Sometimes people ask me where i live, and i don’t really know what to say—not because i’m travelling, because i don’t really feel like i’m doing that anymore. I mean i’m moving around a lot, but it’s not like a holiday or something, it’s my way of life now—i travel, therefore i am.
So i don’t know what to say because it seems sarcastic to say i live in the world, but that’s how i feel.
If i wanted to get really sarcastic i could say, Right now i’m living at Sunay’s breakfast place—later i’ll be living on the ferry to Kadikoy.
But actually this is less sarcastic and more truthful than anything i could say about the places where i sleep at night from day to day, because what’s important is not where you live (what building, what city), but how you live—that you live, and that you live wherever you go.
Redemption and the Hope for Understanding through Liberation from Separation
As part of my haphazard research into the divergence of East and Western cultures, I picked up a copy of Moris Farhi’s first book of poems, Songs from Two Continents on my tour of Turkey with Mum and Rashid.
This is the first poetry i have read from a Turkish poet, and the second book of any kind by an author from Turkey—the other being The Flea Palace by Elif Şhafak, a Márquezian novel i am picking my way through slowly, the second book i have attempted to read in its entirety on an eReader, the first being, foolishly, Plato’s Republic.
Between Socratic dialogue and the pithy poems of Moris Farhi, there couldn’t be a much greater divide. The first poem is quote worthy not only for its sheer brevity, and is just a taste of the redemption-through-passion theme pursued in the collection: