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On Life Beyond Earth
I’ve spoken at length before about the Earth, our unassuming blue home quietly revolving around the Sun. But as particular as it is in its delicate balance, it is still one among many worlds; what sets it apart to us is that it is our home, dour and self-contained, and that it has borne »
On Life and Its Origins
The human mind viewed at a distance is a thing achingly beautiful; the body, however humble, has adapted appreciably along with it to harsh Planet Earth. Almost nine million other species share our planet with us, each a unique product of evolution – perhaps not all as intricate as we are, but every one »
On Post Human
Here sits the good camera, poised as always to shoot. It is being manhandled by two extremely delicate hands, knuckles flaking with cold. As a mouth comes into focus it snaps with effort at the unnatural swell of the lips, then that of the hips, eyes narrowed in question of the body in relation »
On The Things They Carried: Part 2
*This is the latter part of a two-part piece on Tim O’Brien’s book “The Things They Carried.” The first part is accessible online on Bilkent News’ website. As the beginning of the first paragraph quotes a passage describing the abuse of an animal, readers may want to use their discretion in choosing whether or »
On The Things They Carried, Part I
As November draws to a close, I’m finally, perhaps a little reluctantly, returning to the theme I originally intended for this column: I’d wanted to write opinions on material from the Bilkent Library. And so this time I’m going to talk about a book I read around eight months ago, a book mostly isolated »
On the Earth Itself
This time I have something to say not of art or literature, but of space-age misery: I am speaking of the humble black earth as it is slowly stripped naked, burnt dead and dark with thirst. I hadn’t intended my column to be like this—heavy and descriptive, so deeply frustrated—but so it has become. »
On “Howl”
On “Howl” This piece is on is Allen Ginsberg’s wild, wonderful ode to youthful obscenity in all its waste and destruction. Written in an unruly, uproarious hand, the poem crawls with all the parts of humanity excluded from poetry; it pictures the Beat generation in all its ruin and manages to make it sacred, »
On Leif Erikson
On Leif Erikson My earbuds are uncomfortable and the marble digs into the backs of my knees where I sit, sprawled in front of the Bilkent library in an attempt to enjoy the biting quiet. Two laughing women pass me, carefree arms slung around each other’s waists, their breath fogging slightly in the crisp »