glossolalia of earthed prays

For the last couple of days, I have been re-reading and reciting one particular part of a story from time to time, moving my lips, lightly breathing, hearing the words as my voice. Not a particularly musical story, yet, the words were already inscribed in the inner scape of my mouth. I believe,

it was the first day of the sounds.

“Rüyamda buz kesmiş düzlüklerde, […] sürüm aç, perişandı, sıcacıktı toprak, uyudum, derisi kabuk bağlamış bir hayvan sıcaklığındaydı, […], mutluydu sürüm, […], eşeledim, […] toprağın sert kabuğunu delip et yumuşaklığındaki köke saplandı, […], yeri göğü sarsan bir tıslamayla elime geldi kök, […]” (L. Tekin, Rüyalar ve Uyanışlar Defteri)*

English translation: “In my dream, on the frozen plains, […] my flock was hungry and miserable, the ground was warm, I slept, its skin, as warm as a scabbed animal, […], my flock was happy, […], I scratched, […] pierced the hard shell of the earth and got stuck in the flesh-soft root, […], the root came to my hand with a hiss that shook the heavens and the earth, […]” (Tekin, The Notebook of Dreams and Awakenings).

With my notebook left at home, I try to recall the sentences of the story-yet, now I am alone with the scattered words inscribed in my mouth. I look into my palm, recalling an old trick, I consider whether I should have taken some notes in my palm to remember the now-scattered words of the story. My mouth and my palm share a certain sisterhood. I see the crooked intersecting lines-I would like to remember.

[…] sıcak […] toprak […] uyudum […] kabuk […] hayvan […] et […] yumuşak […]
English translation: […] warm […]earth […] I slept […] scab […] animal […] flesh […] soft […]

Now, I have the notebook in my hand, I go over the text-now quite quickly-without reciting all the words in their intact bodies. They are now dismembered within the fluid scape of my voice into sounds of letters-the words dissolved. I believe, it was the second day of the sounds.

“r…mda …esmiş” …rüm …cıktı …ak …uyu…isi… kab…ağlamış… van… eşe…delip…tısl…”

I recite again, and now, it is the sounds that I palp in my hand as if they are the flesh-soft roots. I believe, “it is the third day of the sounds” (A. Bely, Glossolalia).

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