Sanat Mozaik

[Terraluna]

Fransiz filozof, matematikci ve siyaset bilimci ( Marie Jean Antoine Nicolas de Caritat ) Marquis de Condorcet’nin olum yildonumu ( 28 Mart 1794)



“ Pek aydin milletler, kanlarini, zenginliklerini istedikleri gibi harcama hakkini yeniden elde ederek, yavas yavas harbe pek ugursuz bir felaket, en buyuk bir cinayet gozuyle bakmayi ogreneceklerdir. ”




“ Les peuples plus éclairés, se ressaisissant du droit de disposer eux-mêmes de leur sang et de leurs richesses, apprendront peu à peu à regarder la guerre comme le fléau le plus funeste, comme le plus grand des crimes. ”



“ Bilginlerin aydinlatamadigi toplumlari sarlatanlar aldatir. / Any society that is not enlightened by philosophers is deceived by charlatans. / La società che non viene illuminata dai pensatori, finisce ingannata dai ciarlatani. ”



Le dernier repas du Marquis de Condorcet / Marquis de Condorcet's last meal

[Terraluna]

Fransiz roman yazari ve sair Arsène Houssaye'nin dogum yildonumu ( 28 Mart 1815 )





" Kadinlar istikbalde yasamazlar, saltanatlari gunu gununedir. Cunku bu, guzellik saltanatidir ki, ilerledikce kiymetinden kaydeder. / Les femmes ne vivent pas dans l'avenir, leur règne est au jour le jour, Car c'est le règne de la beauté, qui ne peut que perdre en avançant. / Women do not live in the future ; their reign is from day to day ; it is the reign of beauty which can only lose by advancing. "



" Eski anilarimiz, yeni umutlarimiz olmalidir. / Nous devons toujours avoir de vieux souvenirs et les jeunes espoirs. "

[Terraluna]

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. ”

[Terraluna]

Yunan lirik sair ve oyun yazari Angelos Sikelianos’un dogum yildonumu ( 28 Mart 1884 )

Acik pencereye yaslanmis bakiyorduk.
Her sey uyum icindeydi duygularimizla.
Tarlalarla baglari karartiyordu
kukurt rengi bulutlar
ve gizli bir calkantiyla
agaclarda inlerken ruzgar
gogsu otlari oksayarak
ucup gitti hizli kirlangic.
Sonra birden, buyuk bir gurultuyle
yirtildi gokler ve raksederek
bosandi yagmur.
Tozlar ucustu havada.
Bereketli topragin kokusuyla
titrerken burun deliklerimiz,
dudaklarimizi araladik
icimize islesin diye sular.
Sonra yan yana, yuzlerimiz
sutlegen ve zeytinler gibi
yagmurdan sirilsiklam,
“Nedir bu koku,” diye sorduk,
“bu ogul arilar gibi havaya yayilan ?
Belsem mi, cam mi, kenger mi,
yoksa kekik mi?”
oyle yogundu ki kokular,
soluk aldikca icime doldu hepsi
ve sonsuz bir meltemin oksadigi
bir saz gibi titredim
gozlerim gozlerini bulup
damarlarimdaki kanin
cigligini isitinceye degin.
Asmanin uzerine egilip
urperen yapraklardan bir bir
o tatlari tatmak cicekleri solumak istedim;
oysa aklim uzum salkimlari gibi yogun,
solugum bogurtlenlere takili
tatlarla kokulari tek tek secemedim
ve insan nasil ayni anda tadarsa
kaderin kadehinden aci ile sevinci,
ben de oyle tattim ayni anda hepsini;
ve kolumu beline doladigim anda,
bulbul gibi sakidi, irmaklar gibi akti
damarlarimda kanim.



We leaned out of the window.
Everything around us
was one with our soul.
Sulphur-pale, the clouds
darkened the fields, the vines;
wind moaned in the trees
with a secret turbulence,
and the quick swallow went
breasting across the grass.
Suddenly the thunder broke,
the wellhead broke,
and dancing came the rain.
Dust leaped into the air.
We, our nostrils quivering,
opened our lips to drink
the earth's heavy smell,
to let it like a spring
water us deep inside
( the rain had already wet
our thirsting faces,
like the olive and the mullen ).
And shoulder touching shoulder,
we asked: "What smell is this
that cuts the air like a bee ?
From balsam, pine, acanthus,
from osier or thyme?"
So many the scents that, breathing out,
I became a lyre caressed
by the breath's profusion.
Sweetness filled my palate;
and as our eyes met again
all my blood sang out.
I bent down to the vine,
its leaves shaking, to drink
its honey and its flower;
and—my thoughts like heavy grapes,
bramble-thick my breath—
I could not, as I breathed,
choose among the scents,
but culled them all, and drank them
as one drinks joy or sorrow
suddenly sent by fate;
I drank them all,
and when I touched your waist,
my blood became a nightingale,
became like the running waters.

[Terraluna]

Amerikali yazar Nelson Algren’in dogum yildonumu ( 28 Mart 1909 )



“ Sifati doktor olan biriyle sakin kagit oynamayin. 'Annemin yemekleri' adli bir yerde sakin yemek yemeyin. Sizden dertli bir kadinla sakin yatmayin. / Non giocare mai a carte con un uomo chiamato Professore, non mangiare mai in un posto chiamato 'da Mamma' e non andare mai a letto con chiunque abbia più problemi di quanti ne abbia tu. ”

[Terraluna]

Librettosu Luigi Illica tarafindan yazilan, Umberto Giordano'nun besteledigi 4 perdelik Andrea Chénier operasi promiyerini 28 Mart 1896 tarihinde Milano, Teatro alla Scala 'da yapti.

[Terraluna]

Amerikali sanatci, sair ve yazar Everett Ruess'un dogum yildonumu ( 28 Mart 1914 )



( Gittigimde iz birakmam [ When I go, I leave no trace ] demisti ve soyledigi gibi, ciktigi bir yolculukta arkasinda hicbir iz birakmadan kayboldu. )



" Cogu insanin yasadigi hayat beni nicedir tatminsiz kiliyor. Hep daha yogun, hep daha zengin yasamak istiyorum. "



‘ ’Kolumun gucuyle gozumun gorusuyle / parmaklarimin yetenegiyle yemin ederim / Yasam benim icimde oynastikca, asla ben / ruzgarin yolundan baska hicbir yolu takip etmeyecegim. ’’



" By the strength of my arm, by the sight of my eyes, / By the skill of my fingers, I swear, / As long as life dwells in me, never will I / Follow any way but the sweeping way of the wind. ”



‘’ Tek siginagi muhim olmayan seyler, zihni dusunmekten uzak tutan emek ve arkadaslik egosuna eski erkekligini bir parca da olsa geri veren. Fakat ciplak guzellige uzun zaman bakan kisi asla donemeyebilir cihana ve ne kadar denese de, bos ve nafile bulacaktir elindeki ugrasi ve insan iliskisini maksatsiz ve abes. Tek basina ve kayip, olmek zorundadir o guzelligin sunaginda. "



" His only refuge is in insignificant things, in labor that keeps the mind from thought, and in companionship that gives back to the ego some of its former virility. But he who has looked long on naked beauty may never return to the world, and though he should try, he will find its occupation empty and vain, and human intercourse purposeless and futile. Alone and lost, he must die on the altar of beauty. "

[Terraluna]

Cek yazar Bohumil Hrabal'in dogum yildonumu ( 28 Mart 1914 )



“ Biriyle konusmaya mi koyuldum, o saat kipkirmizi kesilirdim, cunku halimde insanları rahatsiz eden bir sey vardir diye dusunurdum de ondan. Uc ay once boktan bir nedenle bilek damarlarimi kestim. Hos, bence bir nedeni vardi ya, benim farkinda oldugum ve yuzume bakan herkes de farkina variyordur diye korktugum bir sey. Onun icindir ki her pencerenin ardinda bir cift goz goruyorum iste. ” SIKI Kontrol Edilen Trenler



“ If anyone spoke to me I blushed, because I felt uncomfortably aware that there was something about me that disturbed and upset everybody. Three months ago I slashed my wrists, and on the face of it I had no reason to do such a thing, but I did have a reason, and I knew what it was, and I was only afraid that everyone who looked at me was guessing at what that reason could be. Hence these eyes behind every window. ”



" Kilometrelerce okunacak seyle yuklu tavanligin altinda sarhos, sirtustu uzanmis yatarken bazi seyleri, son derece nahos bazi seyleri dusunmeye korkarim, ornegin, ceketinin ters cevrilmis kolunda bir gelincik yakalayan ve tavuklari yaraladi diye adil bir sekilde oldurmeyip de hayvanin kafasina bir civi cakarak serbest birakan su korucuyu dusunmemeye calisirim. Hayvan avluda olene kadar uluyarak kosmus... Bir yil sonra korucunun oglu bir beton karma makinasini onarmaya calisirken elektrik carpmasindan olmus. Dun birdenbire kursun harcamak konusunda cimri davranan ormancinin, rastgeldigi butun kirpileri sivri bir kaziga gecirerek oldurdugunu hatirladim, ta ki gunun birinde karaciger kanserine yakalanana kadar; adam uc ayda oldu, karninda bir tumor ve beyninde dehsetle. Kitaplarin bana karsi komplo kurdugunu isittigimi sandigim zaman, bu tur dusunceler panige surukluyor beni, oyle dengemi bozuyor ki bu durum, pencerenin yaninda bir sandalyede uyumayi tercih ediyorum, once beni sivrisinek gibi ezip sonra da, tipki kafesli bir asansor gibi, yeri delerek mahzene kadar giden kitaplarin goruntusunden dehsete dusuyorum. insanin yazgisindan kacamadigini goruyorum: mahzende is ustundeyken kafama kitaplar, siseler, hokkalar, zimbalar yagar tavandaki acikliktan, evimde de her aksam kitaplar dusup oldurecek gibi olur beni, ya da en iyisinden agir yaralanmaktan kil payi kurtulurum. Tuvaletin ve odamin tavanina astigim o damokles'in kilici yuzunden cikip bira almak zorunda kalirim, o berbat sona karsi tek kalkanimdir bira... "



" I lie on my back half drunk under a canopy of miles and miles of texts, trying hard not to remember, but then I'll think of the time the local forester caught a marten in an inside-out sleeve lining and, instead of killing it, justly, for having gobbled up some chickens, he took a nail, hammered it into its head, and then let it go darting and howling around the yard until it died. And then I'll remember how a year later the forester's son was killed by a live wire while repairing a cement mixer. Just yesterday the figure of the forester came back to me, out of the blue, under my canopy, and I remembered him sharpening a stick each time he came across a hedgehog curled up in a ball and sinking that sharp stick into the hedgehog's stomach—he was too cheap to waste a bullet— until one day he took to bed with cancer of the liver and in return for all those hedgehogs he spent three long months curled up in a ball, a tumor in his stomach and horror in his brain, before he died. Such are the thoughts that make me panic when I hear the books above me plotting their revenge, and I am so terrified by the prospect of having them flatten me and then crash through each floor all the way to the basement, like an elevator, that I prefer sleeping in my chair by the window. The way I look at it, my life fits together beautifully: at work I have books -- and bottles and inkwells and staplers -- raining down on me through the opening in the cellar ceiling, and at home I have books above me constantly threatening to fall and kill or at least maim me. The swords of Damocles that I've hung from my bathroom and bedroom ceilings force me to make as many trips for beer at home as at work.... "