Saf and Dobra are back lately. You may recall that these two puppets love and hate Turkiye. Usually they reside in the recesses of my mind – and are more present in M., who loves-hates his country of birth, depending on the news of the moment. So much change and such great shifts are seen by those from afar. So many dualities to embrace that it becomes painful – the propaganda in the newspapers in the morning calling glory to the uber-prepared soldiers ready to take the PKK, and the small notes in the evening edition about numerous boy soldiers dying, even more than the day before. Perhaps it is this experience of duality in presentation that has Saf and Dobra in a mood that led them to choose this particular poem, one that gets at the inherent “weirdness” as Wislawa Szymborska writes about it…
Three weirdest words
When I pronounce the word ‘Future’,
Its first syllable is already in the past.
When I pronounce the word ‘Silence’,
I destroy it.
When I pronounce the work ‘Nothing’,
I create something that doesn’t fit in any non-existence.