DILAVER DOGER

(Nome d’arte Dilawer Zeraq)

Dilaver Doger è nato nel 1965 a Farqin, nella provincia di Diyarbakir. Ha finito i suoi studi, elementari, medie e liceo a Farqin. Nel 1985 ha finito la Facoltà di matematica all’università di Dicle. Dal 1996 scrive in kurdo. I suoi scritti sono stati pubblicati nei giornali come Welat, Welatè Me, Azadiya Welat, e nelle riviste come Rewsen, Jiyana Rewsen, Rewsen-name,Kevan, Zend, Demokrat, Peyv, Pènus ù Kovara W’. Dal 2008 scrive come editorialista sul giornale Azadiya Welat. Scrive anche racconti per la casa editrice  Lis.

BIBLOGRAFIA

-Kakil (racconti brevi), casa editrice Si, 2002, Istanbul (Premio per i racconti in kurdo del 2002, della casa editrice APEC Förlag (Svezia).

-Bisirina Sermini, (racconti brevi), casa editrice ARAM, 2003, Istanbul

-Sevèn Winda Wèneyèn Mechul, (Romanzo), casa editrice Lis, 2005 Diyarbakir

- Çilkên Pênûsê (racconti brevi) casa editrice LÎs,2008 Diyarbakir

-Ferhenga Biwêjan (dizionario, Tirkî-Kurdî), a cura dell’ Istituto Kurdo di Istanbul 2005, Istanbul

-Jiyanê Li Îstasyonê Dest Pê Kir (racconti brevi di Jaklin Çelik, tradotti dal turco), casa editrice LÎS, 2007, Diyarbakir

-Mirina Li Madrîdê, (racconti brevi di Oya Baydar, tradotti dal turco), casa editrice LÎS, 2007, Diyarbakir

-Ejdehayê Sêserî, (racconti brevi di Leyla Erbil, tradotti dal turco), casa editrice LÎS, 2007, Diyarbakir

-Gelaciyên Bajarê Nû, (racconti brevi di Müge Iplikçi, tradotti dal turco), Wesanên LÎS, 2007, Diyarbakir

INJURED  DREAMS

It  has been three days that my body has been washed with useless water.

There is a strange tiredness over me and my loose behaviours make my dreams go astray.

The barber hasn’t left the phone since the moment I came. Sometimes he is bent,he holds the phone closer to his ear and mouth, speaks with a hoarse tone and attracts my attention on him. Sometimes he is excited and he is hiding his inside world from the mirrors of the world with a loud useless laugh.

The big mirror in front of me shows as much as forty square meters of the surrounding. There are smaller mirrors surrounding it. The images reflected from smaller mirrors comes together in the big mirror which is in the middle and forms a crowded image in front of my eyes. Because of this confusion I feel much more useless and become a passive watcher.

And the things which were whispered into my ears when I was in bed in the sunrise reverberate in my ears and make me loose in this confusion. It makes my head explode.

In fact this unlucky headache brought me to the barber and it makes me feel weaker on this barber chair. The barbershop is in a narrow street. All the tools and equipments in this barbershop have been tidied up carefully and nicely but reflecting nothing from the misely and poverty of the street. In this barbershop I feel the modern face of the city which is a hundred meters away. The parfume and the lavender smells like the natural flowers. The tools and equipments in the shop are nice enough but it is possible that masters of the story tellers be angry with this scene. Despite all of these beauties a big inharmorniousness can be seen.

The barber is very happy because of his happiness his mouth is open wide and his yellow teeth because of smoking looks bigger and dirtier between his dry lips. In an unexpected moment with a sudden movement, he pushes my head to the back. I want to be sad but I can’t. The wind of the shaked black apron scatters my unconfortable image in the mirror. After he straightens my head in the position he wants and he ties the elastic band so tightly that I feel as if he wanted to drown me.I feel so weak that I can’t speak even a word. I’m looking at his hair through the mirror. This is the first time I am happy and I feel relieved for the sparseness and loss of my hair. The barber:

The way as my master taught me…! He opens and closes the scissors without resting. At the same time a classic question can be heard among the noise of the scissors.

-       How do you want me to do?

-       You know…

He doesn’t like my answer. I think, he starts thinking on my answer and speaks to himself. : Can our taste be the same? He starts cutting my hair from upper part. I try to watch him cowerdly to see how he cuts my hair.

As the scissors opens and closes, I think a giant with sharp teeth censors a film which has been a shelter with injured dreams…

The selected items gather together as every one of the hairs falls down. The images in the mirror goes and return in front of my eyes. Our glances, mine and the barber’s, meets at one point.

My dreams become a bit stonger.

And

A fragment is seen in the mirror.

It is a house with four rooms. The window of the second room is open or left open. A hand with thin fingers from the back side opens the curtains slowly. A woman appears by the window. I see the woman, I sigh like sharing the barber’s longing. I add my longing to his. Althuogh I haven’t seen inside, I imagine how the room is designed and speak to myself: There is a cupboard with mattresses, duvets, and pillows inside on the left . On the right is there an antique bed stead, next to the bed stead is a round mirror showing us on the wall.

The woman leaves the window for a moment and me and the barber, we came together in the same image and we look as if we were just one person. And our eyes open wide. She opens her half-open breast towards the wind which makes the selected image pieces complex as if she wants to relieve one of us with her atractive glances.

At that moment my dreams go astray ones more again and get their freedom with the effect of the great pleasure…

A few minutes later, the door opens and the barber enters the room. Now I can see the face of the woman closely… She is close a lovely smile. I feel her warnth on my face. I’m waiting for her… She shows the bed to the barber with her inviting look and she increases the barber’s lips’ desire with her red and thick lips… The barber bends his head, he waits a few minutes and he leaves his shame in the mirrors of his dreams and leaves the scene where we have been. The woman also fallows him with a shameless smile.

Later:

I see myself in the mirror; The telephone is in my left hand, I have bent myself and I am listening to the soft voice which murmurs the melody of my injured dreams.