. 'Now we're okay,' said the voice..."
"In the factory I sometimes went up to Angel, who had read a lot because of Ataman (her lover), and asked her what production meant. She turned to me, the lens in her right eye was, and said: 'I dont know, its what we do here.' We made radio valves. I looked at her right eye enlarged behind the lens. She had very beautiful eyes, and at that moment I believed I understood what the word production meant...."
"The older women in our women's hostel asked us: "You eat your men's money, dont they kiss you?' They didnt kiss us, but soon a man did kiss us, a Turkish man who had been studying enjineering for fourteen years. Next to Workers' Association there was a pub, we three girls sat at the table with him. He kissed one of us and said to her: 'Now order me a beer'. The beer came, he drained a glass, then said sentences in french to us:
Je suis belle, o mortels! comme un reve de pierre,
Et mon sein, ou cacun s'est meutri tour a tour,
Est fait pour inspirer au poete un amour.
'Do you know Baudelaire? You dont! Order me another beer'..."
" Madame Gutsio's Greek friend, Yorgi, stood in for her. Yorgi brought a cat. The cat always sat on his lap or walked on the table between the telephone and the documents. To me Yorgi said: 'Turcala, Turcala', to his cat: 'Sit don and take a look at the beautiful Turcala.' Yorgi had a beautiful nose. When he lowered his head, it cast a long shadow because of the light of the table lamp. I wanted to stroke this shadow, but instead stroked his cat..
During the night I heard Yorgi turning the pages of his book in Madame Gutsio's room, and I also turned the pages of my book loudly and coughed. Then he too coughed in the next room. I felt hot, I poured cold water over my nightshirt and lay down in bed in wet nightshirt.
... We jumped out of the windows into the garden and drove in our nightshirt and pyjamas to the lake... I sat down on the sand, and Yorgi kissed me, all the time shaking his head and saying: 'Turcala, Turcala.'... Then Yorgi said: 'You are still a child'.
The next morning he called Madame Gutsio and told her in German that he had kissed me by the lake. On the telephone Madame Gutsio laughed so loudly that i heard her voice. 'Aah, Yorgi, cant you see the girl is still a child'. Then Yorgi said a sentence in Greek. Madame Gutsio told me loudly in the reciever what Yorgi had said: 'Yorgi saiys she also kisses like a child'....."
"I wanted to give up my diamond virginity at last. I thought, before I return to Istanbul I must save myself from this diamond in Berlin...I lay in bed and swore by the headlight of passing cars on the wall that i would save myself from my diamond. But I didnt know how..."
"He, too, took his glass of water and spoke - the glass of water in front of his mouth - to me, as if he was speaking to his glass. 'Pardon' he said. I said: 'I cannot speak french'. He swallowed a mouthful of water, then he said: 'Can you speak English?' I swallowed the mouthfull of water and said: 'No, little bit'. He too swallowed a mouthful and said: 'I cannot speak English too, little bit'...
I didnt notice either when I left. It was as if second self were walking beside me. The sudden rain came down like a thousand of bright needles...
The big room had a staircase, at the top there was another room. I sat down on the staircase and looked at the girl, who was supposed to be me and at the boy. The bot said: 'I am from Spain.' The girl said: 'Im Turkish'. The boy went over to his books, took a book of poetry and read a poem in French. He said: 'Nazim Hikmet, great socialist poet Turk.'...
Suddenly the Yves Montand was not singing anymore. I got frightened. I said to myself, what will the girl do now, the music is over, will she have to stand up, will he have to leave?...
The girl, my second self, listened to the music, but not with her ears, but with her eyes and her mouth, and the boy too looked and her face, as if he was hearing Ravel's 'Bolero' from her face...
Suddenly the two of them went upstairs. At the top, at the end of staircase, stood a bed.... I found an English word in my head, which I had lng ago forgotten, the word came suddenly, like a smell from the chest that had been shut for too long: 'Wait'... They buth waited naked on top of one another, the sun warmed the back and the stomach of the boy and it warmed the somach of the girl. The girl's eyes enlarged the boy's eyes for so long, until it became a single eye. So, in the shade, they stood up, they got dressed at the same time.... The girl wanted to tell the boy a story from her childhood in English, but there were not enough words, so she went n eating.
They said nothing and ate and laughed...Because of the wet clothes, they naturally got undressed. So they came close to one another like a couple of lambs..
The boy knelt down, and while all the men called out for love, he sand along with them: 'Que bella rosa' and embraced the girl's legs....
The beard from his cheeks and above his mouth grew into my cheeks, so that our faces stuck together....
I glanced at the bed, it was still warm from our bodies, but I saw no spots of blood. I wanted to tell her (my second self), free yourself from your diamond, do it with the boy. But I didnt manage to...
The lights in the houses looked so safe, as if no one inside would ever die...
The girl began to cry and between her tears went on looking at the shoulder of the boy... Boy said: 'I have cold'. he had temperature, so that even the buttons were hot. 'You are sick', I said. 'Yes, I am', he said... The blanket was soon we because of his temperature...
He sat down at his desk, asked the girl what her name was, and wrote smth on a sheet of paper, it was a poem and it began 'Sevgilim - Mon amour'. Underneath there was a boy's name, Jordi... Then everything happened very quickly, we were sitting in the car again and no one said anything....
I said to myself, in Paris you fell in love with Jordi, but didnt leave your diamond with him...
And there in fog, after sleeping with a turkish limping socialist, I understood that I had already left my diamond with Jordi in Paris, I had already been a woman since Paris, without knowing it...."
"One day I was suddenly pregnant but didnt know by whom. I didnt know what to do and went to cinema often in order to forget the child...
I wanted to save him. When I was young I had sometimes gone to see 3D films with my parents. when I cried out and hugged my mother out of fear of the Red Indian arrows, she took the special glasses away from my face. I thought I could simply take these glasses away from my schizofrenic friend, kissed him, and we slept with one another...
The schizofrenic boy absolutely wanted to introduce me to his best friend, who had also lived in the house... They made tea, I opened a book and the best friend, Hüseyin, said: 'Its the story after the Second world War in Germany'. I said: 'Im pregnant'...
H]seyin introduced me to his friends, they called themselves Surrealists - a couple of young men who were studying art and a girl.... as Huseyin and the girl ... stood opposite one another, Huseyin said to her: 'Our friend needs a doctor, she's pregnant'. The girl said: 'I know a doctor, I'll call him today'. Huseyin said: 'She doesn't have any money'. The girl turned round to her bag, took out six hundred lira, gave it to me and said: 'Give that to the doctor'....
Huseyin brought me from the doctor to the harbour and said: "In two days I'll be waiting for you at nine o'clock. I'll take you to a drama school..."
"A cartoonist who with his cartoons stood on the side of the left-wing movement drove me to the harbour in his car. He had a wooden leg. We laughed and he said: 'Let me die in my bed with the moon that I know'. That was a poem by the spanish poet Lorca, who was killed by Franco's fascist Guardia civil. There was also a moon over Istanbul and it was large. I said to Wooden Leg: 'Awhole poem by Lorca, please'. Lorca, that was my love in Paris, Jordi. I thought now Jordi is looking at the same moon as I am. The cartoonist Wooden Leg read the poem and stopped when we reached the harbour, where I had to get out. I said to him: 'Keep on driving, I want to hear the poem to an end'. when the poem was finished, we arrived at Wooden Leg's house. He said to me: 'Quiet, I live with my mother.' He took off his wooden leg, we slept with each other, and he told funny stories in bed; again I laughed..."
"I imagined saving Lorca.... All the dead gave one the feeling that one had come too late... On the steep streets there were many book vendors. They laid their boks on the ground, and the wind leafed through them, books about Russian and the French revolutions, or about resistance fighters who had been beheaded five hundred years ago by Ottomans, books by Nazim Hikmet, books about Spanish Civil War... The people who sut and opene their eyes with these books, went out into the streets again in the morning as Lorca, Sacco de Vanzetti, Robespierre, Danton, Nazim Hikmet, Pir Sultan Abdal, Rosa Luxembourg....."
Но недавно возник вопрос, примерно такой: "Ты все время врешь, скажи правду, почему ты не жалеешь, о том, что было в твоей жизни? Или жалеешь? Ты считаешь это ошибкой?" Я села за вопрос, ответила "нет" в гневе, ответила "возможно" с сожалением, ответила "да" с иронией. И задала сама себе более актуальный вопрос: "Откуда у нас это берется?" Потом достала Эмине Севги.
"Our new warden said, he was an artist and a communist. No one knew what a communist was... "
"He gave us books and said: "Here, Im giving you my best friend". One of his best friends was Chekhov.So he was not the only man we had.Other men came into our hossel with him: Dostoyevsky, Gorky, Jack London, Tolstoy, Joyce, Sartre and one woman, Rosa Luxemburg.... "
"We three girls... walked behind his back to the Turkish Students' Association. That Saturday the students were going to elect a new chairman, our communist hostel warden knew a student and wanted him to be elected..."
"One night I walked behind them.. All he women were sleeping, everything was quiet in the hostel.. The two men went on talking, but what they were talking about I didnt understand.. Towards the morning, as I went away, I said to our communist hostel warden: "Can I be a communist too?" - "Yes, Sugar", he said, and gave me a book to read. The book was in Turkish, Engels' Ailenin Asillari (The origin of the Family, Private Property and the State). He said, 'Marx is too difficult for you, perhaps you can read Engels, he's my favorite'....."
"After work I went to Turkish Students' Club.. Then the man who had come from Turkey spoke. He announced that the Socialist Workers' Party in Turkey had sent him to Berlin, he had come to set up a Socialist Association with us. Who else wanted to?.. Eleven students raised their hands.. somebody said: 'Eleven, let us be a round dozen'... In front of me a very slim girl had raised her hand. While they waited for twelfth hand, the eleven hands remained in the air for a long time. The girl in front of me had a small hand, it trembled in the air, I saw that and raised my hand. 'Now we're okay,' said the voice..."
"In the factory I sometimes went up to Angel, who had read a lot because of Ataman (her lover), and asked her what production meant. She turned to me, the lens in her right eye was, and said: 'I dont know, its what we do here.' We made radio valves. I looked at her right eye enlarged behind the lens. She had very beautiful eyes, and at that moment I believed I understood what the word production meant...."
"The older women in our women's hostel asked us: "You eat your men's money, dont they kiss you?' They didnt kiss us, but soon a man did kiss us, a Turkish man who had been studying enjineering for fourteen years. Next to Workers' Association there was a pub, we three girls sat at the table with him. He kissed one of us and said to her: 'Now order me a beer'. The beer came, he drained a glass, then said sentences in french to us:
Je suis belle, o mortels! comme un reve de pierre,
Et mon sein, ou cacun s'est meutri tour a tour,
Est fait pour inspirer au poete un amour.
'Do you know Baudelaire? You dont! Order me another beer'..."
" Madame Gutsio's Greek friend, Yorgi, stood in for her. Yorgi brought a cat. The cat always sat on his lap or walked on the table between the telephone and the documents. To me Yorgi said: 'Turcala, Turcala', to his cat: 'Sit don and take a look at the beautiful Turcala.' Yorgi had a beautiful nose. When he lowered his head, it cast a long shadow because of the light of the table lamp. I wanted to stroke this shadow, but instead stroked his cat..
During the night I heard Yorgi turning the pages of his book in Madame Gutsio's room, and I also turned the pages of my book loudly and coughed. Then he too coughed in the next room. I felt hot, I poured cold water over my nightshirt and lay down in bed in wet nightshirt.
... We jumped out of the windows into the garden and drove in our nightshirt and pyjamas to the lake... I sat down on the sand, and Yorgi kissed me, all the time shaking his head and saying: 'Turcala, Turcala.'... Then Yorgi said: 'You are still a child'.
The next morning he called Madame Gutsio and told her in German that he had kissed me by the lake. On the telephone Madame Gutsio laughed so loudly that i heard her voice. 'Aah, Yorgi, cant you see the girl is still a child'. Then Yorgi said a sentence in Greek. Madame Gutsio told me loudly in the reciever what Yorgi had said: 'Yorgi saiys she also kisses like a child'....."
"I wanted to give up my diamond virginity at last. I thought, before I return to Istanbul I must save myself from this diamond in Berlin...I lay in bed and swore by the headlight of passing cars on the wall that i would save myself from my diamond. But I didnt know how..."
"He, too, took his glass of water and spoke - the glass of water in front of his mouth - to me, as if he was speaking to his glass. 'Pardon' he said. I said: 'I cannot speak french'. He swallowed a mouthful of water, then he said: 'Can you speak English?' I swallowed the mouthfull of water and said: 'No, little bit'. He too swallowed a mouthful and said: 'I cannot speak English too, little bit'...
I didnt notice either when I left. It was as if second self were walking beside me. The sudden rain came down like a thousand of bright needles...
The big room had a staircase, at the top there was another room. I sat down on the staircase and looked at the girl, who was supposed to be me and at the boy. The bot said: 'I am from Spain.' The girl said: 'Im Turkish'. The boy went over to his books, took a book of poetry and read a poem in French. He said: 'Nazim Hikmet, great socialist poet Turk.'...
Suddenly the Yves Montand was not singing anymore. I got frightened. I said to myself, what will the girl do now, the music is over, will she have to stand up, will he have to leave?...
The girl, my second self, listened to the music, but not with her ears, but with her eyes and her mouth, and the boy too looked and her face, as if he was hearing Ravel's 'Bolero' from her face...
Suddenly the two of them went upstairs. At the top, at the end of staircase, stood a bed.... I found an English word in my head, which I had lng ago forgotten, the word came suddenly, like a smell from the chest that had been shut for too long: 'Wait'... They buth waited naked on top of one another, the sun warmed the back and the stomach of the boy and it warmed the somach of the girl. The girl's eyes enlarged the boy's eyes for so long, until it became a single eye. So, in the shade, they stood up, they got dressed at the same time.... The girl wanted to tell the boy a story from her childhood in English, but there were not enough words, so she went n eating.
They said nothing and ate and laughed...Because of the wet clothes, they naturally got undressed. So they came close to one another like a couple of lambs..
The boy knelt down, and while all the men called out for love, he sand along with them: 'Que bella rosa' and embraced the girl's legs....
The beard from his cheeks and above his mouth grew into my cheeks, so that our faces stuck together....
I glanced at the bed, it was still warm from our bodies, but I saw no spots of blood. I wanted to tell her (my second self), free yourself from your diamond, do it with the boy. But I didnt manage to...
The lights in the houses looked so safe, as if no one inside would ever die...
The girl began to cry and between her tears went on looking at the shoulder of the boy... Boy said: 'I have cold'. he had temperature, so that even the buttons were hot. 'You are sick', I said. 'Yes, I am', he said... The blanket was soon we because of his temperature...
He sat down at his desk, asked the girl what her name was, and wrote smth on a sheet of paper, it was a poem and it began 'Sevgilim - Mon amour'. Underneath there was a boy's name, Jordi... Then everything happened very quickly, we were sitting in the car again and no one said anything....
I said to myself, in Paris you fell in love with Jordi, but didnt leave your diamond with him...
And there in fog, after sleeping with a turkish limping socialist, I understood that I had already left my diamond with Jordi in Paris, I had already been a woman since Paris, without knowing it...."
"One day I was suddenly pregnant but didnt know by whom. I didnt know what to do and went to cinema often in order to forget the child...
I wanted to save him. When I was young I had sometimes gone to see 3D films with my parents. when I cried out and hugged my mother out of fear of the Red Indian arrows, she took the special glasses away from my face. I thought I could simply take these glasses away from my schizofrenic friend, kissed him, and we slept with one another...
The schizofrenic boy absolutely wanted to introduce me to his best friend, who had also lived in the house... They made tea, I opened a book and the best friend, Hüseyin, said: 'Its the story after the Second world War in Germany'. I said: 'Im pregnant'...
H]seyin introduced me to his friends, they called themselves Surrealists - a couple of young men who were studying art and a girl.... as Huseyin and the girl ... stood opposite one another, Huseyin said to her: 'Our friend needs a doctor, she's pregnant'. The girl said: 'I know a doctor, I'll call him today'. Huseyin said: 'She doesn't have any money'. The girl turned round to her bag, took out six hundred lira, gave it to me and said: 'Give that to the doctor'....
Huseyin brought me from the doctor to the harbour and said: "In two days I'll be waiting for you at nine o'clock. I'll take you to a drama school..."
"A cartoonist who with his cartoons stood on the side of the left-wing movement drove me to the harbour in his car. He had a wooden leg. We laughed and he said: 'Let me die in my bed with the moon that I know'. That was a poem by the spanish poet Lorca, who was killed by Franco's fascist Guardia civil. There was also a moon over Istanbul and it was large. I said to Wooden Leg: 'Awhole poem by Lorca, please'. Lorca, that was my love in Paris, Jordi. I thought now Jordi is looking at the same moon as I am. The cartoonist Wooden Leg read the poem and stopped when we reached the harbour, where I had to get out. I said to him: 'Keep on driving, I want to hear the poem to an end'. when the poem was finished, we arrived at Wooden Leg's house. He said to me: 'Quiet, I live with my mother.' He took off his wooden leg, we slept with each other, and he told funny stories in bed; again I laughed..."
"I imagined saving Lorca.... All the dead gave one the feeling that one had come too late... On the steep streets there were many book vendors. They laid their boks on the ground, and the wind leafed through them, books about Russian and the French revolutions, or about resistance fighters who had been beheaded five hundred years ago by Ottomans, books by Nazim Hikmet, books about Spanish Civil War... The people who sut and opene their eyes with these books, went out into the streets again in the morning as Lorca, Sacco de Vanzetti, Robespierre, Danton, Nazim Hikmet, Pir Sultan Abdal, Rosa Luxembourg....."