From Summer to Winter

By Atemi Kayaky

We are faced with an industrialization phenomenon that makes itself felt in literature as well as in every other subject. The reshaping of literature according to the conditions of market capitalism turns literary products into simple consumables. Newly released literary novels, stories, poems, essays, etc. literary products no longer have an artistic quality, they are consumed quickly and resemble Hollywood movies…

 

Identical, fabricated books adorn the shelves of the bookstore. We are faced with books that appeal to the eye, not to the pleasure of reading. Every day, we are showered with novels whose content resembles a movie script, and the most popular ones are immediately adapted to the cinema. Their styles, plots and even the subjects themselves are extremely superficial, identical books are everywhere.

 

There are quite a few pages in such works, but it is possible to read and finish them in a short time. We would like to say that the reason for this is that it is written in a successful language. However, if we consider that the majority of the people who read these books find it boring and they find it boring, this is not the main reason. The main reason is that in such industrial novels, whether it is character analysis, description of environment and events, a very superficial work is done. Writers don't think about these things. Because – a group of authors should be excluded from this – what is important for authors now is the sales figures and the amounts they will earn, rather than the literary and aesthetic characteristics of their works.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atemi Kayaky
• Release date: Sep 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201307110

Book preview

*****one*****

Urgan - Oggito

4

4

The heat of the night slowly began to give way to the coolness of the morning. These hours in the city, when people only start to fall asleep, mean work time in the village. Bread is in the soil, it is necessary to take good care of the soil. The plain yields crops three or four times a year. The lowland lands are irrigated by arcs turned from the meandering meander. The fields are far from the village.

Let's go, we come from home to the field. There is no need to stay in a vineyard house. And if he listens, Mustafa.

In summer, people migrate from the village to the vineyards so that there is no commute on the way. Road means waste of time, means fatigue. The sun passes over the person on that way. The vineyard houses are makeshift, uncanny. There are bugs, snakes, and tailed scorpions around... You need to keep away, you need to fight.

I'm afraid not of myself, just last summer Iraz stung his brother with a tail.

Gulsum, whose hair like a tether extends from under the yellow writing to her waist, bent over and cleared the weeds at the bottom of the tomato seedlings she had hoeed, on her knees . You get up in the early hours of the morning here, it is necessary to finish the work before the heat starts. It has a snake in the heat, it has a tailed scorpion.

When was the last time I sprinkled sulfur around so that the snake would not come?

He nursed Fatma on the swing in the dark of the morning. Fatma is only six months old. Gülsüm's third baby, Ak Fatma, loves her mother, her marble-white hazel-eyed daughter. Tomato hoe first, then peppers, eggplants... Babies are on his mind... At the end of this summer, the next field will be taken, Mustafa said. Mustafa is tanned, strong, smart. His head also works in calculations.

Last summer, they took the land, which they had been pounding since six in the morning. Did they do little to turn the stony field into a prosperous vineyard? Three kids will grow up easy? Hit the Gulsum hoe to the grass, the ground. You look at the soil so that it feeds the children, so that the crop will be fruitful so that they can take the field next to it. Gülsüm has callused hands and cracked heels. Gulsum is ambitious. Babies on her mind, herbs she plucked in her hands... Gülsüm's hair is like rope. Hayati is five years old, Emine is three, Fatma is on a swing; White Fatma with a milky mouth.

Gotta get the job done before the babies wake up.

Emine is next to her, Hayati and Fatma are in Gülsüm's mind. Mustafa will fill the hoeed grass in sacks, throw it on the edge of the field and come. Crickets are a harbinger of a hot day. The grass is yellowed, the rustle of the yellowed grass is added to the sounds of insects. No sign of rain for how many days? Seedlings need to be watered well. Mustafa will turn the water from the arc in front of the garden. The water entering the field is in order to be released into the saplings. They will sell their food, entrusted to these scraps, which they dug up bent as they entered the spring. Tomatoes will turn red, peppers will gradually turn green. Born among tomatoes, peppers and eggplants that will look alike every day. This year, Mustafa will buy the next field with his earnings.

When was the last time we poured sulfur around the house? The snake comes to milk, it does not like sulfur. There was no sound from the children.

The sun is approaching the hill slowly, yellow hot. The time must have passed, and the sound of weeds snapping mingles with the metallic sound of the hoe.

The sky is cloudless, the heat is oppressive, Gülsüm is ambitious. Gülsüm's eyes are on Mustafa, her mind is on the new field, her ears are on the puppies at home. When was the last time they threw sulfur around?

Hayati is only five years old. Honey son. The dear son they can't get enough of looking at, the burden on his young shoulder is heavy. His siblings are entrusted to him, and his mother's old age, of course. Anchor sounds came deep in his ears, his mischievous eyes were on the ceiling. In front of her is Fatma's swing. Fatma is still very small, her mouth smells of milk. Hayati suddenly saw the snake entangled in the rope of the swing. The snake is bright, the snake is cruel. Hayati pulled the thin cover over his head up. Maybe it was a dream. If he slept, the snake would go, the boy slept. He didn't know how long he had slept, so when he opened his eyes he lifted the cover from his face. Snake and child eye to eye. Brilliant, menacing, merciless snake. The child was afraid of the snake, but Fatma is very small, the baby is white Fatma with hazel eyes. The smell of milk in your mouth. Hayati got up with fear, he had to run, he had to give the news; the snake is in the rope of the swing. He ran and shouted until he was out of breath. Mustafa ran without hands or feet; Gülsüm both shouted and ran.

Fatma was pale-skinned with hazel eyes. The snake on the swing is menacing and shiny, jet black. Mustafa hit the snake with the shovel in his hand, the snake fell into two pieces.

Fatma is purple on the swing, with the smell of milk in her mouth.

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*****2nd*****

Chocolate Scent in Cevizlibağ - Oggito

5

one

I don't know if I'm an ordinary city dweller. Is this the human smell on me that traps me here? Maybe fears, worries, whatever is to be had is what they are. For example, if I don't go to work. If I don't want to go to work for a single day. But if I leave the house as usual. I know what could happen. My phone may ring. The team leader, who tries to understand the situation with mischievous reverse questions, appears immediately. I couldn't see you, is there a meeting that I don't know about or he may say. However, I don't think there is a meeting he doesn't know about. What if I don't answer, emails, phone calls, alerts, anything. For example, I can be fired; I can burn the compensation I've accumulated over the years, my comfy chair, the weird career I've worked on. I can brood over how to pay the rent that month.

Those who try to exit the Metrobus station and those who struggle to enter the station do not look at each other as if they have never used the same road together. The weather is cooler than the season in May. The smell of pastry, the recipe of which is known among the little oxygen taken. A reduced weight bagel. Eight o'clock. The place my white shirt deserves is of course my ass room and desk in the smart building. The pen holder my wife gave me, which is a very unappealing choice. Desk calendar where I circled official permissions. Clock tick tock. And modern office accessories. Something that tries to touch each other but does not. Like all of us. They do not exist, these are details that are not read here. Crowds memorized here. Radios, horns, sluggish cars.

I have money to buy a car, I said while looking out the window at the road. In my mind, I secretly touch this money, the money that I said never to touch. It's safe. I take my hand off my phone. I'm on the subway. Right in my ear, a voice says, go in the car and see the midwife's milk boy. Sir, I couldn't tell your morning erection to the other side please. My wife agrees. He has the memorization of what I couldn't say. The list is complete, at least once a week. We're getting started. If it wasn't me, you would do that job. Then let my wife consider the rent, she has long hands. Besides, why do we live in the neighborhood he wants, right? But his oldest friend is there; Husbands and women get along if they get along. Unwritten rules. The grunts are rising, is there any issue that so many people can oppose in unison?

I'll have a tuna salad for lunch, and when I rip that metal part back, the processed fish particles sticking together will slide