DEATH AND AFTERLIFE OF THE PLOT IN TRANSLATION OF CULTURE

_ Dalia Staponkute Sayı 89, Mayıs 2006

The plot has not been executed but in translation of culture it became a convert who changed its character: the same and other Lazarus, the earthly Saint, who gets prayers and mockery equally. Translation of culture is translation wrapped up in richer historical and philosophical meanings. It is a luxury rope, which time manufactured to the modest term of translation. Under translations of culture I mean contemporary routes used by my generation.

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A MATRIMONIAL METAPHOR

_ Dalia Staponkute Sayı 97, Haziran 2006

You said: “…I thought our relationship’s deep meaning was concealed in the letters... you appeared to be special... it seemed that I was the one-and-only, irreplaceable, eternal one...”(The language of emotion is banal, though, in language, there is nothing more human than banality). Later on you understood that you trust texts more than you do people. A text is immutable; people – the opposite. A person changes while the text remains the same. A letter’s text. A document. A promise. An effect. A fact. A witness. When two people relate through letters, a sort-of third body takes up residence between them – a seducer and a traitor. Letters as go-betweens – letters between. Letters join souls but separate bodies. Letters are a way of life and death, a personal platform, an invisible stage, and essay, an inability to write otherwise, an inability to speak otherwise. Letters can create a person, though saying nothing about him.

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A NEGATIVE

_ Dalia Staponkute Sayı 101, Ağustos 2006

I've ve got many names and a tangled history, which occupies my centre as giant Hephaestus of rough glass shards masterfully joint together. The massive sculpture-mount bears a modern name: the Poet. A poet is a haystack of cold weapons in my heart. Not even a nameless vagabond, a scruffy cat, a stray dog or a global dove wouldn't dear to look for a snug berth in the Poet's bosom. A poet in a post-modern province is a cutting-edge loneliness resting on a rusting pedestal and covered in thick dust. These are not the only symbols that speak to my peculiarities. Once upon a time, I was famous with my ‘Venetian flower,' a perfectly circular wall-ring with defensive petal-shape turrets. Mediterranean civilizations have a deep knowledge of erecting walls with great precision.

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