Polonyali roman ve oyun yazari Witold (Marian) Gombrowicz’in dogum yildonumu (4 Agustos 1904)
“Trenle yolculugun sonsuz huznu, ezbere bilinen o huzun, ucurumun ya da elektrik tellerinin bir gorunup bir kaybolan cizgisi, pencerede birdenbire beliriveriyor bir agac, bir telgraf diregi, bir kulube, manzaranin hizla geriye dogru kayisi, durmaksizin gerileyisi... Derken bir baca, bir tepe ufukta gorunuverir... uzun bir donemecte, hicligin icine gomulur.”
“The eternal sadness of a train journey, this sadness learned by heart, the ascending and descending line of the telegraph wires or the embankment, the sudden appearance of a tree in the window, of a telegraph pole, a signalman's hut, the landscape sliding swiftly past, its incessant retreat… as a chimney or a hill on the horizon a chimney or a hill … appeared and persisted for a long time, stubbornly, like a prevailing anxiety, a dominant anxiety … until, with a slow turning, it all fell into nothing.”
“Yillar erir ay olur, aylar gun, gunler saat, dakika, saniye, saniyeler de ucup gider. Yakalayamazsiniz, ucup giderler. Neyim ben? Bir saniyeler yigini, ucup gitmis. Sonuc : Hic. Hic.”
"Years disintegrate into months, months into days, days into hours, minutes into seconds, seconds run past. You won't catch them. Everything runs past. Flies away. Who am I? I am a certain number of seconds - that have run past. The result: nothing. Nothing."



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