Her Dağın Gölgesi Deniz'e Düşer

“I was growing up… Under my grandmother I was growing up doing -innn. Letters came from my mother from time to time. My grandmother Xacê was making me read the letters and saying 'Hmm', mumbling something incomprehensibly. In the letters, 'How are the children doing?' Those who read the questions were sighing and looking at me. However, I had already forgotten my mother. But still, those who saw my elephant eyes under my crusty eyelids become sad for a moment, probably because of the oppressed and deep look of every child, attributed this to longing for their mother and orphanhood, and cried. Especially women... While the village women were trying to make you forget the pain, they would remind you more. Any woman who saw me on the road would call me and press me between her breasts. While I was inhaling the scent of femininity, motherhood and peasantry on them, they would hold the end of their scrolls and wipe their eyes. These intimate moments had now turned into a game that I was aware of and enjoyed.
When I saw women, I would bend my neck, approach them with slow steps, and wait for them to get angry and press me to their breasts.”
The story of an Alevi Kurdish village and its people.. .
The distant memory of "the Republic, which tried to fit into the body with its aphorisms, messages and laws, which was sometimes narrowed by the forceps hitting its waist, and whose seams were bursting in some places"...
1960s and 70s... Nurhak's age ...The dream of revolution by the "peasant who is used to receiving miracles from dreams, cure from hearths, and confession from grandfathers"...
And the nightmare of September 12, which accumulates the anger of "taking revenge for all times and everything"...
Evrim Alatas' From your pen that does not lose its joy even in anger and apocalypse.



Number of Pages: 261

Print Year: 2009


Language: Turkish
Publisher: Iletisim Publishing

Number of Pages: 261

First Printing Year: 2009

Language: Turkish