Xınalıq Re-visited, 2015-2020.
One.
We’re heading to the road
Night of the news, through out the day;
The weather is very cold,
The road is long and windy.
I'm sitting behind
My mind is not yet clear,
Watching around
The houses fade away,
The trees are in order,
Flying blue plastics all around.
We stop.
An old cabin smashed by the wind
Snowstorm.
Howling dreams pass through my mind
Consisting of thick woods and pillars at night
Fragrance of town
Slow burning wood
Embers.
Outside has the widest darkness that you can take.
Second.
I'm sleeping among the humming
There is a strange timelessness in the smell of the night
Like everything is as always
Pending one step ahead
Shadows are too long
With light sprinkles falling on my shoulder
My ears, my nose and the edges of my eyes get numb
I wake up on white
It burns in its brightness
We are on the road again
What I see a little later takes my breath away
In a fine line in the valley
One wheel spacing in winding roads
Textures change with each step
All colors of cold and heat
Icey water sparkles on the rocks of the stream
Snowflakes like sand
I can't see ahead
The blizzard begins;
Direction is only one step forward
One step from a turn.
Third.
I follow the lines
I forgot where I was heading
And where I came from now
The lofty high wall of the valley
Searching for the sky
Spaciousness
I am walking on a slippery winding road
I move my hand between the rocks
Colors are purple, colors are yellow, white
The veins of rocks that bloom like flowers
Fish ear*
I'm at the bottom of the mountains
Two thousand three hundred meters above
I get a seashell on my hand
And one more
I always think of the Aegean, these seashells
Hollows of doric columns as in their bodies
(Fluted columns)
Arris, debris.
My iris
Running away, getting smaller
Like a pinhead
It reflects the mind
This is a journey to a profound place
Too far that you can't go without knowing that you're there
So endlessly
To such a narrow, such a thin unknown
Like the sun disappearing in the redness of the sunset
Now the perspective of the road is being deleted
As if disappeared destination
We are waiting to move between the mountains
Fourth.
Nobody passes
There are sounds of birds, the glimmer of water
The road is frozen, slippery
It's hard to walk
There is a Neva passing -fast-
A hennaed lamb tied on it,
In the cold of the air, his ears flapping with the wind
Another Neva is coming
we get it on.
I'm sitting in the back, the road is rainy
We are fast
Surrounding with cigarette smoke
I can't take my eyes from the steep rocks that move away
The window is misting with my breath
As if it is getting darker, the face of the day
I'm like in a dream
In such a distant, supreme, remote corner
I see your lights
The sky is getting bright
The riverbed is expanding
Mountains retreat back
I can now see them all
Fifth.
Roof on top of a roof
Houses made of dark small river stones
Ladders with multi-pane windows
Turd walls, patterns
Cold black, wood fire
Dark, deep dark, grayed soil
When time has stopped, it's like frozen here
Tombstones coming out of the snow like arrows thrown left
and right
I'm in one of those distant hills, where the houses lean on
the houses
Squeezed out of a peak, old aunts facing the opposing mountains
Used to the sinking day in the steamy still tea brews
Unlikely to believe
I don't raise my head
I just centered the two slopes right in front of me
I have already taken the valley in my hand
Fire is burning in my eye tip
Two thousand years without extinguishing
Blue coming out of the ground
The birds of the sky are for you
Sixth.
I walk a one-step cliff streets
The hedges of the fields stretched on the slope of the opposite hill
Like stitching marks
Dividing the white cold cover
I'm standing here with a cool breath
I remember the Caucasian kalpaks
Rattle sounds
The gaps of sheeps leaning against each other
A stick, a dog, a cardigan on the shepherd's back
No tree.
There are only branches here
The sound of the dog reverberating
All the hills are circulating
Disappears then
I was a little startled, my lips are asking;
-I want to go higher
Like a finite endlessness here
As if there is no longer beyond anymore, there is only the rest and the past
It is impossible to jump from top to another top
As always must go up and down,
the road is straight to see what it sees,
But it is obvious that not easy
Seventh.
The night comes down suddenly
A dark blue colored cover
The lights are on, the chimneys are smoking one after another
My hands hurt as they get warmer
How many winters melted waters, who knows how many springs flowed again...
I'm on such a strange time travel;
I don't want to return.
Playing in my ear:
Noah says, our language is his language
Nobody knows, a man who speaks here says
Here is the top of it - he shows: the ship is there
There is also a lake, pieces of wood float in it
As he tried to touch and catch (the wood) with his hand, it
vanishes from side to side…
The ruins of the shipwreck
He shows a path
-This is the way of fire that does not go out
I look through the houses stacked up a hill
As few street lights as you can count
Maybe three or five, they look like torches at the end of the pole
I look for the last time when I open the window
-I must return before it gets dark, without missing the road- I say
Frosty air makes you feel itself slowly
Eighth.
We are leaving shaken
I see the herd falling on the path of the mountains
Before spring comes and melts into the (river) bed
They're looking for the last green
They look at the dried branches of the berries
It's getting dark again slowly
What night is this I say
I close my eyes slowly;
Valley blows a whistle in my ear,
I don't understand what I hear.
This project commissioned for blackcrowsski, 2020.
https://www.blackmail.ski/en/perspectives-en/xinaliq-experience/