Kanadali yazar Mavis (Leslie de Trafford) Gallant'in dogum yildonumu (11 Agustos 1922)
“Ilkokulum Montreal’de bir Fransiz manastir okuluydu. Birisi o yillari Fransa’da gecirdigim yillara eklerse hayatimin buyuk bolumunu bir Fransiz gibi gecirdigimi gorecektir. Ancak, arkadaslarimla Fransizca mektuplasmalarimi saymazsak. Fransizca yazmayi becerebildigim soylenemez. Kurgular zihnime bir sekilde Ingilizce olarak geliyor. Benim icin yazmak, Ingilizcedir. Yazmak ve Ingilizce ayrilamaz birbirinden. Bu yuzden bir oyku kafamda ilk kez caktiginda birden duragan bir kareye donusur, tipki bir filmi izlerken durdurdugumuzda gordugunuz donmus ve sessiz kare gibi. Ses geri geldiginde, Ingilizcedir.”
“My first school was a French convent school in Montreal. If one adds those years to several decades lived in France, I’ve spent most of my life actually living in French. But I can’t make myself write in French, except letters to friends. Fiction arrives in my mind by way of English. Writing is English. Writing and English are inseparable. It may be the reason why the first flash of a story takes the form of a still, like a film suddenly stopped and, of course, perfectly silent. When the sound comes it is in English. I don’t think I’m explaining it well.”
“Asagi yukari senin yaslarindayken, annem olum doseginde idi... Hastaliginin ne oldugunu bana soylemediler.Yastiginin altindan bir yuzuk cikarip avucuma SIKISTIRDI. Ihtiyacim olursa her zaman onu satabilecegimi soyledi, kimsenin bilmesine gerek olmadan. Goruyorsun iste, o zamanlar kadinlarin kendilerine ait hicbir seyi olmazdi. Iple baglanmis, kahverengi kagittan kucuk paketler gibiydiler. Paket gibi babalarindan kocalarina devredilirlerdi. Paket daha cazip gorunsun diye bukleler ve piyano dersleriyle suslenirdi, tabii yuzukler ve altin sikkeler, banknotlar ve hisselerle de. Paketin yeni sahibi, butun bu suslemelere deger bictikten sonra ipi cozerdi.”
"When I was your age, about, my mother was dying of … I wasn’t told. She took a ring from under her pillow and folded my hand on it. She said that I could always sell it if I had to, and no one need know. You see, in those days women had nothing of their own. They were like brown paper parcels tied with string. They were handed like parcels from their fathers to their husbands. To make the parcel look attractive it was decked with curls and piano lessons, and rings and gold coins and banknotes and shares. After appraising all the decoration, the new owner would undo the knots.”


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