I died for Beauty—but was scarce Adjusted in the Tomb When One who died for Truth, was lain In an adjoining room— He questioned softly "Why I failed"? "For Beauty", I replied— "And I—for Truth—Themself are One— We Brethren, are",…devamıI died for Beauty—but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room—
He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied—
"And I—for Truth—Themself are One—
We Brethren, are", He said—
And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night—
We talked between the Rooms—
Until the Moss had reached our lips—
And covered up—our names—
(Emily Dickinson)
+ Everything would have been easier for us if I’d been born next door to you. - Too much! I wouldn’t have loved you if you were just like me. The resemblance must come little by little.
Kuğuların ölüm öncesi ezgileri şiirlerim, Yalpalayan hayatımın kara çarşaflı bekçi gizleri Ne zamandır ertelediğim her acı, Çıt çıkarıyor artık, başlıyor yeni bir ezgi, -bu şiir- Sendelerken yaşamım ve bilinmez yönlerim, Dost kalmak zorunda bana ve sizlere! Çünkü saldırgan olandan kopmuştur…devamıKuğuların ölüm öncesi ezgileri şiirlerim,
Yalpalayan hayatımın kara çarşaflı
bekçi gizleri
Ne zamandır ertelediğim her acı,
Çıt çıkarıyor artık, başlıyor yeni bir ezgi,
-bu şiir-
Sendelerken yaşamım ve bilinmez yönlerim,
Dost kalmak zorunda bana ve
sizlere!
Çünkü saldırgan olandan kopmuştur o,
uykusunu bölen derin arzudan.
Büyüsünü bir içtenlikten alırsa
Kendi saf şiddetini yaşar artık,
-bu şiir-
Kuramadığım güzelliklerin sessiz görünümü,
ulaşılamayanın boyun eğen yansısı.
(Nilgün Marmara)
O Rose! who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet; But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,--- Kept seven years in a drawer---thy titles shame thee. The breeze that used to blow thee Between…devamıO Rose! who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,---
Kept seven years in a drawer---thy titles shame thee.
The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane to last all day,---
If breathing now,---unsweetened would forego thee.
The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,---
If shining now,---with not a hue would light thee.
The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was,---
If dropping now,---would darken where it met thee.
The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet,
Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,---
If lighting now,---would coldly overrun thee.
The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive,---
If passing now,---would blindly overlook thee.
The heart doth recognise thee,
Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,---
Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee!
(Elizabeth Barrett Browning)
Kimdi o kedi, zamanın eşyayı örseleyen korkusunda eğerek kuşları yemlerine, bana ve suçlarıma dolanan? Gök kaçınca üzerimizden ve yıldız dengi çözüldüğünde neydi yaklaşan yanan yatağından aslanlar geçirmiş ve gömütünün kapağı hep açık olana? Yedi tül ardında yazgı uşağı, görüldüğünde tek…devamıKimdi o kedi, zamanın
eşyayı örseleyen korkusunda
eğerek kuşları yemlerine,
bana ve suçlarıma dolanan?
Gök kaçınca üzerimizden ve
yıldız dengi çözüldüğünde
neydi yaklaşan
yanan yatağından aslanlar geçirmiş
ve gömütünün kapağı hep açık olana?
Yedi tül ardında yazgı uşağı,
görüldüğünde tek boyutlu düzlüktür o
ve bağlanmıştır körler
örümcek salyası kablolarla birbirine
sevişirken,
iskeletin sevincini aklın yangınına
döndüren, fil kuyruğu gerdanlıklarla.
Yine de, o, zaman kedisi
pençesi ensemde, üzünç kemiğimden
çekerken beni kendi göğüne,
bir kahkaha bölüyor dokusunu
düşler maketinin,
uyanıyorum küstah sözcüklerle:
Ey, iki adımlık yerküre
Senin bütün arka bahçelerini
gördüm ben!
(Nilgün Marmara)
In the years when we were all children, this inclining to be alone so much was gentle; others' time passed fighting, and one had one's faction, one's near, one's far-off place, a path, an animal, a picture. And I still…devamıIn the years when we were
all children, this inclining
to be alone so much was gentle;
others' time passed fighting,
and one had one's faction,
one's near, one's far-off place,
a path, an animal, a picture.
And I still imagined, that life
would always keep providing
for one to dwell on things within,
Am I within myself not in what's greatest?
Shall what's mine no longer soothe
and understand me as a child?
Suddenly I'm as if cast out,
and this solitude surrounds me
as something vast and unbounded,
when my feeling, standing on the hills
of my breasts, cries out for wings
or for an end.
(Rainer Maria Rilke)
The womb Rattles its pod, the moon Discharges itself from the tree with nowhere to go. My landscape is a hand with no lines, The roads bunched to a knot, The knot myself, Myself the rose you acheive--- This body,…devamıThe womb
Rattles its pod, the moon
Discharges itself from the tree with nowhere to go.
My landscape is a hand with no lines,
The roads bunched to a knot,
The knot myself,
Myself the rose you acheive---
This body,
This ivory
Ungodly as a child's shriek.
Spiderlike, I spin mirrors,
Loyal to my image,
Uttering nothing but blood---
Taste it, dark red!
And my forest
My funeral,
And this hill and this
Gleaming with the mouths of corpses.
(Sylvia Plath)
Looking from outside into an open window one never sees as much as when one looks through a closed window. There is nothing more profound, more mysterious, more pregnant, more insidious, more dazzling than a window lighted by a single…devamıLooking from outside into an open window one never sees as much as when one looks through a closed window. There is nothing more profound, more mysterious, more pregnant, more insidious, more dazzling than a window lighted by a single candle. What one can see out in the sunlight is always less interesting than what goes on behind a windowpane. In that black or luminous square life lives, life dreams, life suffers.
Across the ocean of roofs I can see a middle-aged woman, her face already lined, who is forever bending over something and who never goes out. Out of her face, her dress, and her gestures, our of practically nothing at all, I have made up this woman's story, or rather legend, and sometimes I tell it to myself and weep.
If it had been and old man I could have made up his just as well.
And I go to bed proud to have lived and to have suffered in some one besides myself.
Perhaps you will say "Are you sure that your story is the really one?" But what does it matter what reality is outside myself, so long as it has helped me to live, to feel that I am, and what I am?
(Charles Baudelaire)
Ne zaman aynadaki yüze baksam, bilmiyorum hangi yüz bana bakıyor; bilmiyorum hangi yaşlı yüz sessizce ve bezgin bir öfkeyle kendi imgesini arıyor. Karanlığımda yavaşça görünmeyen çizgilerimi araştırıyorum ellerimle. Bir kıvılcımın ışığı sızıyor içime. Saçlarını tanıyorum, külrengi, hatta altın sarısı olan.…devamıNe zaman aynadaki yüze baksam,
bilmiyorum hangi yüz bana bakıyor;
bilmiyorum hangi yaşlı yüz sessizce
ve bezgin bir öfkeyle kendi imgesini arıyor.
Karanlığımda yavaşça görünmeyen çizgilerimi
araştırıyorum ellerimle.
Bir kıvılcımın ışığı
sızıyor içime.
Saçlarını tanıyorum,
külrengi, hatta altın sarısı olan.
Gene söylüyorum yalnızca boş ve yapay
yanlarını yitirdim eşyanın.
Bu soylu sözler Milton’un bilgeliği,
ama ben gene de harfleri ve gülleri
düşünüyorum.
Düşünüyorum ki görebilseydim yüzümün çizgilerini,
Bilebilirdim kim olduğunu bu benzersiz akşamda.
(Jorge Luis Borges)