ذلك الرجل الغريب
رفتن به کانال در Telegram
لي في الحياةِ وَقتٌ مُؤجلٌ... أدركُه، ولا يُدركُني هو الآخر. @SafeIn1a_bot
نمایش بیشترکشور مشخص نشده استدسته بندی مشخص نشده است
275
مشترکین
اطلاعاتی وجود ندارد24 ساعت
+127 روز
+1930 روز
آرشیو پست ها
Why do you write? This is the question I've been asked most often in my writing career. Most of the time, they mean this. What is the point? Why do you give your time to this strange and impossible activity? Why do you write? You have to give an excuse, an apology for writing. This is how I have felt every time I have heard this question. But every time, I give a different answer. Sometimes I say, I do not know why I write, but it definitely makes me feel good. I hope you feel the same when you read me. Sometimes I say that I'm angry, and that is why I write. Most of the time, the urge is to be alone in a room, so that is why I write. In my childhood, I wanted to be a painter. I painted every day. I still have that childish feeling of joy and happiness whenever I write. I write to pursue that old, childish happiness, and that is why, for me, literature and writing are inextricably linked with happiness, or the lack of it, unhappiness. In my childhood, I felt happy. I painted a lot, and all the grown-ups were constantly smiling at me. Everybody was gentle, polite, and tender. I wrote all about this in my autobiography. I wrote about this in my autobiographical book, Istanbul. Now, some years later, I've received this great prize. This time, the same people begin asking another question. Aren't you a bit young to get the Nobel Prize? Actually, the question I've heard most often since the news of this prize reached me is, how does it feel to get the Nobel Prize? I say, oh, it feels good. All the grown-ups are constantly smiling at me. Suddenly, everybody is again gentle, polite, and tender. In fact, I almost feel like a prince. I feel like a child. Then, for a moment, I realized why sometimes I have felt so angry.
I still have that childish feeling of joy and happiness whenever I write.Listen to literature laureate Orhan Pamuk describe how he answers the question he's often asked, "Why do you write?" in his Nobel Prize banquet speech. The 2006 Nobel Prize in Literature was awarded to Pamuk, "who in the quest for the melancholic soul of his native city has discovered new symbols for the clash and interlacing of cultures."
ExistenceThere’s a difference between merely existing and truly living. Existing means simply being there, aware that you exist; living, however, means experiencing all that lies within that existence.
رباه، ما أنت فاعلٌ بي؟!
رجوتك في أن أكون موجودًا فحسب، كما أجد نفسي بين جدران غرفتي. غير أنني بقيتُ خارجها متلاشيًا، بل لستُ بموجودٍ أبدًا. حتى صار لي في هذه الدنيا البائسة وَحشةٌ قاتمة لا يراها أحدٌ منهم؛ أصابتني كما يُصاب المرء بالجذام، فتأكله جزءًا بعد جزء.
"يا إلهي، اجعلني أفكر بوضوح ونقاء؛ اجعلني أعيش وأحب وأُحسن التعبير عن ذلك بكلمات بليغة، اجعلني يوماً ما أرى من أنا."
سيلفيا بلاث
في الدراسة يتطلب منك امتلاك القدرة على فهم المسائل والعمل على حلها، أما في الكتابة فالفهم مطلوب، غير أن الحل ليس مطلوبًا دائمًا.
لستَ مدرس رياضيات لتقوم بحل تلك المسائل الباردة؛ فأنت تكتب لتفهم، والفهم وحده هو كل ما أرغب به. إذ لا تحتفي معظم النصوص التي أكتبها بالحلول، وإنما هي محاولة اقتراب خجولة من الحقيقة، حتى لو بقيت ناقصة أو غامضة.
لأن الأشياء تتضح أثناء الكتابة من تلقاء نفسها. في البداية يكفينا أن نفهمها فهمًا أوليًا، لا كاملًا ولا نهائيًا؛ فاستيعابها شأن تتكفل به الكتابة. وما إن تشرع فيها حتى يبدأ النص بكتابة نفسه، وحينها ستفهم ما استعصى عليك فهمه.
Writing demands understanding things, even if only half of them; what truly matters is the ability to comprehend.
”The world is full of people suffering from the effects of their own unlived life. They become bitter, critical, or rigid, not because the world is cruel to them, but because they have betrayed their own inner possibilities. The artist who never makes art becomes cynical about those who do. The lover who never risks loving mocks romance. The thinker who never commits to a philosophy sneers at belief itself. And yet, all of them suffer, because deep down they know: the life they mock is the life they were meant to live.”
Carl Jung
