If Hemingway said so…

Before using superlatives when intangible matters are involved, I tend to be cautious for one simple reason: what is “most” this or that for one person is not to be assumed to have the same impact on another. When emotions are of focus, such judgment becomes even a far more slippery attempt. As for the sentiment Ernest Hemingway articulates in his short story collection, Men Without Women as in the following lines, it has found its home in my soul with no feasible argument by my logic whatsoever:

The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too.

At least one question then remains: who decides whether the loss is reversible?

falling-leaf

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…when a celebrated author understands…

“It’s something everybody wants – for someone to see the hurt done to them and set it down like it matters.” ~ Sue Monk KiddThe Secret Life of Bees

KIRIK KANAT gibi

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“You will find poetry nowhere […]

unless you bring some of it with you.” ~ Joseph Joubert (1754-1824)

joseph-joubert-4

portre

[Image Credits: Google – Free ]

Heeding the suggested transportation of a precious cargo today, I bring along a poem that is one of my most favorites by Nazım Hikmet, a poet whose entire literary work I have been admiring since my teenage years. The translation to English is my attempt at a rather intimately-felt justice to this exilic author’s native tongue:

Seni düşünmek güzel şey, ümitli şey,
Dünyanın en güzel sesinden
En güzel şarkıyı dinlemek gibi birşey…
Fakat artık ümit yetmiyor bana,
Ben artık şarkı dinlemek değil,
Şarkı söylemek istiyorum.

Thinking of you is beautiful, it gives hope,

It is like listening to the most beautiful song

Through the most beautiful voice in the world…

Hope to me, however, does no longer suffice,

I don’t want to listen to songs anymore,

I want to sing one.

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…contradictions…

my scream had been so loud

that i didn’t hear the silence

waiting still in angered calm

for the murderous pain to cease

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

7.30.2015

Ada.Tepe.Hikayeli kayalıklar Ada.Tepeden kayalıklar

[Photo Credits: Self; Location: “Ada” in Sinop, Turkey]

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…I am sorry…

[Image Credit:

[Image Credit: “sad and simple”

Long ago, I read an article on “things” some of us find difficult to express when we communicate with others. Three of those simple words work as my post’s title today. At times, even an exceptionally loved one may withhold these few letters what to us mean comfort at moments of despair, like a reassuring whisper to re-pump the drying heart. Perhaps, articulating these love-filled sounds equates to that beloved a forced confession of feelings of guilt, fault, blame or acceptance of an unwanted judgment. If only it weren’t for one fact: when there is love, there is no need for defense. For, there can be no intended offense.

I have no further deliberations on the subject – at least nothing I find worthy enough as far as a personal thought in prose to share with you here. Instead, I have jotted down some reflective lines in the form of a hopeful poem:

the fragile soul had never been undressed this way

nor can it ever again

for it has decided to be a once-only lover

it should have known not to attempt a fatal risk

still it hasn’t regretted being so bare

before the one for whom it had stripped itself

of hopes expectations

guilt blame fault

judgments

the innermost turbulence yet trashed it apart

with as violent a tearing from its core as can be

into a blindness of the temporary kind

the ego blamed guilted the other

dared to hope and to expect 

not even massive masses of tears sufficed

to revive it from its raging death

from the beloved then it borrowed a new breath

stillness of the soul thus was demanded to prevail…

on its torturous path of an onus yet

it now opts in vain to regain courage

toward an ajar if not an open gate

for peace and salvation per the latest request:

not expecting

nor blaming

not faulting

nor guilting

not hoping

nor judging 

just being dead

as needed by all

but the dying soul itself

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

8.3.2015

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…when an ant is stepped on…

sad-woman

[Image Credit: CRUNCHPICS.COM]

my eyes in their fading shine

mistake specks of soil for something they are not

for fear to step on an ant

lest my shoe’s sole falls on one

but not hard enough for a merciful death

how then am i going to let die

a love of divine essence

one gasp for air at a time…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

7.30.2015

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“DESPAIR” by David Whyte

An exceptionally esteemed friend had introduced me to the writings of David Whyte a long time ago. His page is one of the few platforms where I spend meaningful time when my Facebook activities at large are concerned. Recently, I have come across the article below among many other thought-provoking deliberations by this renowned poet, author and public speaker. And today, my obvious intent – with reason – is to share with you his reflections on the concept of “despair” and our conceptualizations of this phenomenon.

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