Rus yazar (Aleksey Maksimovic Peskov) Maksim Gorki'nin dogum yildonumu (28 Mart 1868)
“Aksam olup da batan gunesin kizil isinlari pencere camlarini tutusturunca, fabrikanin tas karni kusmuk gibi disari atardi oguttugu insanlari, ve yuzleri isten kararmis isciler ac insanlara ozgu parlak dislerini gostererek yeniden sokaklara dolar, ortaliga makine yagi kokulari yayarlardi eksi eksi. Artik sesler canli ve hatta neseli cikardi, cunku forsalik o gun icin son bulmustu, evde aksam yemegi yiyip dinleneceklerdi. Fabrika bir gun daha yutmustu. Makineler, insan kaslarindaki butun gucu kendi ihtiyaclari icin emmisti. O gun de gecip gitmisti hic iz birakmadan. Insan bir adim daha atmiasti mezarina dogru. Fakat dinlenmek tatli seydi, dumanli meyhane zevkliydi, ve insan seviniyordu isgununun son bulmasina.
Bayram gunleri, saat ona dek uyunurdu. Sonra, agirbasli ve evli kimseler en iyi elbiselerini giyip kilisedeki ayine giderler, dinsel gorevlere karsi gosterdikleri ilgisizlik yuzunden gencleri kinarlardi. Kilise donusu, yemek yenir ve aksama kadar yatilirdi. Yillar boyunca biriken yorgunluk istah birakmazdi. Yemek yiyebilmek icin, coklari icki icerler, midelerini kavurucu alkolle uyarirlardi.
Aksam olunca, sokaklarda tembel tembel dolasilirdi. Lastik cizmesi olan, kuru havada bile cizmesini giyerdi; semsiyesi olan, hava gunesli bile olsa, semsiyesini alirdi.
Birbirleriyle karsilasinca fabrikadan makinelerden soz ederler, ustabasilara verip veristirirlerdi. Sozler, dusunceler, hep calismayla ilgili konulari kapsardi. Gecip giden gunlerin renksiz tekduzeligi icerisinde tek tuk basit bir fikir kivilcimi parlarsa, o bile coktu. Erkekler eve donunce karilariyla kavga ederler, cogu zaman da sille tokat doverlerdi onlari. Gencler kahvehanede kalirlar, ya da birbirlerinin evinde toplanir, akordeon calar, rezil sarkilar soyler, dans eder, edepsizlikler anlatirlar ve icki icerlerdi. Calismaktan bitkin dusen erkekler kolayca sarhos olurlardi. Icki onlari yok yere sinirlendirir ve bu hastaliga varan sinirlilik, bir yerden patlak vermek isterdi. O zaman, bosalmak icin, yoktan bir bahane icat ederek hayvani bir ofkeyle birbirlerine girerler, kanli dogusler cikardi. Kimileri sakatlanir, arada sirada olenler olurdu.” Ana
“In the evening, when the sun was setting, and red rays languidly glimmered upon the windows of the houses, the factory ejected its people like burned-out ashes, and again they walked through the streets, with black, smoke-covered faces, radiating the sticky odor of machine oil, and showing the gleam of hungry teeth. But now there was animation in their voices, and even gladness. The servitude of hard toil was over for the day. Supper awaited them at home, and respite. The day was swallowed up by the factory; the machine sucked out of men’s muscles as much vigor as it needed. The day was blotted out from life, not a trace of it left. Man made an other imperceptible step toward his grave; but he saw close before him the delights of rest, the joys of the odorous tavern, and he was satisfied.
On holidays the workers slept until about ten o’clock. Then the staid and married people dressed themselves in their best clothes and, after duly scolding the young folks for their in- difference to church, went to hear mass. When they returned from church, they ate pirogs, the Russian national pastry, and again lay down to sleep until the evening. The accumulated exhaustion of years had robbed them of their appetites, and to be able to eat they drank,long and deep, goading on their feeble stomachs with the biting, burning lash of vodka.”
In the evening they amused themselves idly on the street; and those who had overshoes put them on, even if it was dry, and those who had umbrellas carried them, even if the sun was shining.
Meeting one another they spoke about the factory and the machines, had their fling against their foreman, conversed and thought only of matters closely and manifestly connected with their work. Only rarely, and then but faintly, did solitary sparks of impotent thought glimmer in the wearisome monotony of their talk. Returning home they quarreled with their wives, and often beat them, unsparing of their fists. The young people sat in the taverns, or enjoyed evening parties at one another’s houses, played the accordion, sang vulgar songs devoid of beauty, danced, talked ribaldry, and drank. Exhausted with toil, men drank swiftly, and in every heart there awoke and grew an incom- prehensible, sickly irritation. It demanded an outlet. Clutching tenaciously at every pretext for unloading themselves of this disquieting sensation, they fell on one another for mere trifles, with the spiteful ferocity of beasts, breaking into bloody quarrels which sometimes ended in serious injury and on rare occasions even in murder.”
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