What I want to say is that you will never know what I want to say.
2012-03-09
2012-03-06
Istanbul: Memories and the City - Orhan Pamuk
8
I feel compelled to add 'or so I've been told.' In Turkish we have a special tense that allows us to distinguish hearsy from what we've seen with our own eyes; when we are relating dreams, fairy tales, or past events we could not have witnessed, we use this tense. It is a useful distinction to make as we 'remember' our earliest life experiences, our cradles, our baby carriages, our first steps, as reported by our parents, stories to which we listen with the same rapt attention we might pay some brilliant tale that happened to concern some other person. It's a sensation as sweet as seeing ourselves in our dream, but we pay a heavy price for it. Once imprinted in our minds, other people's reports of what we've done end up mattering more than what we ourselves remember. And just as we learn about our lives from others, so, too, do we let others shape our understanding of the city in which we live.
13
In time I would come to dread those long festive lunches, those endless evening celebrations, those New Years' feasts when the whole family would linger after the meal to play lotto; every year, I would swear it was the last time I'd go, but somehow I never managed to break the habit. When I was little, though, I loved these meals. As I watched the jokes travel around the crowded table and my uncles laugh (under the influenc of vodka or raki) and my grandmother smilimg (under the influence of the tiny glass of beer she allowed herself) - I could not help but notice how much more fun life was outside the picture frame. I felt security of belonging to a large and happy family and could bask in the illusion that we were put on earth to take pleasure in it, though I had been long aware that these relatives of mine who could laugh, dine and joke together on holidays were also merciless and unforgiving in quarrels over money and property. By ourselves, in the privacy of our own apartment, my mother was always complaining to my brother and me about the cruelties of 'your aunt','your uncle','your grandmother'. In the evnet of a disagreement over who owned what, or the division of shares of the rope factory, or who would live on which floor of the apartment block, the only certainty was that there would never be a resolution. These rifts may faded for holiday meals, but from an early age I was aware that, behind the gaiety, these was a mounting pile of unsettled scores and a sea of recriminations.
16
God had chosen not to bind us to the city's fate, I thought, simply because we were rich. But as my father and my uncle stumbled from one bankruptcy to the next, as our fortune dwindled and our family disintegrated and the quarrels over money grew more intense, every visit to my grandmother's apartment brought me sorrow and a step closer to a realisation: it was a long time coming, arriving by a circuitous route, but the cloud of gloom and loss that the fall of the Ottoman Empire had spread over Istanbul finally claimed my family, too.
I feel compelled to add 'or so I've been told.' In Turkish we have a special tense that allows us to distinguish hearsy from what we've seen with our own eyes; when we are relating dreams, fairy tales, or past events we could not have witnessed, we use this tense. It is a useful distinction to make as we 'remember' our earliest life experiences, our cradles, our baby carriages, our first steps, as reported by our parents, stories to which we listen with the same rapt attention we might pay some brilliant tale that happened to concern some other person. It's a sensation as sweet as seeing ourselves in our dream, but we pay a heavy price for it. Once imprinted in our minds, other people's reports of what we've done end up mattering more than what we ourselves remember. And just as we learn about our lives from others, so, too, do we let others shape our understanding of the city in which we live.
13
In time I would come to dread those long festive lunches, those endless evening celebrations, those New Years' feasts when the whole family would linger after the meal to play lotto; every year, I would swear it was the last time I'd go, but somehow I never managed to break the habit. When I was little, though, I loved these meals. As I watched the jokes travel around the crowded table and my uncles laugh (under the influenc of vodka or raki) and my grandmother smilimg (under the influence of the tiny glass of beer she allowed herself) - I could not help but notice how much more fun life was outside the picture frame. I felt security of belonging to a large and happy family and could bask in the illusion that we were put on earth to take pleasure in it, though I had been long aware that these relatives of mine who could laugh, dine and joke together on holidays were also merciless and unforgiving in quarrels over money and property. By ourselves, in the privacy of our own apartment, my mother was always complaining to my brother and me about the cruelties of 'your aunt','your uncle','your grandmother'. In the evnet of a disagreement over who owned what, or the division of shares of the rope factory, or who would live on which floor of the apartment block, the only certainty was that there would never be a resolution. These rifts may faded for holiday meals, but from an early age I was aware that, behind the gaiety, these was a mounting pile of unsettled scores and a sea of recriminations.
16
God had chosen not to bind us to the city's fate, I thought, simply because we were rich. But as my father and my uncle stumbled from one bankruptcy to the next, as our fortune dwindled and our family disintegrated and the quarrels over money grew more intense, every visit to my grandmother's apartment brought me sorrow and a step closer to a realisation: it was a long time coming, arriving by a circuitous route, but the cloud of gloom and loss that the fall of the Ottoman Empire had spread over Istanbul finally claimed my family, too.
2012-03-05
星圖 - 楊牧
我們注定是要相遇的，在注定的一點。
並且也必然就是匆促，在抽象世界的某一點不期而遇，各自懷著心事，無窮的記憶，互相不交織的數不盡的往事，彼此不相干的數不盡的往事，獨立發生的情節，那樣有機地發展過，又似乎延續著，若有若無，只是沒有任何重疊的跡象，兩人的過去。
我們的面容流露關注，期望，和些許疲倦，因為累積的感情負荷而顯得疲倦，這於我這一邊是不可置疑的，雖然於你極可能未必--我猜測我之所以說「我們」如何如何，無非一種自我情緒對外的投射，選擇了你作為移情的目標，並沒有得到你的鼓勵，同意。我需要得到你的首肯才能這樣將你與我並舉嗎？若是我有足夠的嚮往，凡事對你讓步，你會容許我自由聯想，在我寂寞的長長下午的時刻，將你的神采和肢體一起擁抱於胸臆嶔巒曲折之處，你容許嗎？我但願能夠改變自己那種抑悒的臉色，當我步行，朝向那預言裏勢必湧現的一點；我但願能夠遺忘所有糾葛的過往的事件，以全部的坦誠和真實信義來到那準確的所在，詩和哲學的殿堂，昇華的音樂之宮，植物萌芽於剎那，動物在求愛，交配，生育，茁長，石礫在加強硬度，礦苗熾熱，隨時將自我點火燃燒。我寧可保有一和悅的表情，回歸少年好奇，歡愉的心，在風中步行，有時加快速度奔跑起來，朝那特定的方向前進，逆風。
假如我有甚麼祈求，那麼就是這些了：給我孤獨，於那孤獨的自覺中淨化觀察和想像；給我足夠的智慧，教我於大半時候保持一種從容，疏離，不置可否。我一路上念著這些，心中有那麼多的期待，朝向生命注定的一點步行前進。我看見彩翼的鳳鳥在空中飛，雲向天邊飄散，太陽在接近中央的位置猶豫等候，而月亮匿藏於地球的另外一側，幽昧吟哦：「綠毛釵動小相思，一唱南軒日午時；慢靸輕裾行欲近，待調諸曲起來遲。」假如你覺得我不必有所求，我就保持沉默，不再念那些，但請允許我期待一切於心中，朝你夢中迷離的世界步行前進。
並且也必然就是匆促，在抽象世界的某一點不期而遇，各自懷著心事，無窮的記憶，互相不交織的數不盡的往事，彼此不相干的數不盡的往事，獨立發生的情節，那樣有機地發展過，又似乎延續著，若有若無，只是沒有任何重疊的跡象，兩人的過去。
我們的面容流露關注，期望，和些許疲倦，因為累積的感情負荷而顯得疲倦，這於我這一邊是不可置疑的，雖然於你極可能未必--我猜測我之所以說「我們」如何如何，無非一種自我情緒對外的投射，選擇了你作為移情的目標，並沒有得到你的鼓勵，同意。我需要得到你的首肯才能這樣將你與我並舉嗎？若是我有足夠的嚮往，凡事對你讓步，你會容許我自由聯想，在我寂寞的長長下午的時刻，將你的神采和肢體一起擁抱於胸臆嶔巒曲折之處，你容許嗎？我但願能夠改變自己那種抑悒的臉色，當我步行，朝向那預言裏勢必湧現的一點；我但願能夠遺忘所有糾葛的過往的事件，以全部的坦誠和真實信義來到那準確的所在，詩和哲學的殿堂，昇華的音樂之宮，植物萌芽於剎那，動物在求愛，交配，生育，茁長，石礫在加強硬度，礦苗熾熱，隨時將自我點火燃燒。我寧可保有一和悅的表情，回歸少年好奇，歡愉的心，在風中步行，有時加快速度奔跑起來，朝那特定的方向前進，逆風。
假如我有甚麼祈求，那麼就是這些了：給我孤獨，於那孤獨的自覺中淨化觀察和想像；給我足夠的智慧，教我於大半時候保持一種從容，疏離，不置可否。我一路上念著這些，心中有那麼多的期待，朝向生命注定的一點步行前進。我看見彩翼的鳳鳥在空中飛，雲向天邊飄散，太陽在接近中央的位置猶豫等候，而月亮匿藏於地球的另外一側，幽昧吟哦：「綠毛釵動小相思，一唱南軒日午時；慢靸輕裾行欲近，待調諸曲起來遲。」假如你覺得我不必有所求，我就保持沉默，不再念那些，但請允許我期待一切於心中，朝你夢中迷離的世界步行前進。
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