işte öyle bir şey…. (Çok yakında, bu sayfalarda)
Yüzyıllar önce, Löker’den bir dolu fotoğraf almış idim. Benim birtakım pozlarım, Serkanlar’ın grubun (six) karizmatik fotolarının yanında bir de bir sokak fotoğrafı vardı, gece çekilmiş, şuydu:
Geçen gün işte o sokakta yaşamakta olduğumun ayırdına vardım…
Daha önce illaki yazmışımdır, hipster zen işleri, yok at aslında gerçekten çok iyi çıkmış, Po Lo aferin demiş (“When the horse arrived, it turned out indeed to be a superlative animal.“) ille açıklama zorunluluğu, daha da beteri ille de teyit ihtiyacı. Bütün dünyayı açıklayalım arkadaşlar, açıklanmamış köşe bırakmayalım.
The world was filled with forgotten places that had been something else once, had contained something else once, renamed by whatever you did there now.
Jeff VanderMeer, “The Absolution”
Fiddler’s Green Chesterton’ın suretine bürünüyordu, Netflix’in dizisinde de Stephen Fry oynamış, ne kadar isabetli bir seçim, çok da yakışmış (ama nein, diziyi hiiiiiç seyredesim yok, ne gerek var ki!)
(Halbuki neler diyecektim ki ben kim bilir?) Anlatı, başka anlatıların bittiği yerden başlar: Canavar/düşmanlar yenilmiş, kasaba kurtarılmıştır. Büyük bir ziyafet hazırlanır, herkes mutludur. Kurtaranlar kalmaya karar verir, ilk günler, aylar yıllar minnetle güzel geçer. (Yazarım yine).
Mesela 7 Samuray’ın sonu:
Afterward, Kambei, Katsushirō and Shichirōji stand in front of the funeral mounds of their comrades, watching the joyful villagers sing while planting their crops. Katsushirō and Shino meet one last time, but Shino walks past him to join in the planting as Katsushiro contemplates whether to stay or go. Kambei declares to Shichirōji that it is another pyrrhic victory for the samurai: “The victory belongs to those peasants. Not to us.”
Akira (Pamuk) Kurosawa ve Yedi Samuray
veya Dark Tower, Waste Lands, Ka-tet yaşlıların “River Crossing” kasabasını terk ettikten sonra:
“I just don’t see why we didn’t stay,” Jake said. “The blind lady invited us, and we didn’t get very far, anyway. I’m still so full I’m practically waddling.”
Eddie smiled. “Me, too. And I can tell you something else: your good friend Edward Cantor Dean is looking forward to a long and leisurely squat in this grove of trees first thing tomorrow morning. You wouldn’t believe how tired I am of eating deermeat and crapping rabbit-turds. If you’d told me a year ago that a good dump would be the high point of my day, I would have laughed in your face.”
“Is your middle name really Cantor?”
“Yes, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread it around.”
“I won’t. Why didn’t we stay, Eddie?”
Eddie sighed. “Because we would have found out they needed firewood.”
“Huh?”
“And after we got the firewood, we would’ve found they also needed fresh meat, because they served us the last of what they had. And we’d be real creeps not to replace what we ate, right? Especially when we’re packing guns and the best they can probably do is a bunch of bows and arrows fifty or a hundred years old. So we would have gone hunting for them. By then it would be night again, and when we got up the next day, Susannah would be saying we ought to at least make a few repairs before we moved on—oh, not to the front of the town, that’d be dangerous, but maybe in the hotel or wherever it is they live. Only a few days, and what’s a few days, right?”
Roland materialized out of the gloom. He moved as quietly as ever, but he looked tired and preoccupied. “I thought maybe you two fell into a quickpit,” he said.
“Nope. I’ve just been telling Jake the facts as I see them.”
“So what would have been wrong with that?” Jake asked. “This Dark Tower thingy has been wherever it is for a long time, right? It’s not going anywhere, is it?”
“A few days, then a few more, then a few more.” Eddie looked at the branch he had just picked up and threw it aside disgustedly. I’m starting to sound just like him, he thought. And yet he knew that he was only speaking the truth. “Maybe we’d see that their spring is getting silted up, and it wouldn’t be polite to go until we’d dug it out for them. But why stop there when we could take another couple of weeks and build a jackleg waterwheel, right? They’re old, and have no more foot.” He glanced at Roland, and his voice was tinged with reproach. “I tell you what—when I think of Bill and Till there stalking a herd of wild buffalo, I get the shivers.”
“They’ve been doing it a long time,” Roland said, “and I imagine they could show us a thing or two. They’ll manage. Meantime, let’s get that wood—it’s going to be a chilly night.”
But Jake wasn’t done with it yet. He was looking closely—almost sternly—at Eddie. “You’re saying we could never do enough for them, aren’t you?”
Eddie stuck out his lower lip and blew hair off his forehead. “Not exactly. I’m saying it would never be any easier to leave than it was today. Harder, maybe, but no easier.”
“It still doesn’t seem right.”
They reached the place that would become, once the fire was lit, just another campsite on the road to the Dark Tower. Susannah had eased herself out of her chair and was lying on her back with her hands behind her head, looking up at the stars. Now she sat up and began to arrange the wood in the way Roland had shown her months ago.
“Right is what all this is about,” Roland said. “But if you look too long at the small rights, Jake—the ones that lie close at hand—it’s easy to lose sight of the big ones that stand farther off. Things are out of joint—going wrong and getting worse. We see it all around us, but the answers are still ahead. While we were helping the twenty or thirty people left in River Crossing, twenty or thirty thousand more might be suffering or dying somewhere else. And if there is any place in the universe where these things can be set right, it’s at the Dark Tower.”
“Why? How?” Jake asked. “What is this Tower, anyway?”
Roland squatted beside the fire Susannah had built, produced his flint and steel, and began to flash sparks into the kindling. Soon small flames were growing amid the twigs and dried handfuls of grass. “I can’t answer those questions,” he said. “I wish I could.”
That, Eddie thought, was an exceedingly clever reply. Roland had said I can’t answer . . . but that wasn’t the same thing as I don’t know. Far from it.
Stephen King, Waste Lands (Dark Tower III)
Ben bu muhabbetin “Wolves of the Calla”da geçtiğine emindim. Alıntıyı yapmak üzere kipatı açtım, aklıma ne geldiyse (“one more day”, “help them”, “stay”, “help”, “leave”) beyhude arattım. Sonra ChatGPT ile (DeepSeek’den kelli bu aralar kafası biraz bozuk gibi mi, ne) sohbete koyulduk. Burada değilse belki “The Stand”dedir, orada da Boulder Free Zone’u rahatlığından ötürü terk etmekten biraz reluctant olmuşlardı hem, o muydu acaba? Ona da bakalım, nein Davut, o da değilmiş… Peki Dark Tower’da başka şöyle yaşlılardan (“elder”) mürekkep bir köy var mıydı? Aaaa, yes bak sen şimdi söyleyince hatırladım, e Waste Lands’deki “River Crossing” vardı ya kııııız! Ah zo, what a fantastic shave bazoo! Tenks men, you’re welcome, if you ever want to chat more about The Dark Tower (or any other books), you know where to find me. Ka is a wheel! 🚪⚡ (nasıl sevmesin deli gönül şimdi bu AI’ı! Robot-overlords, neredesiniz, haydi bekliyorum, gelin artık yaw…)
Kalıp ne yapacaklardı, manavcılık mı? Hoş, Travis Baldree’nin “Legends & Latte”sindeki ork leydi/beybi manavcılık değil de, baristalık yapmaya koyuluyordu ama o sayılmaz çünkü kipatın sonunda yine kavga çıkıyordu, kasabayı kurtarıyordu…
