Sanat Mozaik

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1 Akademi, 1 Golden Globe Odulu sahibi Amerikali aktor Christian Bale’in dogum gunu (20 Ocak 1974)

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Macar mimar, heykeltiras ve profesor Ernő Rubik, icadini yaptigi Sihirli Kup’un (Daha sonra Rupik Kup denildi) patentini 30 Ocak 1975’de aldi.

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30 Ocak 1982’de duzenlenen 39.Golden Globes Odul toreninde, Meryl Streep, Fransiz Tegmeninin Kadini (The French Lieutenant's Woman) filmi ile Drama Dalinda En Iyi Aktris; Henry Fonda, Altin Gol (On Golden Pond) filmi ile Drama Dalinda En Iyi Aktor odulunu aldilar.

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Thomas Harris ‘in ayni isimli romanindan uyarlanan, Jonathan Demme’nin yonettigi, Jodie Foster, Anthony Hopkins ve Lawrence A. Bonney’in rol aldigi Kuzularin Sessizlig (The Silence of the Lambs - Il Silenzio degli Innocenti), 30 Ocak 1991’de New York’ta gosterime girdi.

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Filme de alinan Kwai Koprusu ve Maymunlar Gezegeni isimli romanlari ile taninan Fransiz yazar Pierre Boulle’un olum yildonumu (30 Ocak 1994)

“Iki tarafi kaldirimla cevrili, oldukca genis bir yolda ilerliyorduk. Endiseyle yoldan gecmekte olanlari inceledim: Hepsi maymundu. Dukkaninin kepenklerini acmakta olan bir tuccar, bir tur bakkal gordum; merakla donup gecmekte olan bizlere bakti: o da bir maymundu. Bizi gecen arabalardaki yolcular ve suruculere dikkatlice baktim: Dunyadaki modaya uygun giyinmislerdi ve hepsi maymundu." Maymunlar Gezegeni



"We were driving down a fairly broad street flanked with pavements. I anxiously examined the passers-by: they were apes. I saw a tradesman, a sort of grocer, who had just raised the shutters of his shop, turn around curiously to watch us go by; he was an ape. I tried to see the passengers and drivers of the motor cars flashing past us: they were dressed in the same way as people at home and they were apes."


“Felaketler kendilerini ilk anda duyurmazlar. Aklin dogal yaradilisi, normal yapisi bunu bir sure geciktirir. / Disaster never makes itself felt at once. The mind's natural inertia enforces a delay.”

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Amerikali yazar ve yapimci Sidney Sheldon’in olum yildonumu (30 Ocak 2007)

“Butun hastanelerde uyusturucu hirsizligi sorunu vardir. Yasalara gore dispanserden alinan her uyusturucu karsiliginda imza gerekirse de guvenlik kontrolu ne kadar siki olsa da, bagimlilar onun ustesinden gelmenin bir yolunu bulurlar.” Hicbirsey Sonsuz Degildir



“All hospitals have problems with drug theft. By law, each narcotic that is taken from the dispensary must be signed for, but no matter how controlled the security is, drug addicts almost invariably find a way to circumvent it.”


“Onu izleyen biri vardi. Bazi sapiklarin insanlari takip ettiklerini bir yerde okumustu. Ama o sapiklar siddet dolu baska bir dunyaya aitti. Kendisini kimin takip ettigini ve neden kotuluk yapmak istedigini bilmiyordu. Panige kapilmamak icin umitsizce cirpiniyordu. Fakat son zamanlarda dayanilmaz karabasanlar uykularini boluyor ve her sabah felaketin yaklastigini hissederek uyaniyordu.” Bana Duslerini Anlat



“She had read about stalkers, but they belonged in a different, faraway world. She had no idea who it could be, who would want to harm her. She was trying desperately not to panic, but lately her sleep had been filled with nightmares, and she had awakened each morning with a feeling of impending doom.”

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“Birden Bartleby’nin masasi ilgimi cekti. Cekmecesinin anahtari ustundeydi.

Kotu bir niyetim yok, oyle kalpsiz bir meraki dindirmek degil derdim, diye dusundum. Hem ayrica masa benim malim, icindekiler de oyle olmali, onun icin bakabilirim. Her sey duzenli bir bicimde yerlestirilmisti, kagitlar guzelce istiflenmisti. Gozler derindi; evrak dosyalarini kaldirinca iclerini yokladim. Az sonra elime bir sey geldi, cekip cikardim. Eski bir mendil, agir, dugumlu. Dugumu acinca bunun bir tasarruf bankasi oldugunu anladim.

O zaman bu adamda rastladigim esrarengiz taraflar gecti aklimdan, sira sira. Bir seye cevap vermedikce hic konusmaz; is aralarinda epey zamani oldugu halde hic okurken gormemisimdir – hayir, gazete bile. Uzun uzun durur ayakta, paravaninin arkasindaki o solgun penceresinden karsisindaki olu tugla duvara bakar; hicbir lokantaya, asevine gitmediginden suphem yok; solgun yuzune bakinca hicbir zaman Hindi gibi bira icmedigini, baska insanlar gibi cay ya da kahve icmedigini hemen anlardiniz; ozellikle herhangi bir yere gitmedigini, bir yuruyuse bile cikmadigini, ama belki simdi bunu yapiyordu; kim oldugunu, nereden geldigini ya da bu dunyada bir akrabasi olup olmadigini soylemekten kacinmisti; bu kadar zayif ve solgun oldugu halde, sagligindan da hic yakinmamisti. Bunlarin hepsinden fazla da, bilincdisi soluk -ne diyeyim ki?- soluk bir kibirlilik geliyordu hatirima; buydu zaten o eksantrik anlarinda beni ona uymaya zorlayan sey. Benim icin en basit bir şeyi yapmasini bile istemekten korkmama yol acan sey. Ama zaten uzun surmus hareketsizliginden anlamam gerekiyordu, paravananin arkasinda, ayakta, olu duvara dalip gitmelerinden birine girdigini.

Butun bu seyleri aklimda dolandirirken, henuz yeni kesfettigim olguyla, yani buromu surekli barinagi ve evi haline getirmesiyle bunlari birlestirerek, o marazi karanlik halini de unutmadan, yani butun bunlar zihnimde, daha bir ayar gibi oldum. Ilk duygularim melankoli, cok icten bir acima olmustu; ama Bartleby’nin yalnizligi zihnimde buyudukce buyurken o melankoli korkuya, o merhamet de tiksintiye karismaya baslamisti. Bir noktaya kadar bir sefalet dusuncesi ya da gorunusunun icimizdeki en temiz duygulari kendine cektigi cok dogru, cok da korkunc; ama bazi ozel durumlarda, o noktayi gecince boyle olmuyor. Bunun her zaman insan yureginin dogustan gelme bencilliginden oturu boyle oldugunu soyleyenler yaniliyorlar. Asiri ve organik bir kotulugu, hastaligi tedavi etmenin umutsuz olmasindan ileri geliyor bu. Duyarli biri icin acima cok zaman aci demektir. Boyle bir acimanin herhangi bir ise yaramadigi sonunda anlasilinca, sagduyu insana bundan kurtulmasi gerektigini soyluyor, uyariyor. O sabah gorduklerim karsisinda, yazicinin dogustan gelen ve tedavisi olmayan birtakim marazlarin kurbani oldugunu anladim. Bedenine sadaka verebilirdim, ama bedeni degildi ona aci veren -ruhuydu aciyi ceken, ama ruhuna erisemiyordum.” Herman Melville, Katip (Yazici) Bartleby



“Suddenly I was attracted by Bartleby’s closed desk, the key in open sight left in the lock.

I mean no mischief, seek the gratification of no heartless curiosity, thought I; besides, the desk is mine, and its contents too, so I will make bold to look within. Every thing was methodically arranged, the papers smoothly placed. The pigeon holes were deep, and removing the files of documents, I groped into their recesses. Presently I felt something there, and dragged it out. It was an old bandanna handkerchief, heavy and knotted. I opened it, and saw it was a savings’ bank.

I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I had noted in the man. I remembered that he never spoke but to answer; that though at intervals he had considerable time to himself, yet I had never seen him reading—no, not even a newspaper; that for long periods he would stand looking out, at his pale window behind the screen, upon the dead brick wall; I was quite sure he never visited any refectory or eating house; while his pale face clearly indicated that he never drank beer like Turkey, or tea and coffee even, like other men; that he never went any where in particular that I could learn; never went out for a walk, unless indeed that was the case at present; that he had declined telling who he was, or whence he came, or whether he had any relatives in the world; that though so thin and pale, he never complained of ill health. And more than all, I remembered a certain unconscious air of pallid—how shall I call it?—of pallid haughtiness, say, or rather an austere reserve about him, which had positively awed me into my tame compliance with his eccentricities, when I had feared to ask him to do the slightest incidental thing for me, even though I might know, from his long-continued motionlessness, that behind his screen he must be standing in one of those dead-wall reveries of his.

Revolving all these things, and coupling them with the recently discovered fact that he made my office his constant abiding place and home, and not forgetful of his morbid moodiness; revolving all these things, a prudential feeling began to steal over me. My first emotions had been those of pure melancholy and sincerest pity; but just in proportion as the forlornness of Bartleby grew and grew to my imagination, did that same melancholy merge into fear, that pity into repulsion. So true it is, and so terrible too, that up to a certain point the thought or sight of misery enlists our best affections; but, in certain special cases, beyond that point it does not. They err who would assert that invariably this is owing to the inherent selfishness of the human heart. It rather proceeds from a certain hopelessness of remedying excessive and organic ill. To a sensitive being, pity is not seldom pain. And when at last it is perceived that such pity cannot lead to effectual succor, common sense bids the soul be rid of it. What I saw that morning persuaded me that the scrivener was the victim of innate and incurable disorder. I might give alms to his body; but his body did not pain him; it was his soul that suffered, and his soul I could not reach.”

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“Bloch yoruluyordu, yoruldukca her seyi bir o kadar daha acik secik algilar, birini oburunden o kadar iyi ayirt eder oldu. Kapi birisi cikinca hep acik kaldiginda, hep birinin kalkip kapiyi kapattigini goruyordu. O kadar yorgundu ki her nesneyi kendi basina, en basta da dis cizgilerini goruyordu, sanki nesnelerin sadece dis cizgileri varmis gibi. Her seyi dolaysizca goruyor, isitiyordu, eskiden oldugu gibi kelimelere cevirme geregini duymadan ya da zaten sadece kelimelerden, kelime oyunlarindan ibaretmisler gibi almaksizin. Kendisine her seyin dogal geldigi bir durumdaydi.

Daha sonra isletmeci kadin yanina oturdu, Bloch da kolunu oyle bir dogallikla onun omzuna doladi ki, kadin farkina bile varmamis gibi gorundu. Otomatik pikaba, hicbir sey yokmus gibi, birkac para atti, isletmeci kadinla da oylesine dans etti. Kadinin, kendisine bir sey dediginde hep adini da soyledigini fark etti.

Garson kizin bir eliyle obur elini tuttugunu gormekten bir sey cikmiyordu artik, kalin perdelerin de bir ozelligi kalmamisti; cikip gidenlerin gittikce artmasiysa dogaldi. Rahatlik vericiydi, disarida, caddede hacet gorduklerini, sonra yola koyulduklarini isitmek.

Salon sessizlesti, oyle ki otomatik pikapta calinan plaklar acik secik isitilir oldu. Plaklarin arasindaki arada alcak sesle konusuluyor ya da neredeyse soluklar tutuluyordu; bir sonraki plak baslayinca rahatliyordu insanlar. Bloch bu olanlardan, surekli tekrarlanan seylermiscesine soz edilebilecegi duygusuna kapildi; ‘bir gunun akisi’ diye dusundu, insanin kartpostallara yazdigi bir sey, ‘Aksamleyin birahanede oturulup plak dinleniyor.’ Yorgunlugu gectikçe artiyordu, disaridaysa elmalar dusuyordu agaclardan.” Peter Handke, Kalecinin Penalti Anindaki Endisesi



“Bloch got tired. The tireder he got, the more clearly he took in everything, distinguished one thing fromanother. He saw how the door invariably stayed open when somebody went out, and how somebody else always got up and shut the door again. He was so tired that he saw each thing by itself, especially the contours, as though there was nothing to the things but their contours. He saw and heard everything with total immediacy, without first having to translate it into words, as before, or comprehending it only in terms of words or word games. He was in a state where everything seemed natural to him.

Later the landlady sat down with him, and he put his arm around her so naturally that she did not even seem to notice. He dropped a couple of coins into the juke box as though it were nothing and danced effortlessly with the landlady. He noticed that every time she said something she added his name to it.

It wasn't important any more that he could see the waitress clasping one hand with the other, nor was there anything special about the thick curtains, and it was only natural that more and more people left. They could be heard as they relieved themselves out on the street and then walked away.

It got quieter in the barroom, so that the records in the juke box played very distinctly. In the pause between records people talked more softly or almost held their breath; it was a relief when the nextrecord came on. It seemed to Bloch that you could talk about these occurrences as things that recurred forever; the course of a single day, he thought; things that you wrote about on picture postcards. "At night we sit in the tavern and listen to records." He got tireder and tireder, and outside the apples were dropping off the trees.”