“and feelings were always smarter things than thoughts” - Andrea Gibson (1)

Lumikko (2)

I used to think that the reason why weasels were impatient and continuously running around had to do with them being constantly on the alert, feeling threatened by the environment, their vulnerable little bodies reside in. It turns out that they need to eat one-third of their body weight each day to survive. The state of panic is born out of hunger! That tiny ghost that you liken to a snowflake that can't decide where to fall in your poem, has all of a sudden turned into a survival story that doesn’t know what to do out of hunger and devours wood mice in one go! Which I think we've become more concerned with this state of survivability itself than what survives while boiling in the cauldron of the last judgement, or, more acceptably, the apocalypse.

Wherever you are, when we meet, we are surrounded by other voices. I hope your teammates can hear you even in silent places. I know how much you care about that togetherness. I will never forget the day I watched you run through that endless valley, I guess there was no other day where I observed you so focused and alive. You weren't just focused on the movements of the crowd ahead; it was an awareness on your face that grasped the volume of every single spark wherever the sunlight hit. You wanted to trust that others could live this moment with you. I think these days I find myself contemplating this the most, who do I want to trust when I pick up the paintbrush? Even though all the seagulls, faces, voices, and colors seem to be flowing away, I seem to be taking little stationary sections of time. Do you think that the few years I've been standing also give a chance to stop for a few seconds to what I've seen: What if, unwittingly, I make a connection between what I see and what I draw... Every time I look at this sea, I don't doubt my perception; actually, I doubt our way of seeing. The pink tone of the rocks does not serve your fascination. They are exactly that tone, those rocks, and green waters hit them. Because it’s possible that this entire scenery doesn't have to be full of dualities, just as how our words and feelings, the songs you whispered to me in my dreams, and the tiny little sand texts that we thought no one was laughing at flow like a river, those in front of me are constantly flowing too. Every color gives its place to another at different times of the day; it's not about Suomenlinna (3), it's about us. After all, isn't traveling (4) also a form of torment if travel is just dragging one's body from one place to another?

Traveling should still have different possibilities than the traces that tourists defame. When I read the love poem [Against Travel Love Poem (5)] that I found in the book Against Travel, I thought of you—distraction is the distance. Now my only concern is if we were to meet in that seaside town and look at the sea, won't we be tourists once more, or can we return to the points where we started without leaving a trace or any damage behind because it is but a passing dream?

I gave the example of that town as I’ve learned to appreciate its colors; nevertheless, time paints rocks differently in other towns, without a doubt. I also used  to think that this persistence comes from the place. There are, of course, different methods by which we can turn the clouds pink.

To comprehend time by following the shadows,

it's as if I'm making small additions to my rememberings

our dreams are somewhat like a recipe

even if we read together the whole recipe to complete it,

I think these journeys are for all the flavors that will smell different when we cook them

not to forget the generosity of the trees behind that day the children were running on the pink pavement

maybe the field was pinkish-white because they were able to pour the pleasure of playing games onto the pavement

or I was beginning to see all the frames in the colors that Ellen Thesleff (6) discovered during her travels in Italy.

which is why it’s a yellow afternoon with green seas surging and purple rivers flowing, but with the last depictions before vanishing of pale blue figures standing vaguely in front of them all,

we were all waiting together for the moment that we were sure would come

mourning colors have never been that charming and bright

When the waves are grown,

the sea is boiling,

and the sky has waged a war of color against volcanoes,

there will be plenty of remembering

while we are in a constant state of panic like a hungry weasel, maybe all these scenes we try to remember

will calm us down

At another time, wishing to meet your rhapsodic self again... Don't forget to take your yellow hat with you, please, just in case we are invited to the cats' caravan.

1 A quote from the American poet, writer, and activist Andrea Gibson

2 Finnish 'weasel'

3 Suomenlinna (Finnish), known as Viapori (Finnish) until 1918, is a naval fortification built on six islands (Kustaanmiekka, Susisaari, Iso-Mustasaari, Pikku-Mustasaari, Länsi-Mustasaari and Långören) located in the Finnish capital Helsinki. (Wikipedia)

4 "travel (v.) late 14c., "to journey," from travailen (1300) "to make a journey," originally "to toil, labor" (see travail). The semantic development may have been via the notion of "go on a difficult journey," but it also may reflect the difficulty of any journey in the Middle Ages.

5 Reference to a poem taken from poet Rachel Levitsky's experimental poetry book Against Travel/Anti-Voyage published by Pamenar Press.

6 Ellen Thesleff (5 October 1869 – 12 January 1954) was an expressionist Finnish painter, regarded as one of the leading Finnish modernist painters.

 Mine Kaplangı December 2022