Tag Archives: reality

…a note to self: if not wise, seek advice…(Week One)

…while I respectfully post the quote below, I am well aware how a life reality shared by many of us determines whether or not we can indeed “follow what brings us alive”: from under the chains of the multitudes of moments forced upon us to be spent making a living for survival, doing “that which brings us alive” becomes an unaffordable luxury…

“What is truly a part of our spiritual path is that which brings us alive. If gardening brings us alive, that is part of our path, if it is music, if it is conversation…we must follow what brings us alive.” ~ David Steindl-Rast


[Photo Credit: WIKIPEDIA]

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In good company

As I do when I teach the undergraduate literature course – to help my students see beyond the inaccessibility of classical writers, I called for my imagination also for today.  I let it transfer me to the times of three such well-known literary names: Robert FrostFlannery O’Connor, Ray Bradbury.  The reason beyond the urge to gather a virtual literary circle to connect in one form or another (no ghost-calling séances here) to writers no longer living was not the course in question this time.  I had been working on a poem of loss part of last week.  Prior to that work, I had completed a short story centering it around the crime of honor killing.  Severe sadness had set in after both processes.  In moments like these, I tend to prefer not to bother my daughter or a friend.  I seek comfort in penned emotions of writers from a seemingly spectacular past.  The following words gave me the calm I had been seeking to achieve this time.  Not because they define joyous feelings but rather thanks to their affirmation of the one specific human state that motivates us to write – sadness in face of reality.  There are going to be other phases when I end up feeling the pull of sorrowful moments again.  And again.  Also then, I know, other penned words will come to help me ease them.  To reassure the reality of life is here to stay with its highs and its ills.  Here are the famed authors to state what we, too, experience day in, day out.



[Ray Bradbury (1921-2012)]

“You must stay drunk on writing

so reality cannot destroy you.” 

[Flannery O’Connor (1925-1964)]


“Writing a novel is a terrible experience during which the hair often falls out and the teeth decay. I’m always irritated by people who imply that writing fiction is an escape from reality. It is a plunge into reality and it’s very shocking to the system.



“A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a lovesickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.”


[Robert Frost (1874-1963)]




Robert Frost [Quote]

Flannery O’Connor [Quote]

Ray Bradbury [Quote]

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Writing as Sedation

The only time I was close to being drunk was in my very early twenties, among my parents, next to my fiance.  It was a lovely summer evening in Ankara, Turkey, where I finished schooling as he had.  He and I were enjoying our corner in the balcony of my parents’ living room over a cup of wine.  I remember becoming overly “happy” – for which there is a different term, I know.  What I could have possibly seen as problems back then, had left room for much laughter, most, originating from within me, not at a joke or teasing.  I could use that innocent joy today, for days to come, for that matter.  Don’t get me wrong: There is a wonderful factor outside me that makes me very happy, in fact.  I only mean for myself, once I close the door to my home, leaving myself behind any and all aspects of the outside world (minus the e-connections).  New realizations today make me long for a sense of being sedated.  Hence, the reason as to why the following quote has gotten its place here right now.  Thank you, Ray Bradbury! Thank you, dear reader, for listening!

You must stay drunk on writing

so reality cannot destroy you.

From: Zen in the Art of Writing



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Litanei (December 19, 2006)

heute noch spielt sie litany

heute noch in seiner pråsenz

er, vor ihr; neben ihr; in ihr


sie, halb? nicht mehr

eins mit ihrem ganzen wesen

eins durch seine liebe


heute noch beherrscht sie doch

der verdacht:

war sie die liebe

seines lebens,

wie sie gedacht,

wie er gesagt

die er nie habe stårker gefühlt

ihr gegenüber nur?

oder bloss eine phase

eine glückliche aber doch nur eine phase…


das erste treffen

das dem ewigen abschied folgte

mit verspåtung


heute noch spielt sie litany

heute noch in seiner pråsenz

er, vor ihr; neben ihr; in ihr


du gehörst ihr, sah sie schwerleidend ein;

ich håtte mich dir nicht offenbaren sollen

haben wir’s nicht verdient, hat’s nicht unsere magische liebe?

die sanfteste versicherung in seinen worten

sowohl in seiner stimme:

keine andere, absolut keine andere

habe ich je so leidenschaftlich

lieben können wie dich

ich liebe dich

ich liebe dich


jedoch kamen aus ihm auch die worte

sowohl die stimme, die der trennung ihren brutalen ton gaben


wie? dachte sie, tag und nacht

tag und nacht

tag und nacht…

in jenen dunklen




ewig langen




kann er mich liebkosen

voll mit sehnen

voll mit gefühl

voll mit verlangen

voll mit leidenschaft

überwaeltigt mit liebe

mit ihrer pråsenz

mit seele und wesen

mit verstand und herz

wie dann?

kann er mich hinrichten


ohne verweigern

ohne rücksicht

ohne nachdenken

ohne zögern

ohne seine sanftigkeit

wie dann?

kann er sachlich

hången auf mich

das zweite todesurteil:

ich kann’s nicht anders!

ich wollt’s nie anders!

gewöhn dich dran!


verteufelt human!

verpfutschtes leben noch daran!

wie långer muss sie noch leiden

sich von diesem leiden zu scheiden

wann ist’s genug

wann ist’s getan?


heute noch spielt sie litany

heute noch als ob in seiner pråsenz

als ob er, vor ihr; neben ihr; in ihr


was aber schmerzvoller…

der verdacht, der erbarmungslose verdacht…


seine worte sowohl seine tat

keine andere, absolut keine andere

habe ich je so leidenschaftlich

lieben können wie dich


…all dies sei nur erdacht…




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