east room fiction
Orange County
Once upon
a time there was a land that bordered on the great ocean, and the people who
lived there saw the waves of the ocean in front of them and the vast gardens
with trees in their back. Their houses were built to face the ocean, and they
worked in the gardens of fruit trees.
When the sun began to sink at the end of the day, the people of Orange County
would gather at the shore, and their eyes would follow the movement of the
surf, as it rose and fell. Their eyes would catch the silver outlines of the
door that separated them from the sky, but when many of them looked at the
door at the same time and focussed their eyes on it, they could begin to see
the signs.
These were the moments of great joy for the people of Orange County. When
their eyes met together above the surf in the frame of the door, they would
begin to dream and float inside the waves they were not allowed to surf in,
since it was forbidden. But their dreams carried them forward.
Orange
County
Es war
einmal ein Land, das grenzte an das grosse Meer, und die Menschen, die dort
lebten sahen die endlosen Wellen des Wassers vor sich, und die weiten Obstgärten
hinter sich, die sich bis an den Horizont erstreckten.
Ihre Häuser waren so gebaut, dass sie auf das Meer blickten. Tagsüber
arbeiteten die Menschen in den Obstgärten.
Immer wenn die Sonne unterging am Ende der Tage, versammelten sich die Menschen
am Ufer, und ihre Augen verfolgten die Bewegungen der grossen Wellen, wie
sie sich hoben und senkten und ihren Schaum verspritzten.
Ihre Augen
trafen die silbernen Umrisse der Tür, die sie vom Himmel trennte.
Wenn aber viele Menschen zur genau gleichen Zeit auf die Tür blickten
und ihre Augen anstrengten, dann konnten sie die Zeichen lesen.
Dies waren Momente eines grossen Glücksgefühls für die Menschen
von Orange County. Wenn ihre Augen sich über den Wellen im Rahmen der
Tür trafen, konnten sie beginnen zu träumen, und sie schwebten auf
den Wellen, auf denen sie nicht surfen durften, weil es verboten war. Ihre
Träume aber trugen sie vorwärts.
(Johannes Birringer)
west room fiction
Ölü deniz
Bir
varmõs bir yokmus. Uzun zaman önce insanlar "Ölü Deniz"
denen yerde yasarmõs. Deniz alabildigine uçsuz bucaksõz, kara ise okyanus
kadar enginmis. Gökyüzünün o karanlõk su yüzeyine
aksettigi zaman canlanõrmõs ölü deniz. "Ölü"
denmesinin sebebi belki de gökyüzündeki yõldõz sayõsõ kadar
yaslõ oldugundan, ya da sadece bilinmezligindenmis.
Yiyeceklerini yerlatõndan toplar, denizin o agõr aksak yüzeyinde derin
rüyalara dalarlarmõs. Peki nasõl olmus da simdi burada onlardan arta
kalan sadece bir avuç toprak ve birkaç yagmur damlasõ? Sanki
toprak denizi, gökyüzü ise topragõ yutmus gibi. Birbiri içinde
kaybolmus küreler; Damlalar okyanus, tanelerse o koca kara parçasõnõ
olusturmusken, her ne olduysa topu topu bir gün içinde birbirlerinin
içinde yok olup gitmisler.
Olacak sey mi? Belki de bu anlatõlanlar bir rivayet, topluca uydurdugumuz
bir kurmaca. Ama bu kurmacanõn elbet devamõ var…
Bilinen bir gerçek var, o da Ölü Deniz’den arta kalanlar…
The Dead Sea
Once upon
a time people were living on a wide bay, where the vast earth and the unknown
ocean met.
The days were dark. Only at nights the water was waking up to give light,
as it reflected the skyglobe. That’s why maybe this place used to be
called "Ölü Deniz" in their language –now we know
it means "Dead Sea". Or it was named as such because no one knew
how old and how big this vast mirror was.
People enjoyed living on that border line where the two endless planes met.
They collected their food from the soil and entered the dreamworld on the
moving surface of that silver liquid.
But everything changed in one night. That was the time of the "Purple"
winds coming every houndred and twenty years from the east. What was left
behind was a dune of soil and some drops of rain. It was as if the earth had
swallowed the sea and the sky had swallowed the earth; The spheres were lost
inside each other…
(Ayse Orhon)
