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Anasayfa arrow Languages arrow English arrow The thing [a narrative on Omar Khayyam]
The thing [a narrative on Omar Khayyam]
Yazan SadıK YalsıZuçanlaR   
23.09.2008 18:27


I was not something that was called to mind in a moment of eternity.
This is how my story started.
In those times, grapes had not been created yet, but I was already drunk.
I say, in those times, because time was a moment.

In those times, I didn’t know that a moment was infinitely divisible.
A friend told it to me. A friend who had accompanied me and not let me alone in a night I had spent in the observatory watching the extraordinary motion of a star.
I call him the messenger. Like the star, he was. It was a message for me.


My friend had said that if a moment was infinitely divisible, then it was impossible for two people walking towards each other to unite.
As I listened to him, the horizon appeared before my eyes. A woman and a man were walking toward each other.
Their walk continued until eternity. Then I saw we were encompassed by ambiguity like a ‘thing’ as we approached each other.
The immense gap between us suddenly swallowed everything.
Now when I look from here, I see that a flighty young man and a curly-haired blond woman who are checking the wine bottles in a duty-free shop. For some reason or another, they mention my name as they enter the shop. For some reason, I say, but it’s pointless... Because I know that each time the wine is mentioned, each time someone sees a wine bottle, each time grapes are harvested, they commemorate me as if my soul was there.


Yet, it was not the wine that inebriated me. I have never tasted that wine. I don’t know how it tastes. Whether it’s red, white, rose, scarlet, aged, or fresh, no matter when or how it was produced or drunk, no wine has a trace of me.
But all the same, each time the word ‘wine’ is uttered, people recall my name.
I have never tasted the wine as an intoxicating drink.
But my intoxication grew gradually. To such an extent that a moment came, and I could neither recognize myself nor another.
That moment, when I entirely removed myself from existence, nothing meant anything anymore.
And at that very moment, I realized that ‘things’ alone don’t have a meaning.
But I was no longer was able to perceive this or enjoy a perception.
I had totally lost my power to perceive.
In the beginning, there was a border.
I used to see it all the time. It occasionally spread out and expanded.
I used to look and see the guardians of the threshold out there. Sometimes I could cut out the guardians and expand the borderline. I used to banish them and pillage the property.
It would all be mine.
Then, I used to retreat to my trenches.
In such times, I used to be able to observe where and how much wine was produced.
I used to see a time of seven hundred years.
Once in Verona, they produced two hundred seventy two million hectoliters of wine in a single year.

I saw it. Tractors, tankers and ships carried grapes to the city.
So many grapes―black, white, with seeds, and without seeds, large and tiny―were transported. They threw them in gigantic cauldrons. They washed, squashed and squeezed them in tanks that were the height of three or four men. As I watched, I thought about ‘oinos’. I saw it as ‘jain’ and ‘vain’ . It was the poets who drank the crimson wine the most. Their state of intoxication was matchless.
I have always feared their sharp wits.

translated into english by çiğdem aksoy


More [the thing.PDF] 


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