"the anosognosia of everyday life",-

 

Pesonal Unorthodox Crepiderianism

Tonight, as I stepped out

to get a whiff of fresh air

I heard a snail say to a slug:

"belief  in an illusion

is itself  illusory

as lack of belief 

when the subject

is your very self

being totally competent

in your own incompetence,"

Was it malice or stupidity

that transmitted those words to me?

(what I  learned from David Dunning, 1999)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BdnH19KsVVc

NIDUS

 A FABLE FOR ALL CREATURES

There were too many eggs

all hatched at the same time

or so it seemed

for time has little meaning

for eggs

or for hatchlings.

They all checked themselves 

for appendages 

for instincts

and for mouth and teeth.

and naturally, for balance

then they scuttled or careened away.

except for one who had no tail,

he realized.

and no balance 

and with strange thoughts.

of living an unbalanced life 

shunned by all.

until a little boy picked him up in warm sweaty hands

he had no companions also.

for he had a tail

a fabulous friendship started.

they shared the one tail

but also many tales

that each made up.

Their own story was not the only one I heard

but i forgot all the others.

and  wanted to share this before it also was forgotten

If you come across a tailless lizard and a boy with a tail

ask them for other tales 

and record them 

and please share them also

with all those who have something missing

and maybe tails will grow back one day

and missing parts appear,

making everyone a unique complete tale.

SENILITY

 

Olden days are remembered 

sadly

vividly

when you are about to sleep 

or wake

to a palaver

heard 

and almost understood

involving hunters and game

adults and secrets muttered. 

which drift away 

leaving miracles

every day

to a fading sun 

a favorite cat or two 

and a tough to fulfil desire

to stretch 

as though

those days are within reach

Ahmet

25.05.2021

BLOCK

 Writer Suffers but Remembers days of imported wisdom and joy:

At a time when creativity seems to have flown out of the drilled cranium, aome memory cells work double hard to make up.

This is a review of "Nile Shadows" by Edward Whittemore, a favorite book of a favorite author.

 

Ahmet Celebiler

5.0 out of 5 stars One of the Great Novels of Humanity

Reviewed in the United States on September 13, 2010

Verified Purchase

I paid $330 for a copy of this book in 1999 and never regretted it, not even when i loaned it to never receive it again. I went on and bought this copy so that i could read it again in 2002, and i am not a rich person (sometimes dumb, but not rich.)

It is a depressing book because of the atmosphere and the feeling that all the characters are at the end of their times, yet full of the wonder of the days of humanity and the desire to live.

History and tragedy and comedy are all intermingled with two old socialite ladies who were originally maids, living on a houseboat and mummies whose dust pervade the dusky atmosphere. People who are wise beyond their status and foolish because of theirs roll in or sneak in, have their say and disappear to sometimes appear in other guises and other vices.

Whittemore grips you, pleases you, makes you both a participant and a ruthless observer, but never a judge or a jury.

You do not take sides when faced with a flood of water or emotion. You accept it for what it is, but always soak youself in it because it is there.

This is not an easy book to read. The terrific style (one must also give credit to Judy Karasik, the editor) is for the reader who enjoys good literature more than the reader who boasts of his speed-reading ability. The characters would be better appreciated by people who have traveled and met and observed other people and other cultures and other locations even if only in books, as long as they have tried to see from their perspective.

Ahmed, the poet manager/receptionist (no blood relation to me), sums it up in the book "Life is a merciless and mysterious arrangement of logic for a futile purpose". Whittemore uses up all three adjectives to excellent effect in Nile Shadows in regard to people, their actions and world events: merciless, mysterious and futile.

A MEMORY OF A FRAGMENT OF EARLY LIFE

 The street where I was born and lived on and off; the one where I still live is called "BehindPalace" possibly because of My great grandfather's long gone mansion or the imposing German Consulate in a way the word "behind" loses its meaning.

Up to 1954, there was only the ten room wooden house with its two station wood heated Turkish bath (which still survives in protest against the mis-care of a somewhat distant cousin who listens to music and wears the same brown tight fitting leather jacket from which I avert my gaze every time we meet) a large wooden door, a short drive-way for horse carriages, two ruins, (a foundation and a cistern) , and a dried up well, hidden by thirty feet or higher walls. The street was about fifteen feet higher, but street vendor and playing children sounds would filter through the antique masonry.

STREET BEYOND THE PALACE

It was a narrow street of cobble stones

used for playing football

and then paved with asphalt 

not only for hopscotch by the few girls

but other imagined ball games

while I watched from the corner

on days I dared to leave the high- wall- bound garden

with its rusted car chassis intact with a stick shift or hand break,

 a three feet tall foundation,

away from a well with its hole half in the wall 

and a cistern next to the large wooden gate

on the steep slope named after a bearded grandfather leading up to the street 

where the soccer games were almost as interesting as the bugs and the birds of the garden

and the fruit trees and the foundation where a treasure stayed buried

and the old cistern containing mutilated bodies of discarded linoleum.

My soccer career consisted of the two times I was asked to join one of the teams,

and I missed kicking the ball just as I woke up.

until similar circumstances were presented some years later at school,

but fully awake for the misery.

Children and vendors mingled in my street streams,

both types of memory without artistic merit,

of an unfamiliar world of unknown kids and unappreciated food sold by hungry emaciated old men.

ACC

April 27, 2021

 UNKNOWN COSMIC CROUPIER

It is a mystery, a dream, 

or just an everyday day

The cards are dealt 

they are facedown

try to remember if  the deck is cut,

if it is a poker, pinochle or tarot or another other  deck.

it is of no consequence

cards that are given are given

a sneak view is not in the cards

learn to play a  many or more card no-peak game

not knowing the difference between an ace and a deuce.

What has been learned at home?

at school?

and in life?

ACC May 6 10, 2021

İÇLİ DIŞLI

 

'Birileri

İçimde yaşayanlar 

                         gözlerimle bakıyor

başka şeyler görüyorlar

Kulaklarımla dinliyor

              benim duyduklarımı duymuyorlar

Ağzımla tat alıyorlar

              yediklerini sanıyorlar

Burnum tıkalıyken 

                koku alıyorlar

        daha hoş

Ellerı, tenleri değiyor

         sevgilime. 

         çocuğuma

         kedime

Kıskanıyorum onları

Ahmet

12 Nisan, 2021