for a while I do think about I am not the author or my authorship has died. I think my authorship had begun to fade and die away four years ago. it needs to identify the stuff which died; there is an ongoing authorship so that I am writing these lines. let us to say “literary authorship” which fell to its deathbed four years ago.one of the readers of edebifikir wrote already in her comments that I am not writing something “literary”. presumably, you can not write “literary” if you do not write poetry, story or novel according to this reader. it is understandable to detect this, because of this perception is fed continuously. it occurs a classification of “literary” under the conditions of the years which we live in. today, it had occurred and issued a classification according to the market shelves, money and other marketing conditions and put into operation.
I see and agree at the end of four years that my authorship of the “literary” had died. I am not a writer, literate, litterateur or what ever like that. I am a recordist. maybe you can add to this case that I have an amateur interest in literature and history.I am realizing my own situation better when I am scrutinize sezai karakoc’s poem “kalorifer” in e-mail group of edebifikir. although my brother sulhi says that my comments and critics on the poem was more poetry than the poem; my writings made the poem, kalorifer, historically and converted it into an archaeological object.while I argue that sezai karakoc`s poem, kalorifer, is not a poor poetry; It comes up that their perception about my writing is being moving away from “literary” to being engaging in me as recordist when I made the poem historically so that putting aside what friends looking forward from a poem. which last work has accomplished to capture me and disabled me to embody and register? in which I leave to scrutinize the work and release me into it? dostoevsky’s the brothers karamazov. maybe some stories from the anthologies which I confused recently.
I have to confess that one of the important reasons to why I live in this situation right now is to take the vocational education instead of the humanities and social sciences, or probably the child who wish to be a professor in history in the years of middle school before my authorship had died.probbably, I would not have my “literary” autorship to be suffocated and died by this saturation which I acquired if I hade satisfed my curiosity and educated me in the humanities and social sciences. well, I think I suffocated him a little bit, left him breathless. I will not blame the people because even the faults about the people much concern me: how ever I find my faults too then when I blame someone for trivial things.
nonetheless, I’m writing something in the most days of the week. I want to write every day, of course. but this wish comes up from me as a recordist? because my discipline and routine love comes up from my wish to be a regular recordist, collector and archivist. I have some writings which cause me a great relief when I write them finish and a kind of being satisfied. probably, some of my friends advise me to focus on this feeling of being satisfying and relieving and recommend me to take it as a basis.I am overseeing other sensitivities which I have not fulfilled yet and not get the balance of my wished pen. I hope allah will grant this to me.
In these days in which I did not want my phone ring and felt often into the desire to put aside writing and occupy with books and magazines in the library where the place I would write; I have realized well another aspect of the relation between people and my character as recordist, collector, archivist.the attributes of researchers were listed in our linguistics book in high school. I have had all of these attributes; mean while I have not paid a special effort to obtain them. the shadow of the child who wished to be a professor in history in the middle school was following me. I am face to face with this shadow again right now: there was not only the heap of personal “papers” when I looked into my archive. I had collected the material like the letter-photo-journal-poetry which belong to my grand father since my childhood. from my father, I hade got “köroglu book” which belongs to grandfather’s brother hamza cavus. afterward my father’s books and a small amount of letters which my grandfather wrote to him… my uncles, bünyamin teacher, a bag of letters in human time magazine, then a heap of paper like from bünyamin teacher’s manuscripts of early poetry to the photos. an unfinished novel which left to me by my sister when she got marry. like especially my grandmother’s marriage certificate, all kinds of documents which belongs to the relatives and friends. my brother in low yahya’s books from the years of the university which handed to me in lament after the research records were being sacrificed.
the reason which led me to write this article is that a friend of mine entrusted me a full bag of letters and pictures. now I am considering to open an office and to keep various burdens or the mementos which people does not endure in any way to carry. if you want also to entrust me for something, you can take my address from the editor of edebifikir and send it to me by e letter in which noted under which circumstances I keep your mementos. I am not joking, do not worry I will be very kind about your mementos. if you are serious, you can give your phone number to the editor of edebifikir. while your mementos are being saved in the room, I will began to search the traces of the child whose name is mehmet rasit and being killed while trying to be professor in history and the so the remedy for my authorship which was began to fade in early 2010 years. maybe I can get the opportunity of a “literary invention”, a “literary authorship” from my characters as recordist, researcher, collector, archivist in the end of this journey.
how can I express a farewell sentence? yet, have so much to write, to record and to collect…
well, read what I wrote and send me your mementos.
mehmet raşit küçükkürtül
(22 july – 12 august 2014)
virtual communication address:[email protected]
Translated by Muhsine Fatma Türk