|
|
Ve der ki ben babamın soyundan değil, dadanın suyundan geliyorum: Kıyı boyunca dört nala gidiyor atlarımız, Sanki insan gözünden kaçarmış gibi. Ve istediği zaman hiç geciktirmeden der ki, sıkıntı bastı, ya hava fazla sıcak, ya da ben kalın giyinmişim.
|
|
|
You choose your own forefathers, your own comrades, and your own friends to accompany you in your head as you go through life – Picabia, Dylan, or Lautréamont. And you may add, I am not of my father’s kin, but of the river of dada: Our horses were galloping along the shore, as if they fled the eyes of men. And say, not a single moment too late, the walls are closing in on me, it’s either too hot, or I’m wearing a few layers too many. And follow Oktay Rifat’s advice, take part in a movement of ventilation, strip off a few layers, come to life.
|
