Ama bu dikey kentte,bütün boşlukların dolmak, her betonarma blokun başka bloklarla iç içe geçmek eğilimi gösterdiği bu sıkıştırılmış kentte, duvarlar arasındaki boş dilimlerden, yönetmeliklerin iki yapı arasında öngördükleri en az uzaklıklardan, iki yapının arka arkaya vermesinden oluşan bir tür karşıkent, eksi kent ortaya çıkıyor; yapı aralarındaki boşluklardan, aydınlatma deliklerinden,havalandırma kanallarından taşıt geçitlerinden, küçük iç alanlardan, bodrum girişlerinden oluşan bir sıva ve zift gezegeni üzerindeki kuru kanal ağını andıran bir kent; işte eski kedi halkı duvarların sıkıştırdığı bu ağda dolaşıyor.
Italian journalist and writer (1923-1985)
Italo Calvino (October 15, 1923 – September 19, 1985) was an Italian journalist and writer of short stories and novels. Lionized in Britain and America, he was, at the time of his death, the most-translated contemporary Italian writer.
From: Wikiquote (CC BY-SA 4.0)
Alternative Names:
Italo Giovanni Calvino
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Italo Giovanni Calvino Mameli
From Wikidata (CC0)
The moment that counts most for me is the one that precedes reading. At times a title is enough to kindle in me the desire for a book that perhaps does not exist. At times it is the incipit of the book, the first sentences.... In other words: if you need little to set the imagination going, I require even less: the promise of reading is enough.” “For me, on the other hand, it is the end that counts,” a seventh says, “but the true end, final, concealed in the darkness, the goal to which the book wants to carry you. I also seek openings in reading,” he says, nodding toward the man with the bleary eyes, “but my gaze digs between the words to try to discern what is outlined in the distance, in the spaces that extend beyond the words ‘the end.
The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.
Cities also believe they are the work of the mind or of chance, but neither the one nor the other suffices to hold up their walls. You take delight not in a city's seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives to a question of yours. or to the question it asks you, forcing you to answer, like Thebes through the mouth of the Sphinx.
"And yet, in Raissa, at every moment there is a child in a window who laughs seeing a dog that has jumped on a shed to bite into a piece of polenta dropped by a stonemason who has shouted from the top of the scaffolding, "Darling, let me dip into it," to a young servant-maid who holds up a dish of ragout under the pergola, happy to serve it to the umbrella-maker who is celebrating a successful transaction, a white lace parasol bought to display at the races by a great lady in love with an officer who has smiled at her taking the last jump, happy man, and still happier his horse, flying over the obstacles, seeing a francolin flying in the sky, happy bird freed from its cage by a painter happy at having painted it feather by feather, speckled with red and yellow in the illumination of that page in the volume where the philosopher says: "Also in Raissa, city of sadness, there runs an invisible thread that binds one living being to another for a moment, then unravels, then is stretched again between moving points as it draws new and rapid patterns so that at every second the unhappy city contains a happy city unaware of its own existence.
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Có một lằn ranh: một bên là những người làm ra sách, bên kia là những người đọc sách. Em muốn mãi là một trong những người đọc sách, cho nên em luôn luôn cẩn thận giữ mình bên phía của mình. Nếu không niềm vui đọc vô tư lự sẽ chấm dứt, hay ít nhất là biến thành cái khác, không phải những gì em muốn. Lằn ranh ấy, nó mơ hồ, dễ bị xóa đi: Thế giới những người dính dáng tới sách theo nghĩa chuyên nghiệp ngày càng đông và có xu hướng tự nhập vào làm một với thế giới những người đọc sách. Dĩ nhiên độc giả cũng ngày càng đông hơn, song dường như những kẻ dùng sách này đặng làm ra sách khác đang ngày càng đông hơn những ai chỉ thích đọc sách và chỉ thế thôi. Em biết rằng nếu vượt qua ranh giới đó, dù chỉ như một ngoại lệ, do tình cờ, em tất có nguy cơ hòa lẫn vào cơn triều đang dâng này; vì vậy em từ chối bước chân vào một nhà xuất bản, dù chỉ trong vài phút.