la polisèmia

i si sóc polisèmica...

inspiration listening to Sezen Aksu's "gölge etme" (don't shadow me) and other songs

Yellow-shoed times (20.05.2007)

To J.

My feet wear yellow shoes as the shields thinner.

All those hands, hidden in songs, in voices, along streets, in gestures, find no shield stopping them.

Nails breathing between my lungs

and hands squeezing something inside.

Feeling tired most mornings...ah...

It was the time for the shields to become thinner.

Paper shields.

And J., his inner hands, made of bony words.

The other hands are wearing a ring he never told me about.

So the ring didn’t exist.

At first his hands were naked.

But a speechless ring appeared one day.

Quite a long time a go

Or not so long ago.

Far and near beings;

A vase next to a cat.

Those inner hands might cause my morning tiredness.

Luckily he’s not a surgeon, otherwise it’d be worse.

My thinner skin, my thinner flesh.

So many poems I’ve written for you.

So many poems you’ve read.

Collapsing walls to let grass, trees, flowers grow.

Bloom.

You won’t shadow me, J.

The words you, J., didn’t dare to say are hung next to my underwear, next to my colourful pantyhose, beneath invented suns.

A song by Gerhard Gundermann connects me to imagined scenes that seem to have happened.

They might have happened.

J. peels a piece of fruit.

I become some naked figure, some naked orchestra of soul-or-whatever and organs.

It had to happen.

It was necessary.

I smile.

The honour

Of feeling all those hands.

It’s what an orchestra needs...

And the orchestra closes its eyes.

Someone else’s arms.

The orchestra plays silence.

And then comes the desert.

A buried orchestra or some place for it?

What did you want?

What do you want?

Your rough hands smashed the instruments.

Your rough hands hit the walls with the instruments.

No walls and no instruments.

Just a yellow-shoed woman

In yellow-shoed times.

RENFE misteriosa i xifres perseguidores

17 de maig de 2007...
Probablement sonava "parandeh" (=ocell en persa, si no m'equivoco) de Googoosh, o alguna cançó de Sezen Aksu...

El dia en què parlàrem d'en Ieltsin, la Marilyn tenia masses rostres

I una Marilyn imaginària, com totes les altres, cridava, com a “The Misfits” (1961). Però sense dir res, sense veu. Ahir es feia estrany parlar d’en Ieltsin, com molts d’altres estarien pensant en parlar també d’ell. Vaig recordar fa dies i ahir també una fotografia de la Marilyn al rodatge de “the Misfits”, allà al mig de l’espai, seriosa, amb el cap ves a saber on, ella que a cada imatge semblava tenir un altre rostre, com si hagués estat un bon grapat de persones. Marilyn em confon. Després de parlar d’en Ieltsin i d’en Gorbi ens vam congratular, celebrant les nostres probabilitats de patir un càncer (un dia, sorpresa!) i com els homes de negocis que es feliciten, ens donem una mà. Flaire de mort, d'una mort com els sepulcres pintats de colors en un somni de ja fa uns anys. Millor de colors. O potser sense color, com un elixir bucal incolor. O sense color, com l’acte de rentar-se les dents o com el sexe, que no ve seguit de cap color i pot no tenir cap color, o tenir-ne tants que és com si no en tingués cap. Vam sospitar les nostres agonies perquè sí com qui parla de cuina, o de tofu. Ell parlava de la certesa d'una agonia inimaginablement dolorosa. Un punt de vista des de l'altra banda del mostrador. Jo havia pensat en probabilitats altes però no en certeses d'una cosa per l'estil. Però no és dolent parlar de punts finals que no se sap si són finals. Vaig mirar després rostres de la Marilyn, vaig pensar en Mongòlia. Començo a imaginar-me ara una Marilyn al mig de la plaça Sühbaatar, cridant. Sobta. Em vaig sentir confosa amb tant de rostre i a mesura que passava el dia, m’anava allunyant més i més, caminant per aquella cosa paral·lela o no. Els paisatges més enllà del tren eren més esplendorosos, amb so de vidre. Gent. Es parlà de Nepal. No-no-no...resposta utòpica sobre lluites armades. Com si no...veia un mort, un altre, un altre. Justícies llençades contra la paret, esclafades com globus d’aigua (plaf!). Trossos de goma. Escombra, escombra. Després no hi havia Bangladesh, i m’era aliena la lògica de les dinàmiques a les que m’havia acostumat a sentir a parlar, tot i que l’entenia. Malauradament hi ha aquesta mena de coses per entendre. I vaig esdevenint més inviable. En comptes de sentir la ciutat sota els meus peus, de sentir el sòl quan vaig descalça, sóc més com un globus. Globus contra la paret, globus que es deixa anar. I al matí, parlant d’en Ieltsin, responguérem a la vegada, continuarem a la vegada la meva frase. Seré cada cop més utòpica potser perquè veig que no queda tant, vam concloure a la vegada, com si fos un càlcul matemàtic senzill. I ens congratulàrem. Soja verda i caramels de cafè sense sucre dins d’una bossa blanca. Al vespre, sense haver pogut tornar els peus a les voreres, a les andanes, a les escales, al ciment, a les llambordes, a les rajoles, m’abraçà la veu sempre estranya i magnífica d'en Vice Vukov. Una veu que ho feia tot més estrany encara.

Soy sauce wants to trick you

Beware of soy sauce. You may think you are going just to buy some of it, but then something happens. Soy sauce tricks you (uhu!). You hold the bottle and something unexpected happens. I was holding the bottle.

And many things can be soy sauce.

Something suddenly clearly reawakens.

the crying frying pan

The frying pan was crying. What to do with a crying frying pan? Nobody expected it to cry, nobody thought it would cry. Frying pans don’t cry. After all she’s human, even though she’s mostly seen as a frying pan.But it helped her to think she was a frying pan, because frying pans don’t cry or aren’t entitled to cry...but to lie somewhere and do what they’re supposed to do.

en Murat és gran!

gran film....grans diàlegs....gran saviesa! uuuh!
(si si, vaig aconseguir capturar imatges de la pel.lícula....quina emoció. Diàlegs i bocins de film per a la posteritat!...bé capturant i desant imatges Dünyayı kurtaran adam (1982) és més compartible...)

you (too) are part of some Turkish movies

What I’m writing here is a homage to several Turkish movies from the 70es and 80es some consider trash cinema. They’re avant-garde and show a high do-it-yourself abilities and a good management of resources (see the golden gloves used in Dünyayı kurtaran adam (1982), by the sci-fi hero Murat –Cüneyt Arkın, the great, of course- then being used in Son savaşçi (1982) by one of the ninja.
*

When you watch the movie you’re creating it too. There’s place left for the imagination of the viewer/the one enjoying the movie. Simple items become symbols, something sophisticated if you want. You identify all objects, unlike in modern movies full of expensive special effects.Turkish actors in the 70es and 80es must have been happy since they could play plenty of different roles, even within a year. For example, Cüneyt the great, in 1982, in a couple of movies directed by Çetin Inanç, was a sci-fi hero who had to save the world (actually he didn’t save it since there was a second part of the movie, dünyayi kurtaran adamın oğlu in 2006, not directed by Çetin Inanç –oh- but by Kartal Tibet, where Murat again had to face many enemies to save the world)...and in Son savaşçi he was a rather modern hero who could fight against Turkish ninja (I say Turkish ninja because they’re not old-school ninja since they’re dressed uhm...how to say...differently and their swords aren’t katana but some kind of Arabic-style swords –I don’t know how to describe them- made of cardboard –but I heard Cüneyt’s character pronouncing “katana” as he was holding and trying one!!!). Then, another example is dünyayı kurtaran adam’s blonde (Füsun Uçar) and I’m quite sure that some of the nice monsters in Dünyayı kurtaran adam became ninja...or the supposedly-scary monster in Ölüm savasçisi (1984) (also known as Death Warrior).

***



and I’d choose the second one. Neither have I seen superman movies but I’ve seen some parts of the Turkish version (Süpermen dönüyor, 1979)...again the Turkish version wins.

***

These Turkish movies are kind of more human and not so violent (you see that when they hit each other they DON’T hit each other...and they don’t hit the rocks or stones, as is the case of Murat’s training sessions in Dünyayı kurtaran adam and actually, most weapons are made of cardboard, including the huge ninja stars, also used in Dünyayı kurtaran adam, of course). Seeing these films makes you feel that you too can be a hero, a sci-fi character, a ninja, a monster who demands hugs (they are like toys...ooooh...the nice red hairy monsters in Dünyayı kurtaran adam)...and above all, they have a great sense of humour. Any comedy made me laugh as much as these Turkish film.

Some facts to bear in mind:

-superman’s glasses. Where did they find them???? Pay attention to his shoes, making him even taller...strangely taller wearing those bell-bottomed trousers. I like the Olivetti typewriter in the movie

-if you have an old lovely-junk car, moskovitch, seat supermirafiori or whatever...don’t forget to have a look at the boot! There might be a man (...or a ninja; the scene would have been even better if it had been a ninja...)

-the enemies drive slowly in süpermen dönüyor and ninja move strangely.

-you can’t expect the way the stories go and end.... Ninja and ballet dancer beneath the sea and an oyster in Son savaşçi (?!) golden brain and swords in Dünyayı kurtaran adam (?!)

-stones are like dynamite. Don’t throw stones as they might explode.

-heroes MUST jump and Cüneyt is the Master. He was 45 when he starred Dünyayı kurtaran adam and Son savaşçi and most time he’s jumping, fighting and doing acrobatic shows. Well, Cüneyt is not human! Uhm..by the way, Cüneyt Arkın had studied medicine (...and Çetin Inanç, Law)



-sci-fi characters can wear fashionable 80es clothes and accessories, including silver colour headbands. Cüneyt’s Murat still wears the light blue eighties-style sweater in 2006.

-X-Mas decoration can be used to make your own galaxy (see süpermen dönüyor)
-there will be always some comment to add....

son (the end)

fa un dünyayı?

Inesperadament, “Dünyayı kurtaran adam”, grandíiiissim film de 1982. Avui q estava d’aniversari...mira. Ara només queda escoltar “hani” de Neco...clar, que no tinc gaire relació amb Turquia. Bé, la qüestió es que vaig rebre una visita i vam acabar parlant de Dünyayi kurtaran adam....ooh!!! Cüneyt Arkın (CÜNEYT THE GREAT), grandíssim actor de les Turquies...fent de Murat, amb les pedres, aquells rostres d’esforç extrem...Murat coratjóssss!. I he acabat el dia plorant de riure i contagiant el riure via Dünyayi k. a.....i no són poques les vegades que he vist escenes de la pel·lícula....AH! no, no l’he vist sencera encara...la tinc amb subtítols en anglès i en francès (les qualitats són diferents)...Hi ha molt de text als subtítols però les imatges despisten, tan impactants....no, no puc concentrar-me si estan sortint els abominables monstres vermells de peluix (noooo! No els tallis el cap, Murat! pobrissons, encara que facin aquelles veus guturals estil coco-de-sota-dels-llits) amb gestos entre barrio-sésamo-frankenstein-gossos de peluix amb ulls verds que venen als carrer...que m’entra el riure i els discursos del dolent-dolentíssim (quin figura també), amb molt de suc, queden a un segon pla. Primer hom s’ha d’acostumar a les escenes. Sí, he de veure la pel·lícula i més ara que he descobert que s’hi fa referència a l’Alcorà....Què en deurien dir a una pel·lícula de ciència ficció...que no és ni ciència ni ficció....(!). Ai...com no m’havia recordat abans dels grans herois turcs de 1982 avui que una servidora feia el 25 anys (25 anys com dünyayi kurtaran adam...quin honor!!!)....i tots ens sumàvem al quart de segle...neco, dünyayı i d’altres històries. Bé, Neco cantant “hani” (on?) (nerdeeee hani, hani, haniiiiiii!) i la mateixa dünyayi kurtaran adam es mereixen una entrada pròpia.

turning 25

Today I turned 25. Nothing special. Got up early as usual. Read some online newspapers, did several house chores, cooked, read and replied some mails and then I went to the univ. library because I didn’t want to stay at home the whole day. I don’t like Sundays because everybody fades and everything seems to stop and perish. I don’t exist on Sundays. At least I did something useful.

Today some people were born, some other died, some are crying right now, some are falling asleep, some feel happy.