Why tell about the dark wood

Midway in the journey of our life I came to myself in a dark wood, for the straight way was lost.  Yaşam yolumuzun ortasında  karanlık bir ormanda buldum  kendimi, çünkü doğru yol yitmişti. Ah, how hard it is to tell the nature of that wood, savage, dense, and harsh — the very thought of itContinue reading “Why tell about the dark wood”


From Simulacra and Simulation, Jean Baudrillard Such is simulation, insofar as it is opposed to representation.  Representation stems from the principle of the equivalence of the sign and of the real (even if this equivalence is utopian, it is a fundamental axiom).  Simulation, on the contrary, stems from the utopia of the principle of equivalence,Continue reading “Sıralanabilir”

Spirits of another sort

PUCK My fairy lord, this must be done with haste, For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger; At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, Troop home to church-yards: damned spirit all, That in cross-ways and floods have burial, Already to their wormy beds are gone; For fearContinue reading “Spirits of another sort”

Those be rubies

Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander every where, Swifter than the moon’s sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green: The cowslips tell her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies,Continue reading “Those be rubies”

Unreal City – Çiçek verir mi bu yıl?

  Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where SaintContinue reading “Unreal City – Çiçek verir mi bu yıl?”

Forgetful snow

Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Kış, bizi sıcak tuttu, örterek  Yeryüzünü unutkan karla; besleyerek Küçük bir yaşamı, kuru yumru köklerle.  from “The Wasteland/Çorak Ülke,” T.S. Eliot Çeviren: Yaşar Günenç

Then again, it is still March

April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Nisan, en zalim ay; doğurtur Leylakları, ölü topraktan; harmanlar Anıyı ve tutkuyu; kışkırtır Ölgün kökleri bahar yağmuruyla.   from “The Wasteland/Çorak Ülke,” T.S. Eliot Çeviren: Yaşar Günenç

Till human voices wake us

I grow old … I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Yaşlanıyorum …. Yaşlanıyorum … Pantolonumu yuvarlanmış paçalı giyeceğim. Shall I part my hair behind?  Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing,Continue reading “Till human voices wake us”