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

[Andy Blunden]

I think autobiography is a genre which is very rich for the
study of perezhivanie; even the writing of the autobiography
itself is a part of the perezhivanie, as the writer looks
back over their life, and the experiences which have shaped
them, reassessing how they responded to events intervening
in their life and surviving. I think I mentioned Gorki's
multi-volume autobiography to you,

Andy

------------------------------------------------------------
Andy Blunden
http://www.ethicalpolitics.org/ablunden/index.htm
On 7/11/2017 6:28 AM, Ulvi İçil wrote:
> Also the following "survival of culture" theme is said to be a principal
> worry for Marina Tsvetaeva
> by this same Turkish professor on Russian language and literature...
>
> Anyway, another method to study "perezhivanie", I believe, is to look into
> theses on the life of such Russian poets, even if they do not use the
> concept,
> we can be sure that there is a lot of  "perezhivanie" in those theses...
>
> probably because poets are the best human beings to study "perezhivanie"
> for reasons easy to conceive.
>
> Especially when we think to Mayakovsky, Yesenin, Tsvetaeva...who all
> suicided, unfortunately.
>
>
>
>
>
> On 6 November 2017 at 21:14, Ulvi İçil <ulvi.icil@gmail.com> wrote:
>
>> It seems to me that the concept perezhivanie is a sine qua non concept for
>> studying the lives and works of poets especially: Pushkin, and many others.
>>
>> I would say that a poet's life and work can not and should not be studied
>> without this concept.
>>
>> Completely impossible.
>>
>> For instance, for Pushkin, a poem is a magical union of sounds, thoughts
>> and feelings, which fits completely with intellect and affect, cognition
>> and emotion.
>>
>> In case of some other poets, I would add "colours" because for instance,
>> Nazim Hikmet (who is said to see the world in colours) says that the
>> closest poet to him is Eluard and there is a thesis on colour in the poems
>> of Eluard and Hikmet. (May this mean Pushkin was more sensitive to sounds
>> than colours? An outstanding Turkish professor on Russian language and
>> literature told me that there is not slightest deviation of rythm in
>> Pushkin whereas there is in all others)
>>
>> Do we know any example of any such study in Russian databases? A poet
>> studied with "perezhivanie".
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>> On 4 November 2017 at 14:02, Andy Blunden <ablunden@mira.net> wrote:
>>
>>> I would recommend Vasilyuk, but AN Leontyev should be read
>>> as well:
>>>
>>> http://www.ethicalpolitics.org/ablunden/pdfs/Fedor%20Vasilyuk.pdf
>>>
>>> http://www.ethicalpolitics.org/ablunden/pdfs/Fedor%20Vasilyuk.pdf
>>>
>>> Andy
>>>
>>> ------------------------------------------------------------
>>> Andy Blunden
>>> http://www.ethicalpolitics.org/ablunden/index.htm
>>> On 4/11/2017 10:41 PM, Ulvi İçil 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
>>>> .
>>>>
>>>>
>>>