[Xmca-l] Re: Best possible theoretical approach on learning from life experiences

[mike cole]

Geothe? The sorrows of young werther?

Mike

On Sat, Nov 4, 2017 at 12:08 PM Ulvi İçil <ulvi.icil@gmail.com> wrote:

> Thank you Martin.
>
> Does anyone know any study on a person's life, learning, formation in the
> light of the concept of perezhivanie in the centre?
>
> 4 Kas 2017 22:01 tarihinde "Martin John Packer" <mpacker@uniandes.edu.co>
> yazdı:
>
> > I would suggest Sartre’s (existential Marxist) analysis of Flaubert…
> >
> > <https://www.amazon.com/001-Family-Gustave-Flaubert-1821-
> > 1857/dp/0226735095/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=
> > 1509821640&sr=1-1&keywords=sartre+Flaubert+book+1&dpID=
> > 41CeMqdxQnL&preST=_SY291_BO1,204,203,200_QL40_&dpSrc=srch>
> >
> > <http://www.nybooks.com/articles/1982/02/04/sartres-last-case/>
> >
> > <https://www.lrb.co.uk/v04/n10/julian-barnes/double-bind>
> >
> > Martin
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > On Nov 4, 2017, at 6:41 AM, Ulvi İçil <ulvi.icil@gmail.com<mailto:ul
> > vi.icil@gmail.com>> wrote:
> >
> > Dear all,
> >
> > For a study on Turkish poet, also a painter and playwright, Nazim Hikmet,
> > whom learning seems to be heavily determined from life experiences at
> each
> > stage of his life,
> > I am looking for a best theoretical approach in general on learning from
> > life experiences, then more specifically for such great poets, painters
> and
> > play writers.
> > Just to give a closer idea, please look at the section below from his
> > novel, Life's good, brother.
> >
> > I appreciate highly any idea, proposal on such a theoretical approach.
> >
> > Thank you.
> >
> > Ulvi
> >
> > I sat down at the table in the Hôtel de France in Batum. A table with
> > carved legs—not just the legs but the whole gilded oval table was covered
> > with intricate carvings. Rococo . . . In the seaside house in Üsküdar, a
> > rococo
> > table sits in the guestroom. Ro-co-co . . . The journey I made from the
> > Black
> > Sea coast to Ankara, then from there to Bolu, the thirty-five-day,
> > thirty-fiveyear
> > journey on foot to the town where I taught school—in short, to make a
> > long story short, the encounter of a pasha’s descendant—more precisely, a
> > grandson—with Anatolia now rests on the rococo table in the Hôtel de
> > France in Batum, spread out over the table like a tattered, dirty,
> > blood-stained
> > block-print cloth. I look, and I want to cry. I look, and my blood rushes
> > to my
> > head in rage. I look, and I’m ashamed again. Of the house by the sea in
> > Üsküdar. Decide, son, I say to myself, decide. The decision was made:
> death
> > before turning back. Wait, don’t rush, son. Let’s put the questions on
> this
> > table, right next to Anatolia here. What can you sacrifice for this
> cause?
> > What
> > can you give? Everything. Everything I have. Your freedom? Yes! How
> > many years can you rot in prison for this cause? All my life, if
> necessary!
> > Yes, but you like women, fine dining, nice clothes. You can’t wait to
> > travel,
> > to see Europe, Asia, America, Africa. If you just leave Anatolia here on
> > this
> > rococo table in Batum and go from Tbilisi to Kars and back to Ankara from
> > there, in five or six years you’ll be a senator, a minister—women, wining
> > and
> > dining, art, the whole world. No! If necessary, I can spend my whole life
> > in
> > prison. Okay, but what about getting hanged, killed, or drowned like
> > Mustafa
> > Suphi and his friends if I become a Communist—didn’t you ask yourself
> these
> > questions in Batum? I did. I asked myself, Are you afraid of being
> > killed? I’m not afraid, I said. Just like that, without thinking? No. I
> > first knew
> > I was afraid, then I knew I wasn’t. Okay, are you ready to be disabled,
> > crippled, or made deaf for this cause? I asked. And TB, heart disease,
> > blindness? Blindness? Blindness . . . Wait a minute—I hadn’t thought
> about
> > going blind for this cause. I got up. I shut my eyes tight and walked
> > around
> > the room. Feeling the furniture with my hands, I walked around the room
> in
> > the darkness of my closed eyes. Twice I stumbled, but I didn’t open my
> > eyes.
> > Then I stopped at the table. I opened my eyes. Yes, I can accept
> blindness.
> > Maybe I was a bit childish, a little comical. But this is the truth. Not
> > books or
> > word-of-mouth propaganda or my social condition brought me where I am.
> > Anatolia brought me where I am. The Anatolia I had seen only on the
> > surface, from the outside. My heart brought me where I am. That’s how it
> is
> > .
> >
> >
>