Wednesday, February 28, 2007

History lesson

[from the Turkish daily Hurriyet]

“If we had all been able to say, ‘We are all Jewish’, there would have been no Hitler”

Speaking at a conference about coming to term with the past, Aleida Assman of Konstanz University in Germany said that the lessons and spirit of Hrant Dink, the Turkish-Armenian journalist who was felled by a sniper’s bullet last month, lived on.

“We still hear his voice, and aim for his beliefs to continue to exist,” she told attendees at the “From the Burden of the Past to Societal Peace and Democracy” international conference at Bilgi University in Istanbul.

Drawing attention to the “We are all Armenian” slogan carried by those attending Hrant Dink’s funeral in Istanbul, Assman said that “synagogues, homes and goods belonging to the Jewish minority were ransacked in Germany in 1938. If we had been able to say, “We are all Jewish,” would Hitler have been able to do this?”

Monday, February 12, 2007

Hrant Dink's dream

A commentary by Elif ┼×AFAK, from Turkish Daily News, 2/10/07

Imagine a moment in time when there is no chauvinism, xenophobia or racism. We thousands of Istanbullular saw it happen. So did Hrant.

[ click headline to read more ... ]

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

365 Days / 365 Plays

Check out my pal Katie in this Seattle Times article ...

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Feb. 9 reading of Elif Shafak's "Bastard of Istanbul"

After Hrant Dink's assassination, Elif Shafak cancelled most of her U.S. book tour, but in Seattle we will gather at Elliott Bay Books as originally scheduled to read from her new novel, as well as a commentary by Dink himself. [Click headline for details.]

Monday, February 05, 2007

How to smoke salmon

Brine them all day long, kings
pulled from the ocean in purse seines.

Replace some of the sea with garlic
and with ginger.
Pull filets from the icy tub.

Admire the crosscut bone,
charcoal flecks on silver skin,
patterns in the flesh like wooden grain.

Soon your fingers will feel frozen.
Notice your own bones within them.

Set the smoker steady on concrete,
hickory chips
underneath the element.

Arrange the racks with room for air,
for smoke to seep
into the fish. Trade stories
of new friends and lost loves.
Let smoke seep into your hair.

Have a seat.
Crack a beer, trade stories
of roadtrips, babies born
and interest rates.

Go for a walk. Let the rain
comb your eyelashes.

After a while, add wood and a sad story—
a wise man’s murder, perhaps.
Scatter ashes and embers—
fireflies in wet grass.

Take your rest.
Dream of Kodiak. Algae. Little fish.

And when you wake:
smoked salmon for breakfast.