Here I am again! I want to finish these blog entries as soon as possible so that I can resume to short stories I have started to write before Tet. There are three short stories waiting to be written. One of them came to my mind at the top of the mountain. When we arrived at the top, I asked myself the question “Is this all?” I was tired, breathing frequently and the sun was burning my skin as if I am a thin cigarette paper waiting to take flame. Everybody was looking down at the villages and the small fires in the forest. But my mind was somewhere else! I looked up and thought as if I wanted to go up more. I knew that this was impossible and I knew that I am trying to block myself with this obscure thought. In fact, what amazed me is this impossibility. There was no way to go upward anymore. That was the end of our challenge and the next is going all the way to announce everyone that we did it. I was bewildered with the fact that a three hours climb can make us satisfied with what we have done. If we did not do anything else but sit there for long time, it would not make any difference. Because the action of going up was the thing we were looking for, not staying at the peak of the mountain. Then I looked at the father and son again. Their happiness was far more than mine. The son was proud of his father and father was happy with the result of his hard-work. Instead of sending his son to a game café, he carried his son on his back to show him the beauty of his village. At that moment I have imagined this boy becomes a guide 10 years later and he brings tourists to this peak everyday. He remembers his father all the time he climbs the uphill and one day he tells his story to one tourist. I did not really figure out where the story will go but it can be a good beginning for a story which had back and fro movements inside.
* * *
I am a dump when it comes to finding a place without a map. Even I have the map in my hand I can not figure out where the north is and where I am exactly in the map. If J does not help me out probably I would never be able to get to the house of the Poet. We walked beside the lake and after 500 meter we turned left. First we went to a wrong street because I was over-confident with the map in my hands. I was like a prophet who knows everything about everything. Then J said we were on the wrong way. We turned back and this time without hesitation I followed her. After a while we were there, in front of “Stop N Go Café”.
We entered through an iron gate and saw a little wooden café at the left side. There was nobody inside. Actually it seemed to me like people already left this place long ago and there was no more business. I pushed the door gently to check if it was open. Surprisingly it was! We got in the wooden room and looked around. There were small tables and a few small chairs here and there. A few calligraphic letters and some drawings of the Poet were on the walls. But there was no coffee, no tea, no intellectual discussions, and no young people playing chess while talking about either politics or football. We were both disappointed!
Just we left the café and were walking towards the gate, a motorbike entered into the garden. I stopped her and ask her about the Poet. She smiled and told us that he is at home and the café is closed because of Tet. She also mentioned that the Poet is her uncle. When I asked her that if it was possible to see him and talk to him for a few minutes. She smiled again and said “Of course! He is always welcome to visitors”. We walked to the big house 10 meter from the entrance of the garden. We took off our shoes and entered into the house where he was playing chess with a young man.
The walls were full of calligraphic art pieces and there were pieces of poems almost everywhere in the room. When he saw us, he was more than welcome. He stood up as if some important guests came in and shook our hands. When I said I am from Turkey and J, my wife is from Thailand they were quite surprised. Probably we were the only Turkish and Thai people visited him. We sat and he himself poured us some tea. I said “Happy New Year” again with my regretful voice just because I forgot how to say it in Vietnamese again. J said it in Vietnamese. The poet whose name is Duy Viet was a journalist during 70s and after political fluctuations he quitted his job and started to have a silent life. Here, in this house, he was working on his calligraphy works, writing poetry and running a café for young intellectuals of Vietnam. When we entered the room, he stopped playing chess but later I continued for him against the young guy who I leant later was a friend of his son. Later his son and daughter-in-law also came. I asked them if there is any café like this in Ho Chi Minh City. They first tried to tell me a name but then they stopped mentioning the name because I guess it was not like exactly what I wanted or it was not similar to “Stop N Go Café”. Duy Viet looked at me and said “This is the only café for its kind and there is no more like this in Vietnam”. I smiled and nodded to show my faith in his words. Although it was not good news I was happy with the information. I told them that I am working in Ho Chi Minh City and I also write short stories –even started a novel but it goes in the speed of tortoise- when I have time. I also told them that I will translate the poem which already has been translated into 22 languages but not Turkish yet. J bought a calligraphic work from the shop, we drank tea and talked about poetry and writing for a while. I was happy somehow in a house of a poet but still there was something missing. I did not read a single poem of Duy Viet before coming to his house except for the English Translation of “There was universal love left in the world” which was in the booklet. All the walls were covered with calligraphic writings of which I could see some of them were Vietnamese, some were French but most were English. There were paintings and drawings of his portrait as well. We signed a big notebook which has been signed by many other visitors and we added some lines to a long writing which starts with “I would like to meet ….” Different people from different nations wrote lines about their own nations and he asked us to write something about Turkey or Thailand. I remember a few of them… I would like to meet a communist American, I would like to meet an Italian who can talk slowly, I would like to meet a Vietnamese who does not smile… I added one line to the page and same thing J did as well. I don’t know what she wrote and I will not write here what I wrote on that page.
We took a picture –this was the last picture before the camera flashed the red light and went off due to the dead battery- together with Duy Viet. This was also end of the bad luck came with my bad timing in cutting my toe nails.
After finishing our teas and listening to the sound of grumbling stomach of J, we left the house with joy. I really did not know what kind of poetry Mr. Duy Viet wrote but somehow being in a house of a poet was more than enough for me. Especially in a country where people do not really appreciate the work of art as they used to do in the past, it is more crucial for me to see someone who makes his life through his pen and his mind.
After we left, we ate one more time. Then I went to an internet café to search about him with the hope that I can find some translations of his works. Unfortunately all I found were Vietnamese sites. The English sites were mostly like mine, those who visited him and talked with him. Here is a few links I have found:
http://www.danceinsider.com/f2001/f216_1.html
http://www.ballofdirt.com/entries/3554/40263.html
http://www.thingsasian.com/stories-photos/1065
http://www.koanic.com/duy/duyzen.htm
Hiç yorum yok:
Yorum Gönder