second real world

In ages of crude, primordial cultures, man thought he could come to know a second real world in dreams: this is the origin of all metaphysics. Without dreams man would have found no occasion to divide the world. ...

Nietzsche, in Human, All Too Human, [5]

Doğuran Dağ

Dağ doğuruyormuş bağıra çağıra,
Neler neler bekleniyormuş yeryüzünde.
Dağ fare doğurmuş doğura doğura.
Senin için yazıldı bu masal işte,
söze gelince mangalda kül bırakmazsın,
işe gelince kocaman bir sıfırsın.

Gaius İulius Phaedrus, Masallar

against everyone's advice

Alice happens to exist much against everyone's advice, so sees no reason why she should take anyone's advice.

zack and mimi make a porno, but this time, in a university

sanal ortamda haberler çabuk yayılıyor: bilgi üniversite'sinde bitirme projesi olarak porno çekilmiş, bunu duyan üniversite yönetimi bilgisayarlar ve server'lara el koymakla kalmayıp üç hocayı işten atmış. ha? ne pornosu? ee, herşeye porno denmesine alışık olduğumuzdan burada kastedilen ne acaba diye merak ettim önce. ama sonra projenin çekildiği stüdyonun kilitlerinin değiştirilip bilgisayarlara el konulduğunu duyunca o soru önemini çokça yitirdi benim için.

anladığım kadarıyla, tempo dergisi bitirme projesini çeken öğrenciyle söyleşi yapmış, bunun ardından cüneyt özdemir bunu köşesinde konu edinmiş, porno çekilmesini üniversitenin özgürlükçülüğünün, genelde demokrasinin bir ölçütü olarak sunmuş. yalnız bunu yaparken kullandığı dil de dikkat çekici: "Almanca konuşan çirkin insanlar" dan kimi kastettiğini anlamadım; memlekete kaçak sokulan alman pornolarındaki oyunculara mı diyor acaba? ayrıca yazarın okulda nasıl porno çekildiğine dair yazısı da aslında porno tanımına uyuyor: "Sözlük anlamıyla, cinsel dürtüleri harekete geçirmek amacıyla hazırlanan yayınlara porno deniyor." demiş bilgi vcd öğrencilerinin açtığı sayfada yorum yapan ibrahim. cüneyt özdemir'in ağzının suları akıyor, çok heyecanlanmış belli ki tempodaki habere:

"Lafı şuraya getireceğim, bugün çıkan tempo dergisinde müthiş bir haber var. İstanbul Bilgi Üniversitesi’nde bir tasarım öğrencisi, bitirme tezi olarak bir porno film çekmek istemiş. Hocaları şaşkınlıkla “Olur mu öyle şey” diye gevelese de öğrenci, “Hani nerede demokrasi, ifade özgürlüğü, burası nasıl üniversite” gibi afili sözlerle hocaları kafaya almayı başarmış. (Gözünü sevdiğimin özel üniversitesi!) Sıra gelmiş oyuncu bulmaya, bir kız arkadaşına rica etmiş, o da kırmamış kabul etmiş! (Ne arkadaşlar var görüyorsunuz.) Hocalar hâlâ itiraz ediyor, erkek oyuncu bulunamıyor, kız arkadaş bunalımda derken ekip üniversitenin stüdyosunda aslanlar gibi porno filmi çekmişler. Üstelik öyle yönetmen ve iki oyuncu değil, bayağı 6 kişilik set ekibi ile beraber." 

üç gün sonraki yazısında aynı yazar bu defa yönetimin davranışını eleştirir ve öğrencilerden yana bir tavır takınırken, öte yandan da bir bitirme projesi için rektörden izin alınması gerektiğini savunuyor. özdemir'in kimi neyi savunduğu belli değil. zaten yazının başlığı da "skandal içinde skandal", yani porno çekilmesini de skandal olarak algılıyor demek ki.

medyanın salyalarını bir kenara bırakıp olayın asıl müdahillerine gelirsek eğer, vcd bölümünün başkanı ihsan derman, bahsettiğim son yazıda gazete köşe yorumcusuna konuyla ilgili "Sonuçta biz projelerin, videoların içeriğine karışmıyoruz. Bu videoları teknik olarak değerlendiriyoruz. Verdiğim not da teknik yeterlilikle ilgili. Porno projesi olması benim değerlendirmemi değiştirmedi” demiş. Teknik olarak video çekmek (ya da herhangi bir ürün üretmek) ne demek ben anlamıyorum, içeriği ele almadan teknik nasıl ele alınır? porno da bir türdür, türü belirleyen bir amacı, estetiği, alt türleri, klişeleri vs. vardır. bu amacı sorguladığında ya da deştiğinde ortaya bir yorum (ifade) çıkar ve o ürüne zaten porno denmez. acana videonun konusu pornoydu da medyacılar mı çarpıttı diye düşündüm ve projeyi çeken öğrencinin söyleşisinden alıntıları okuyunca öğrencinin gerçekten de porno çekmek üzere yola çıktığı anlaşılıyor:

"Öyle bir şey yapayım ki, senelerdir kafamıza sokulan akademik özgürlüğün sınırlarını göreyim istedim. Çünkü üniversite demek, kullanılmayan müthiş bir özgürlük alanı demek. İleride porno yönetmeni olmayacağıma göre, -zaten istesem de olmaz; çünkü ticari olarak porno çekmek yasal değil- bunu yapabileceğim tek yer okuldu. Burada, kimseye zarar vermiyorsan her şey akademik koruma içindedir. Sınırların nereye dayanacağını merak ettim; hem beni, hem ekibi, hem hocaları, hem üniversiteyi, hem de özgürlüğün limitlerini zorlayacak olanın da porno olduğuna karar verdim." 

dolayısıyla amaç porno çekmek değil sadece, porno çekerek üniversitenin özgürlüğünün sınırlarını sınamak, bu da bir performans ya da dilerseniz eylem sayılır. Bu performans da amacına ulaşmıştır aslına bakarsınız, üniversitenin özgürlüklerinin sınırı sınanmış, medyanın özgürlüklerimizi kullanırken aldığı rol ifşa olmuş (altan rüzgar verince eteklerin başın üstüne gelmesi gibi), üniversite hocalarının yetkilerinin lafta kaldığı ortaya çıkmış (ne de olsa bitirme projesini onaylama ve not verme yetkisini kullananlar gerekçe gösterilmeden ve savunmaları alınmadan işten atılmış), ve bireysel mahrumiyet ile fikir ve sanat hakları hakları ihlal edilmiş (bilgisayar ve verilere el konulduğundan dolayı, üniversitedeki bilgisayar üniversitenin malı olabilir ama içindekiler değil). videoyu izlemedim ama bu performansı başarılı buldum görünür kıldıklarından dolayı. bu arada bir yönetmen de projeyi çeken öğrenciyi okulu çökertmekle suçlamış:

 "okul dahilinde porno çekerek akademik özgürlüğün sınırlarını test edeceğim" diyen süzme bir ileri zekalı; televole kültürüyle yetişmiş, "kendini tanıtmak için her şey mübah", "reklamın iyisi kötüsü olmaz" gibi ilkelere inandırılmış bir çocuk dikkat çekmeye çalışırken koskoca okulu çökertti.

son olarak, bilgi üniversitesinin görsel iletişim tasarımı ile fotoğraf ve video lisans mezunları, eski araştırma ve öğretim görevlileri de tepkilerini bir çağrı olarak dile getirmiş ve imza kampanyası başlatmışlar. yazıya göre içeriği müstehcen olan bir çalışmanın porno film olarak değerlendirilmesini, konunun medya tarafından çarpıtılması yüzündenmiş; porno olabilmesi için "izleyiciyi cinsel anlamda uyarmak amacıyla kurgulanmış olması, dolayısıyla bir izleyici kitlesini hedeflemesi, satılması, dağıtılması veya teşhir edilmesi gerekir." ev yapımı, kendin yap kendin tüket türü porno olmuyor diye anlıyorum ben bu cümleden. pornoya dair olan çalışmaların ya da erotik olan eserlerin porno olmadığına katılıyorum, yani ibrahim'in dediği gibi pornonun amacı, izleyici kitlesi kim olursa olsun cinsel uyarı sağlamaktır. bu nedenle Tinto Brass filmleri müstehcendir ama porno değildir çünkü belli bir estetik, belli bir erotika amaçlanmıştır. ve bu kritere eserin dağılması, satılması ve teşhir edilmesi girmez, durumu kurtarmak adına ünversitede üretilmiş olan herşeyin akademik olduğu iddia edilemez. ne de olsa bölüm başkanı "biz içeriğe değil tekniğe bakıyoruz" demiş.

şaşalı bir üniversitenin pulları dökülürken diğer yanda günün başka bir haberi ise parasız ve dershanesiz eğitim isteyen, pankart açıp gösteri yapan liseli öğrencilerin 63 yıl ceza istemiyle yargılanmasıydı. yüzeysel bir tezatın altını çizmek değil amacım bu haberi sona eklerken. kullanılmayan özgürlükleri kullanma haritası çıkarmak.

rosebush

Whoever reaches into a rosebush may seize a handful of flowers; but no matter how many one holds, it's only a small portion of the whole. Nevertheless, a handful is enough to experience the nature of the flowers. Only if we refuse to reach into the bush, because we can't possibly seize all the flowers at once, or if we spread out our handful of roses as if it were the whole of the bush itself -- only then does it bloom apart from us, unknown to us, and we are left alone.

Lou Andreas-Salomé, from her memoirs

ecological disaster

after another dubious climate summit this time in Cancun Mexico which was hijacked by the discourse of negotiations between the rich and poor countries of the Copenhagen summit last year, the fault in the collective imagination on ecological disaster revealed itself more clearly. the hollywood narrativization of catastrophic disaster which explodes and transforms the earth has for long time distorted our comprehension of the ecological change. we are waiting for a total collapse of the civilization, an end of the historical time, an indisputable apocalyptic moment. it seems to us that we have still time until that moment arrives. there is still time to discuss and evaluate. in the imagination, ecological disaster is projected as the individual death that is known to be inevitable, yet demands unbelief in order to continue living. in this sense, disaster is locked into the dimension of the categorical unknown.

discussions and arguments will not be able to create a shift in this imagination of disaster. what is needed is another modality of imagining the disaster; not as the disaster-to-come, forever in the future, but rather, as a disaster that has already happened: we are living in the afterwards of an ecological disaster. it has already happened and we haven't realized it yet. we need to act not in the face of a coming disaster, but as the survivors of ecological change that has already impacted every fields of our lives.

Toronto, June 2010

Anlatmam Derdimi

I wouldn't share my troubles with whom who have none
Those who undergo no trouble wouldn't know their value
My troubles are my remedy, I didn't know
Never can a rose be without a thorn

Aşık Veysel (serbest çeviri)

translation suggested by subversion:

I could not tell my troubles to those who have none
Those who suffer none, would know their worth none
Troubles of mine were remedy of mine, I didn't know
Never can a rose be without a thorn

yet another trial:

I would not tell my troubles to those who have none
Those who don't worry can not know their worth
my troubles were my remedies, I didn't know
never can a rose be without a thorn

Coda

Of the secret Word of	Silence, even our mother
tongue does not let us	speak, except by turn-
ing us away. Our true words.	The words never spoken
are here. The words that do not	inhabit a voice resounding
in the air, are here. Read	as if they were not sus-
ceptible to any pronun-	ciation, mutely transmitted. By
the eyes. Passing over the	taut string of gazes, they can
stretch to infinity. Touch-	ing no lip, passing over
no body, the clarity	alloted to words.
Only absorbing the light	of the pupils. Through the eyes.
The true words that connect	us, never reduced to these
sounds; we see them dis-	tinct, their forms appear
clearly. The words that	shine in the pen-
umbra whose meaning sparkles	through one of those rad-
iant days, neither timbre nor	melody, which remains always
the words, these words here.	Intention to divulge them;
but impossible to recount	them in a language that
is entrusted to the voice; perhaps	with numbers they resemble
them a little, although un-	pronounceable, Word of
Silence.

disappearing ink

It's quiet lately at the fortuneteller's.
To control content, use actions.

"X"--someone who
hasn't appeared yet, but

whose purpose we deduce.
I know it's there.
Love, I think.
Or maybe it was goodness.

So many hopes for the outside.
(O hunger, O equivalent)

I approach it calmly.
It spills into everything.

Kate Greenstreet

back...

so I am back here, to the city and to my beloved page, which now has a new theme of colors, until I get bored. Well, of the color theme I suppose.

uncivil anecdote

Dreaming allows for, supports, releases, brings to light an extreme delicacy of moral, sometimes even metaphysical sentiments, the subtlest sense of human relations, refined differences, a learning of the highest civilization, in short a conscious logic, articulated with an extraordinary finesse, which only an intense waking labor would be able to achieve. In short, dreaming makes everything in me which is not strange, foreign, speak: the dream is an uncivil anecdote made up of very civilized sentiments (the dream is civilizing).

Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text

when the inner fire meets the outer fire (dışı seni, içi beni yakar)

I take this as a description of dream-formation, i.e. as meeting of fires

For the eyelids --whose structure the Gods devised as a safeguard for the vision,--when they are shut close, curb the power of the inner fire; which power dissipates and allays the inward motions, and upon their allaying quiet ensues; and when this quiet has become intense there falls upon us a sleep that is well-nigh dreamless; but when some greater motions are still left behind, according to their nature and the positions they occupy such and so great are the images they produce, which images are copied within and are remembered by the sleepers when they awake out of the dream. And it is no longer difficult to perceive the truth about the formation of images in mirrors and in bright and smooth surfaces of every kind. It is from the combination with each other of the inner and the outer fires, every time that they unite on the smooth surface and are variously deflected, that all such reflections necessarily result, owing to the fire of the reflected face coalescing with the fire of the vision on the smooth and bright surface.

Plato, (Timaeus, 45d-46b)

Ey Sözlerin Aslın Bilen

Ey sözlerin aslın bilen gel de bu söz nerden gelir
Söz aslını anlamayan sanır bu söz benden gelir

Söz kılar kayguyu şad söz kılar bilişi yad
Eğer horluk eğer izzet her kişiye sözden gelir

Söz karadan aktan değil yazıp okumaktan değil
Bu yürüyen halktan değil Hâlık avazından gelir

Ne elif okudum ne cim varlığından kelecim
Bilmeye yüzbin müneccim tâalüm n’ıldızdan gelir

Şu’le bize Ay’dan değil aşk eri bu soydan değil
Rızkımsa bu evden değil deryâ-yı ummandan gelir

Biz bir behâne arada ayrık de elden ne gele
Hak çün emir eyler cana bu keleci ondan gelir

YÛNUS bir derd ile âh et kahr evinde neyler rahat
Bu derde derman kefâret bir âh ile suzdan gelir   

Yunus Emre (1240?–1321?)

the whisper

"one needs to lose oneself, in order to find,"
whispered Hayyam to my ear.
one needs to leave,
in order to arrive.

you won't be ever coming back here,
back to now
don't lament your traces
time will erase them all

a rain drop made its way
to the seed underground
what seems dead and silent
can come alive to light

je rêve, moi, je ne suis pas

this was something I wrote down after watching the film Léolo, Leolo's words that remained with me, it is a beautiful little film with a big heart, by the Quebecois director Jean-Claude Lauzon whom I just learned passed away in a plane crash.

the little proud duck

oh little duck
you're so proud
of your bright colors
of dark green and brown
so proud little duck

oh little duck proud
splashing waters around
as you land on the surface
of the shallow little pond
so small is the pond

oh little proud duck
I've crossed the oceans
flied with albatrosses
swam along with the whales
I've seen the biggest storms on earth
I've been to the eyes of maelstroms

the duck, proud and little
how bright are your colors
under the sunlight
what would have become of them
if you had ever left the pond

I love these friends of mine

My friends have many mountains,
Many mountains that I can breathe in
My friends have many houses,
Many caves that I could choose to live in

Yeah, you're a friend of mine
I love these friends of mine

borrowed from Marianne Faithful's song

cloud

I am the cloud
on which
a dream has landed

rastgele okumalar 2

Masalların Masalı

Su başında durmuşuz
çınarla ben.
Suda suretimiz çıkıyor
çınarla benim.
Suyun şavkı vuruyor bize,
çınarla bana.

Su başında durmuşuz
çınarla ben, bir de kedi.
Suda suretimiz çıkıyor
çınarla benim, bir de kedinin.
Suyun şavkı vuruyor bize
çınara, bana, bir de kediye.

Su başında durmuşuz
çınar, ben, kedi, bir de güneş.
Suda suretimiz çıkıyor
çınarın, benim, kedinin, bir de güneşin.
Suyun şavkı vuruyor bize
çınara, bana, kediye, bi de güneşe.

Su başında durmuşuz
çınar, ben, kedi, güneş, bir de ömrümüz.
Suda suretimiz çıkıyor,
çınarın, benim, kedinin, güneşin, bir de ömrümüzün.
Suyun şavkı vuruyor bize
çınara, bana, kediye, güneşe, bir de ömrümüze.

Su başında durmuşuz.
Önce kedi gidecek
kaybolacak suda sureti.
Sonra ben gideceğim
kaybolacak suda suretim.
Sonra çınar gidecek
kaybolacak suda sureti.
Sonra su gidecek
güneş kalacak,
sonra o da gidecek.

Su başında durmuşuz
çınar, ben, kedi, güneş, bir de ömrümüz.
Su serin,
çınar ulu,
ben şiir yazıyorum,
kedi uyukluyor,
güneş sıcak,
çok şükür yaşıyoruz.
Suyun şavkı vuruyor bize
çınara, bana, kediye, güneşe, bir de ömrümüze.

Nazım Hikmet
7 Mart 1958
Varşova - Şvider

rastgele okumalar

bir kitabı elime alıp rastgele bir sayfa açtım. bugünki okumam şu:

KORO

Bile bile, öykü öykü, gibi gibi

Bir kenti aradığımız, bir başka kentin

Adıyla aradığımız ve asıl bulmaktaki

Çözülmez güzelliğin . .

Kan!

Hem sonu hem doğuşu en gerçek ilkelliğin.

Edip Cansever, Tragedyalar I

the story of the little cloud

children have their own world, not regulated rigidly like that of adults, but still, there is something common, something that we adults still share a little with that world, and through which we can enter into that world often, luckily.

when my niece was about two years old, I read her a tale, a story of a little cloud who decided to leave his parents and travel the world, as a nap time reading. her attention span was short and she was distracted after a while, I thought that the five page story was too long for her. we reverted to well known stories. many days later when it was time for nap, she asked me to read her the story of the cloud, amazed that she remembered the story I nevertheless asked which story she is talking about, I wanted her to tell me about it. "you know, the little cloud that you read me" she said. I read the story from the beginning again and this time she was more patient. later, I would make her tell me the story, she would look at the few drawings and narrate the story in her own way of liking. this was two years ago and I only see her during the summer time not for a very long time. yesterday I was talking to her before she went to bed on webcam and I asked her how the cloud is doing? she didn't ask me which cloud. she asked whether I would like to see it and brought me the book with the drawings of the scenes about the adventures of the little cloud.

children are curious things, like little clouds.

in search of the dream

What’s the price?
“Is the price of living a dream much higher than the price of living without daring to dream?” asked the disciple.
The master took him to a clothes store. There, he asked him to try on a suit in exactly his size. The disciple obeyed, and was very amazed at the quality of the clothes.
Then the master asked him to try on the same suit – but this time a size much bigger than his own. The disciple did as he was asked.
“This one is no use. It’s too big.”
“How much are these suits?” the master asked the shop attendant.
“They both cost the same price. It’s just the size that is different.”
When leaving the store, the master told his disciple, “Living your dream or giving it up also costs the same price, which is usually very high. But the first lets us share the miracle of life, and the second is of no use to us.”
from In Search of the Dream, Paulo Coelho

a definition of dreams

Unauthorized appearance of suppressed longings behind a false face and under a false name.

Cark Spitteler - "My Earlier Experiences," 1913

Basho on poetry

Learn from the pine

Learn about pines from the pine, and about bamboo from the bamboo.

Don't follow in the footsteps of the old poets, seek what they sought.

The basis of art is change in the universe. What's still has changeless form. Moving things change, and because we cannot put a stop to time, it continues unarrested. To stop a thing would be to halve a sight or sound in our heart. Cherry blossoms whirl, leaves fall, and the wind flits them both along the ground. We cannot arrest with our eyes or ears what lies in such things. Were we to gain mastery over them, we would find that the life of each thing had vanished without a trace.

Make the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things --mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity-- and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.

One should know that a hokku is made by combining things.

The secret of poetry lies in treading the middle path between the reality and the vacuity of the world.

One must first of all concentrate one's thoughts on an object. Once one's mind achieves a state of concentration and the space between oneself and the object has disappeared, the essential nature of the object can be perceived. Then express it immediately. If one ponders it, it will vanish from the mind.

Sabi is the color of the poem. It does not necessarily refer to the poem that describes a lonely scene. If a man goes to war wearing stout armor or to a party dressed up in gay clothes, and if this man happens to be an old man, there is something lonely about him. Sabi is something like that.

When you are composing a verse, let there not be a hair's breadth separating your mind from what you write. Quickly say what is in your mind; never hesitate aa moment.

Composition must occur in an instant, like a woodcutter feeling a huge tree, or a swordsman leaping at his enemy. It is also like cutting a ripe watermelon with sharp knife or like taking a large bite at a pear.

Is there any good in saying everything?

...

Eat vegetable soup rather than duck stew.

Matsuo Basho

secret

best dreams are --
kept secret

I am There

I come from there and remember,
I was born like everyone is born, I have a mother
and a house with many windows,
I have brothers, friends and a prison.
I have a wave that sea-gulls snatched away.
I have a view of my own and an extra blade of grass.
I have a moon past the peak of words.
I have the godsent food of birds and an olive tree beyond the kent of time.
I have traversed the land before swords turned bodies into banquets.
I come from there, I return the sky to its mother when for its mother the sky cries,
and I weep for a returning cloud to know me.
I have learned the words of blood-stained courts in order to break the rules.
I have learned and dismantled all the words to construct a single one:
Home 

Mahmoud Darwish

Confessions # 1

In one of my previous jobs, I was asked to write letters on behalf of my employer who already had an assistant for that task. The letters were meant to be simple one or two sentences expressing regrets of declining a certain invitation to attend a certain meeting or gratitude of being invited to such a well-organized event. Not being in a position to decline the task I was given, and at the same time out of fury that I was asked to perform a basic task that someone in the position of my employer is supposed to be able to do, and adding to that, that my employer had an employee whose main task was to perform what I was asked, I wrote these letters of at most two sentences with an overtly stylized language which sounded too sophisticated that rather indicated an arrogant mockery than sophistication.

My employer liked the letters that I wrote so much that he kept asking for more.

I took a Kafkaesque pleasure in my secret revenge.

What happens to a dream deferred?

HARLEM
Langston Hughes


What happens to a dream deferred?


Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?


Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.


Or does it explode?

one of those moments, travelling in time

Hajo (Hans Joachim Rose), Self-Portrait, 1931

fire, gaze, the thing (or das ding)

“the outer gaze always alters the inner thing…by looking at an object we destroy it with our desire, that for accurate vision to occur the thing must be trained to see itself, or otherwise perish in blindness, flawed.”

Ben Marcus, The Age of Wire and String

time

When one doesn't run, time passes slowly.

"In childhood everything is near, everything is immediately present, there isn't the possibility of distance, of an overview, every moment appears to be an eternity."

Peter Weiss

Take off your words they get in the way...

Narcissus

"Narcissus knew that he could never have himself. But if he'd had a photograph maybe his tragedy would have been avoided."

Vik Muniz, Mirrors; Or, 'How to Steal a Masterpiece'

There are no paradises other than lost paradises.

J.L. Borges

Conversation with a stone

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I want to enter your insides,
have a look round,
breathe my fill of you."

"Go away," says the stone.
"I'm shut tight.
Even if you break me to pieces,
we'll all still be closed.
You can grind us to sand,
we still won't let you in."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I've come out of pure curiosity.
Only life can quench it.
I mean to stroll through your palace,
then go calling on a leaf, a drop of water.
I don't have much time.
My mortality should touch you."

"I'm made of stone," says the stone,
"and must therefore keep a straight face.
Go away.
I don't have the muscles to laugh."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I hear you have great empty halls inside you,
unseen, their beauty in vain,
soundless, not echoing anyone's steps.
Admit you don't know them well yourself."

"Great and empty, true enough," says the stone,
"but there isn't any room.
Beautiful, perhaps, but not to the taste
of your poor senses.
You may get to know me, but you'll never know me through.
My whole surface is turned toward you,
all my insides turned away."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I don't seek refuge for eternity.
I'm not unhappy.
I'm not homeless.
My world is worth returning to.
I'll enter and exit empty-handed.
And my proof I was there
will be only words,
which no one will believe."

"You shall not enter," says the stone.
"You lack the sense of taking part.
No other sense can make up for your missing sense of taking part.
Even sight heightened to become all-seeing
will do you no good without a sense of taking part.
You shall not enter, you have only a sense of what that sense should be,
only its seed, imagination."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I haven't got two thousand centuries,
so let me come under your roof."

"If you don't believe me," says the stone,
"just ask the leaf, it will tell you the same.
Ask a drop of water, it will say what the leaf has said.
And, finally, ask a hair from your own head.
I am bursting with laughter, yes, laughter, vast laughter,
although I don't know how to laugh."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in."

"I don't have a door," says the stone.

Wislawa Szymborska