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Pages of the Wound: Poems, Drawings, Photographs, 1956-96
Published to celebrate John Berger's 70th birthday, this is a collection of his poems, drawings and photographs. It includes 46 poems written between 1956 and 1994. "At Remaurian", a sequence of poems from the early 1960s is accompanied by nine photographs taken by Berger. There are two gate-fold triptychs of drawings, as well as a self-portrait made in 1945 when Berger was an art student.
- GenresPoetry
66 pages, Paperback
First published November 29, 1996
About the author
John Berger
259 books2,709 followersJohn Peter Berger was an English art critic, novelist, painter and author. His novel G. won the 1972 Booker Prize, and his essay on art criticism Ways of Seeing, written as an accompaniment to a BBC series, is often used as a college text.
Later he was self exiled to continental Europe, living between the french Alps in summer and the suburbs of Paris in winter. Since then, his production has increased considerably, including a variety of genres, from novel to social essay, or poetry. One of the most common themes that appears on his books is the dialectics established between modernity and memory and loss,
Another of his most remarkable works has been the trilogy titled Into Their Labours, that includes the books Pig Earth (1979), Once In Europa (1983) Lilac And Flag (1990). With those books, Berger makes a meditation about the way of the peasant, that changes one poverty for another in the city. This theme is also observed in his novel King, but there his focus is more in the rural diaspora and the bitter side of the urban way of life.
Later he was self exiled to continental Europe, living between the french Alps in summer and the suburbs of Paris in winter. Since then, his production has increased considerably, including a variety of genres, from novel to social essay, or poetry. One of the most common themes that appears on his books is the dialectics established between modernity and memory and loss,
Another of his most remarkable works has been the trilogy titled Into Their Labours, that includes the books Pig Earth (1979), Once In Europa (1983) Lilac And Flag (1990). With those books, Berger makes a meditation about the way of the peasant, that changes one poverty for another in the city. This theme is also observed in his novel King, but there his focus is more in the rural diaspora and the bitter side of the urban way of life.
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
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December 8, 2024Jonh Berger sevgim bana bu kitabı okutabildi diyebilirim. John Berger’in kitabın başında Yol Bilgisi adlı bölümünde kendi için şiirin anlamından bahserken şöyle diyor:
“On iki yaşımdan beri, yapabileceğim başka bir şey yoksa, şiir yazarım. Şiirler bir çaresizlik duygusundan doğar. Güçlerinin kaynağı da budur. … Şiirler gerçekler karşısında çaresizdirler. Çaresizdirler, ama dayanıksız değillerdir, çünkü her şey onlara karşı direnir. Kararlara değil ama sonuçlara adlar bulurlar.
Şiir yazarken şu anda olan dışında her şeye kulak verirsin. Çıkartıp attığın giysilerin, ayakkabıların, fırlattığın saç fırçan gibi, şiirler de orada olmayan şeylerden, daha doğrusu, önünde olmayan şeylerden söz ederler.”
John Berger’in dilinden ölümü, yaşamı, ilişkileri, aşkı, ayrılığı şiirler ve dahası resimleri ve fotoğrafları ile yeniden irdeliyoruz. Benim ise en zayıf olduğum, ilgimin olmadığı alan. Şiir kitabı olarak ya da şiirler olarak düşünemeden kitap bittiğinde sevdiğimi hissettiğim için hem yazarın sevgisi hem de aslında şiirlerinde doğa tasvirlerini böyle incellikle duyguların ifadesinde kullanması nedenli olduğunu söylebilirim.
“On iki yaşımdan beri, yapabileceğim başka bir şey yoksa, şiir yazarım. Şiirler bir çaresizlik duygusundan doğar. Güçlerinin kaynağı da budur. … Şiirler gerçekler karşısında çaresizdirler. Çaresizdirler, ama dayanıksız değillerdir, çünkü her şey onlara karşı direnir. Kararlara değil ama sonuçlara adlar bulurlar.
Şiir yazarken şu anda olan dışında her şeye kulak verirsin. Çıkartıp attığın giysilerin, ayakkabıların, fırlattığın saç fırçan gibi, şiirler de orada olmayan şeylerden, daha doğrusu, önünde olmayan şeylerden söz ederler.”
John Berger’in dilinden ölümü, yaşamı, ilişkileri, aşkı, ayrılığı şiirler ve dahası resimleri ve fotoğrafları ile yeniden irdeliyoruz. Benim ise en zayıf olduğum, ilgimin olmadığı alan. Şiir kitabı olarak ya da şiirler olarak düşünemeden kitap bittiğinde sevdiğimi hissettiğim için hem yazarın sevgisi hem de aslında şiirlerinde doğa tasvirlerini böyle incellikle duyguların ifadesinde kullanması nedenli olduğunu söylebilirim.
January 19, 2022
Since the age of twelve I have written poems when I could do nothing else. Poems are born of a sense of helplessness - hence their force.
Writing a poem is the opposite of riding a motor bike. Riding, you negotiate at high speed around every fact you meet. Body and machine follow your eyes which find their way through, untouched. Your sense of freedom comes from the fact that the wait between decision and consequence is minimal, and what resistance or delay there is, you use as ricochet. When riding, if you want to go on living, you think of nothing else but what is there.
Poems are helpless before the facts. Helpless but not without endurance, for everything resists them. They find names for the consequences, not for the decisions.
Writing a poem you listen to everything save what is happening now. Like the dress, the shoes kicked off and the hairbrush, they speak of what is not there. Or, rather, of what is not there in front of you.
From around the Galician town of Betanzos in north-west Spain, thousands of emigrants a century ago left for Florida, Cuba and Central America. And so, for them, Betanzos, the name, became interiorised. This is why on drawing after drawing I have written that word.
On a bike the rider weaves through, and poems head in the opposite direction. Yet shared sometimes between the two, as they pass, there is the same put of it. And in that, my love, the same love . . .
* * *
In this metropolis
death wears a sheep skin
along the freeways
the traffic never stops
beneath the side street waterfall
three coffins full
baa baa black sheep
grass grows in the taxis
who can reverse
the hour glass of gravel?
to pin down
the wall to wall carpet
wood anemones are hammered in
yes sir yes sir
the gate is shut
only enough to wrap
dead bunting in.
* * *
The eyes from the face
two nights look at the day
the universe of his mind
doubled by pity
nothing else can suffice.
Before a mirror
silent as a horseless road
he envisaged us
deaf dumb
returning overland
to look at him
in the dark.
* * *
each second
a leaf falls in the forest of my head
whilst
those who say they love me
hunt a wild boar
believing it
has savaged me
* * *
In the morning
folded with its wild flowers
washed and ironed
it takes up little space in the drawer.
Shaking it open
she ties it round her head.
In the evening she pulls it off
and lets it fall
still knotted to the floor.
On a cotton scarf
among printed flowers
a working day
has written its dream.
Writing a poem is the opposite of riding a motor bike. Riding, you negotiate at high speed around every fact you meet. Body and machine follow your eyes which find their way through, untouched. Your sense of freedom comes from the fact that the wait between decision and consequence is minimal, and what resistance or delay there is, you use as ricochet. When riding, if you want to go on living, you think of nothing else but what is there.
Poems are helpless before the facts. Helpless but not without endurance, for everything resists them. They find names for the consequences, not for the decisions.
Writing a poem you listen to everything save what is happening now. Like the dress, the shoes kicked off and the hairbrush, they speak of what is not there. Or, rather, of what is not there in front of you.
From around the Galician town of Betanzos in north-west Spain, thousands of emigrants a century ago left for Florida, Cuba and Central America. And so, for them, Betanzos, the name, became interiorised. This is why on drawing after drawing I have written that word.
On a bike the rider weaves through, and poems head in the opposite direction. Yet shared sometimes between the two, as they pass, there is the same put of it. And in that, my love, the same love . . .
- Road Directions
* * *
In this metropolis
death wears a sheep skin
along the freeways
the traffic never stops
beneath the side street waterfall
three coffins full
baa baa black sheep
grass grows in the taxis
who can reverse
the hour glass of gravel?
to pin down
the wall to wall carpet
wood anemones are hammered in
yes sir yes sir
the gate is shut
only enough to wrap
dead bunting in.
- Postcard From Troy
* * *
The eyes from the face
two nights look at the day
the universe of his mind
doubled by pity
nothing else can suffice.
Before a mirror
silent as a horseless road
he envisaged us
deaf dumb
returning overland
to look at him
in the dark.
- Rembrandt Self-portrait
* * *
each second
a leaf falls in the forest of my head
whilst
those who say they love me
hunt a wild boar
believing it
has savaged me
- Mortality
* * *
In the morning
folded with its wild flowers
washed and ironed
it takes up little space in the drawer.
Shaking it open
she ties it round her head.
In the evening she pulls it off
and lets it fall
still knotted to the floor.
On a cotton scarf
among printed flowers
a working day
has written its dream.
- Kerchief
July 29, 2023
I bought this because of the Gillian Mears biography, Leaping into Waterfalls, and at first I thought, 'I don't know what the fuss is about' but it turned into something powerful and haunting and strange and I'm very glad to have read it.
October 31, 2024
Şiirin gerçekler karşısındaki çaresizliğini ve zaten özünde çaresizlik duygusundan doğduğunu ifade eden Berger, şiir yazmak ile motorsiklet kullanma arasındaki kurduğu ilişkisellikle büyüledi beni. Yol bilgisi başlığı ile, kitabın ilk sayfaları bu satılarla hoş bir yolculuğa çıkarıyor aslında.
'bir gün bir başka yolcunun
tökezleyen çığlığı
uyarabilir onları
o zaman yolcu sıcak ve rahat
gece boyunca bir ninni gibi
duyacaktır hakikati'
dediği 'Göçmen Sözcükler'(s.47) şiirindeki gibi duyacağımız nice hakikate şiir nahifliğinde ulaşabilmeyi diliyorum.
'bir gün bir başka yolcunun
tökezleyen çığlığı
uyarabilir onları
o zaman yolcu sıcak ve rahat
gece boyunca bir ninni gibi
duyacaktır hakikati'
dediği 'Göçmen Sözcükler'(s.47) şiirindeki gibi duyacağımız nice hakikate şiir nahifliğinde ulaşabilmeyi diliyorum.
October 27, 2024
“vedalaşmaların/ o beyaz kucaklaşmaları/gerçeği trenlere yazmaya çalıştım “
berger, my love 🩵 çok ama çok seviyorum
berger, my love 🩵 çok ama çok seviyorum
February 6, 2025
No conocía la obra de este autor y tras conocer su pluma poética auguro una pronto primer contacto con su prosa.
Cada poema más magistral si cabe, todo mi reconocimiento a una exquisita sencillez y sensibilidad que se entrelazan en un poemario que acaba de convertirse en un libro joya 💎
Cada poema más magistral si cabe, todo mi reconocimiento a una exquisita sencillez y sensibilidad que se entrelazan en un poemario que acaba de convertirse en un libro joya 💎
November 27, 2018
Definitivamente, este libro cruzóuseme na gorxa. Os poemos aburríronme, os pequenos ensaios parécenme interesantes, pero cústame seguilos. Abadono.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews