un chien anadolu
Jedi Master
Here is a little strange phenomenon happened to me (or maybe I should say I witnessed) long time ago. I am not sure if this is the appropriate place in the forum to post but I wanted to share it and ask for opinions, comments if there are any.
Many years ago, when i was 18-19 I wrote a poem. It's a short, surrealistic one and all that I remember is that I wrote it at once. Of course I wrote it in Turkish. I will try to translate it into English, but it's hard for me since it is a surreal poem and sure it'll lose some meaning and rhythm because of my lack of English. But anyway my point is not to share the poem but the story so here I go :
Pierre
Pierre pouring a poem at the altar
His eyes in blood
His knees are the destiny of his each defeat.
Pierre washes his groin on the dome
His stomach ripped , pants are torn
Her head in her womb, his Mother is crying
Pierre thought he became a man
When he nibbled a crow in “Beforia”
Poets call him the bastard of the poetry.
First of all writing a poem with a title of a foreign name “Pierre” was a bit strange for me , especially for that age, but anyway this is surrealism after all.
2-3 Years after writing this poem I came across to a new published book in one of the literature magazines. The book had been originally published in 1970’s but this was the first time that it was being translated and published in Turkish. It was a book from Michel Foucault and the name was : I, Pierre Riviere, Having Slaughtered my Mother, my Sister and my Brother (Moi, Pierre Rivière, ayant égorgé ma mère, ma soeur et mon frère). Having interest on Foucault's work as a young man the book surely caught my attention and I decided to buy and read this one (of course not because of a relation between the books title and my poem in my mind. In fact I even had forgotten that I wrote such a poem) .
So I bought the book and started to read. The book is about a true, traumatic incident which took place in a village in France in 1835. Pierre, a half-mad, ignorant boy in his early twenties, took one day a billhook and slaughtered his mother, his 18 years old sister and 7 years old brother. After murdering them he ran into the woods but then in a short time he’d been caught and sent to prison. Most certainly he was a typical psychopath. And his motive for his massacre was freeing his father and himself from the tyranny of his mother. Then the trial begun. To cut a long story short, although there were some opinions that Pierre’s case was psychiatric rather then criminal he was sentenced to death. But he hung himself in his prison cell. Another bizarre thing is that he wrote a long and interesting memoir during his imprisonment in his cell. It is bizarre since he could barely read or write. He was an ignorant and dumb peasant boy after all.
So in his book, Foucault first tells about this incident, then gives the original trial reports, witness statements, opinions and reports from experts, medical and legal testimonies, police records and Pierre’s memoir etc.
I was reading the book gradually, a couple of pages everyday. After reading the following paragraph the first connection with my poem popped into my mind.
And the first line of my poem came to my mind :
“Pierre pouring a poem at the altar”
Well of course this wasn't a big coincidence at all, at least for me. But the relation between the words “Pierre” and “altar” with the incident caught my attention.
After reading more I learned that the mother was pregnant and an autopsy was done :
And another line from my poem :
“Her head in her womb, his Mother is crying “
Hmm, a little stronger connection or coincidence, whatever you call it. But being an analytical and skeptical person my best explanation was (and may be still it is) that this similarity was a product of a mathematical probability and nothing more than a coincidence. So I kept reading the book.
In the section of witness statements and Pierre’s interrogation we learn that several years ago he brutally murdered a baby crow which his brother and some other little boys from the village were petting. Then after he killed the bird he arranged a ceremony for the birds funeral and wrote a poem for the gravestone.
Well, the related lines in my poem :
Pierre thought he became a man
When he nibbled a crow in “Beforia”
Poets call him the bastard of the poetry.
A more stronger relation, huh ? And don’t forget the almost poetic memoir which he wrote and the last line of my poet : “Poets call him the bastard of the poetry.”
Also the word “Beforia” (originally it is “Evvelya” in Turkish, I translated it as Beforia . I’m not sure if this is the most appropriate translation since it’s a word play. ) is an invented term while writing the poem and the meaning is like “the land or realm of the past”
I must say my feelings and reactions toward this phenomenon have been always like a 3rd persons feelings who came across something interesting. And still coincidence is my favorite answer but I am not sure. So any comments are welcome.
Many years ago, when i was 18-19 I wrote a poem. It's a short, surrealistic one and all that I remember is that I wrote it at once. Of course I wrote it in Turkish. I will try to translate it into English, but it's hard for me since it is a surreal poem and sure it'll lose some meaning and rhythm because of my lack of English. But anyway my point is not to share the poem but the story so here I go :
Pierre
Pierre pouring a poem at the altar
His eyes in blood
His knees are the destiny of his each defeat.
Pierre washes his groin on the dome
His stomach ripped , pants are torn
Her head in her womb, his Mother is crying
Pierre thought he became a man
When he nibbled a crow in “Beforia”
Poets call him the bastard of the poetry.
First of all writing a poem with a title of a foreign name “Pierre” was a bit strange for me , especially for that age, but anyway this is surrealism after all.
2-3 Years after writing this poem I came across to a new published book in one of the literature magazines. The book had been originally published in 1970’s but this was the first time that it was being translated and published in Turkish. It was a book from Michel Foucault and the name was : I, Pierre Riviere, Having Slaughtered my Mother, my Sister and my Brother (Moi, Pierre Rivière, ayant égorgé ma mère, ma soeur et mon frère). Having interest on Foucault's work as a young man the book surely caught my attention and I decided to buy and read this one (of course not because of a relation between the books title and my poem in my mind. In fact I even had forgotten that I wrote such a poem) .
So I bought the book and started to read. The book is about a true, traumatic incident which took place in a village in France in 1835. Pierre, a half-mad, ignorant boy in his early twenties, took one day a billhook and slaughtered his mother, his 18 years old sister and 7 years old brother. After murdering them he ran into the woods but then in a short time he’d been caught and sent to prison. Most certainly he was a typical psychopath. And his motive for his massacre was freeing his father and himself from the tyranny of his mother. Then the trial begun. To cut a long story short, although there were some opinions that Pierre’s case was psychiatric rather then criminal he was sentenced to death. But he hung himself in his prison cell. Another bizarre thing is that he wrote a long and interesting memoir during his imprisonment in his cell. It is bizarre since he could barely read or write. He was an ignorant and dumb peasant boy after all.
So in his book, Foucault first tells about this incident, then gives the original trial reports, witness statements, opinions and reports from experts, medical and legal testimonies, police records and Pierre’s memoir etc.
I was reading the book gradually, a couple of pages everyday. After reading the following paragraph the first connection with my poem popped into my mind.
And the first line of my poem came to my mind :
“Pierre pouring a poem at the altar”
Well of course this wasn't a big coincidence at all, at least for me. But the relation between the words “Pierre” and “altar” with the incident caught my attention.
After reading more I learned that the mother was pregnant and an autopsy was done :
And another line from my poem :
“Her head in her womb, his Mother is crying “
Hmm, a little stronger connection or coincidence, whatever you call it. But being an analytical and skeptical person my best explanation was (and may be still it is) that this similarity was a product of a mathematical probability and nothing more than a coincidence. So I kept reading the book.
In the section of witness statements and Pierre’s interrogation we learn that several years ago he brutally murdered a baby crow which his brother and some other little boys from the village were petting. Then after he killed the bird he arranged a ceremony for the birds funeral and wrote a poem for the gravestone.
Well, the related lines in my poem :
Pierre thought he became a man
When he nibbled a crow in “Beforia”
Poets call him the bastard of the poetry.
A more stronger relation, huh ? And don’t forget the almost poetic memoir which he wrote and the last line of my poet : “Poets call him the bastard of the poetry.”
Also the word “Beforia” (originally it is “Evvelya” in Turkish, I translated it as Beforia . I’m not sure if this is the most appropriate translation since it’s a word play. ) is an invented term while writing the poem and the meaning is like “the land or realm of the past”
I must say my feelings and reactions toward this phenomenon have been always like a 3rd persons feelings who came across something interesting. And still coincidence is my favorite answer but I am not sure. So any comments are welcome.
