#nonlinear narrative

[30ahchaleh]

تحلیل سینمایی یک غزل حافظ

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Nonlinear narrative

به وفور میتوان فیلم ها و داستانهایی را نام برد که قصه ی خود را "غیرخطی" بیان میکنند

اما من "کهن و کوتاه" ترین اثر ادبی که غیر خطی ، یک "عشق تراژیکی" را توانسته تعریف کند در غزلی از حافظ یافتم

برایم جالب است اگر بدانم این "ترین" چقدر "ترین" است که آنرا واگذار میکنم به محققین

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از روی شماره میتوانید بعدا روایت را خطی بخوانید اما اول بهتر است همانطور که سروده شده بخوانید تا بعد برسیم به تحلیل خطی

01- در دیرِ مغان آمد، یارم قدحی در دست

02- مست از می و ، میخواران از نرگسِ مستش مست

04- در نعلِ سمندِ او شکلِ مهِ نو پیدا

05- وز قدِ بلندِ او بالایِ صنوبر، پست

08- آخر به چه گویم هست از خود خبرم، چون نیست

09- وز بَهرِ چه گویم نیست با وی نظرم، چون هست

10- شمعِ دلِ دمسازم بنشست چو او برخاست

03- و افغان ز نظربازان برخاست چو او بنشست

06- گر غالیه خوش بو شد، در گیسویِ او پیچید

07- ور وَسمه کمانکش گشت، در ابروی او پیوست

11- بازآی که بازآید عمرِ شدهٔ حافظ

12- هرچند که ناید باز، تیری که بِشُد از شست

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برای من جالبی غزل های حافظ در این است که غزل های او دربرگیرنده تنوع ژانری بسیار گسترده‌ای است

و هیچ متوجه اصرار بعضی حافظ دوستان برای تک بعدی نشان دادن خمیرمایه تمام غزل های حافظ نمیشوم

به نظر من هر غزل شخصیت خودش را دارد

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مثلا در موضع "عشق" در غزل های حافظ میتوان آنرا در دو گروه کلی دسته بندی کرد

عشق آسمانی(غیرقابل شهود برای غیر)ـ

عشق زمینی(قابل شهود برای غیر)ـ

ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ.ـ

در این غزل که برای نمونه گذاشته ام میتوان به خوبی مشاهده کرد و فهمید که منظور یک عشق زمینی‌ست با قدرتی چنان که میتواند به "بعضی" از مدعیان عشق آسمانی طعنه بزند و آنهارا به چالش بکشد

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برای فهم این موضوع ،

کلید قفل این غزل در این بیت است

وز بَهرِ چه گویم نیست با وی نظرم، چون هست

معنی :ـ

برای چه باید بگویم فکروخیالم پیش او نیست ، وقتیکه هست

مفهوم :ـ

به خاطر چی باید انکار کنم و دروغ بگم که . . . ـ

تحلیل :ـ

چه کسی انکار میکند و دروغ میگوید ، کسی که از گفتن حقیقت میترسد چون برایش شرم ساری یا مجازات به همراه میاورد

و در دوران حافظ عشق اگر آسمانی میبود چنین پیامدی نداشت

این عشق زمینی هست که میتواند در بسیاری از موارد باعث دردسر بشود

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حالا که قفل این غزل باز شد ببینید حافظ چه کولاک غم انگیزی به پا میکند

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اکنون داستان را خطی تعریف میکنم

ـ1ـ

در جایی که آن مدعیان عشق آسمانی جمع بودند یار من قدح بدست آمد

ـ قَـدَح = پیاله

ـ قَـدْح = طعن کردن

تحلیل:ـ

ورودی مستانه برای هماورد طلبی ست

ـ2ـ

یار من از مِی مَست ، اما آنها که میگفتن از عشق آسمانی مست میشوند (میخواران دیر مغان) از چشم مست(خمار) یار من مست شدن (حالت مستی بهشان دست داد)ـ

ـ3ـ

وقتی یار من در آن مجلس نشست آه و ناله و فریاد از دل و دهان آن مدعیان برخاست

اینچنین حافظ از تکنیک زلیخا بهره میبرد تا دهان آن منتقدان نامنصف را ببندد

ـ4ـ5ـ6ـ7ـ

حالا حافظ شروع به تشریح یارش میکند تا ما هم متوجه بشویم چرا چنین اتفاقی در آن مجلس افتاده

ـ8ـ9ـ

بعد که فهمیدیم جریان این یار چیست

حافظ احوال خودش را شرح میدهد

و در ادامه

آن تراژدی که گفتم آغاز میشود

حافظ میگوید

ـ10ـ11ـ

نور و گرمای وجود حیات بخش من رو به خاموشی رفت وقتی یارم از پیش من رفت

البته اینجا ما هنوز متوجه نوع رفتن و فراق نمیشویم

بعد ادامه میدهد

اگر یارم برگردد حتی عمر از دست رفته‌ام نیز باز میگردد

یک تجربه عینی و نه خیالی از جوان شدن بخاطر اکسیر عشق

elixir

حافظ این استاد واژه شناس و تمثیل و غیر

از مثالی برای بیان "مدل جدایی" از یارش استفاده میکند که در آن بازگشتی وجود ندارد

ـ12ـ

تیری که از تیرکمان توسط ول کردن شست رها میشود هرگز باز نمیگردد

در هر مدلی از فراق ، عاشق همیشه و همیشه امیدوار به برگشت معشوقش هست

مگر

مرگ

🥺

END

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ـ 1 ـ پ،ن: اکنون در بازخوانی شعر "هست" و "نیست" رنگی دیگر میگیرند که برای به نمایش گذاشتنش یک سریال همچون فرینج باید ساخت اما استاد حافظ در یک غزل به ما رسانده

🤯

....

ـ 2 ـ پ،ن: میتوان چنین تصور کرد که شروع قصه با یک

flashback

فلش‌بک(گذشته‌نما) باشد

مردی کهن سال در خلوتگاه خود زیر نور شمع ، رخدادی را غیرخطی برای کسی بازخوانی میکند که بعد از یازده به دوازده پیر تر شده

....

ـ 3 ـ پ.ن : عکسهای این پـُست درخواستی بود از همکار این روز های مـ😅ـن

Photo made by:

Copilot For @30ahchaleh

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[pumaloafing]

Just finished the tutorial of 13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim and ... geez the story is kinda hard to follow so far. First off there's 13 protagonists, which by itself is rough for me, then there's time travel and dimensional travel... and to top it all off the story seems to be told non-linearly.

It's interesting though, so I do plan on continuing it.

[ena-113]

A human crewmate, Mia, held a long thin box. It seemed to have paper and plastic peices inside, based on the sound. A puzzle perhaps? A few other crewmates trailed behind them.

"Hey Bob! Wanna join us? We're playing Clue, it's a board game from earth."

Bob nodded and joined the others trailing after Mia. He had no idea what a 'board game' was, but it seemed fun. They eventually all gathered around a table in the cafeteria.

"Okay, so it's a murder mystery and we have to figure out who killed Mr. Body. We're all possible suspe-" Mia started to set up the board and explain, but was cut off by Jli'yan.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but why do humans have a game centered on murder and distrust?"

"Cause it's fun, thrilling. Good for poker face practice." Kaya answered, shuffling cards. They then nodded towards Mia to continue explaining.

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prev

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[imagoxenya]

Please hug me, I feel...

Пожалуйста обними меня, мне…

1990s

Black clouds against turquoise sky.

A tall gaunt knight, he’s made of hatred, I don't think he was even born. I'm a princess. He’s got white eyes and long white hair like dead lightning.

I sing “you see” in the dusk, among the plastic sheets falling down from the furniture. Like in an MTV music video.

My mother lies on the floor face down, holding it in her hands. Father carries me into another room:”It’s going to be alright.”

Parents discover a lump in my lower abdomen and call an ambulance. I don’t want to be taken away. There’s a Tremors promo showing on TV.

I vividly remember the anesthesia smell. Doctor voices turn robotic before fading out.

I lie on the table, like a frog. I’m almost touching the greenish ceiling. Doctor is pulling the stitches out, thread looks like a micro roller coaster.

Lunch is white mush smeared on a slice of white bread.

Everybody is watching a movie in the corridor. I want to get closer to the TV, but my legs are weak from pain and I lean on the back of an armchair taken up by another boy. Rugged lilac fabric. Or was it the jumper of the boy’s mother, who threatened to beat me up unless I stepped away from the chair? 

For some reason I was always afraid of my taxi driver uncle.

2000s

I picked a glossy cellphone case with a tribal design, pink on black. I identify with lilac, it makes me feel angelic.

Digimon Adventure is showing on a German channel. I want to be Kari and have an older brother like her.

In sparse moments of privacy I tie sheets and clothing into dresses. I become very good at living in between the time.

The swimming pool lessons started. I notice my back has an arch. I try to straighten it.

My teens are an ugly blur.

I badly want to be their friend, I mistake it for a crush.

I nailed my father to the ground, but he wouldn’t stop thrashing and spewing threats. That night I dreamt somebody loved me. Or was it the night before?

The doorways are made of flesh and I’m cutting at the edges with garden shears.

“I respect your power, your intensity.” An older friend is too insistent on kissing me on the lips ”as a sign of respect”. He leads me by the hand to show me something later, but never finds the room.

Dad falls asleep in a sauna.

A guy sits by on the bus, I try to breathe slowly, so that he wouldn't notice.

I started skipping gym classes. One after another.

I’m walking naked through the forest surrounded by fields of phallic mushrooms emerging from green mist. I cover my breasts, I feel vulnerable.

2010

I still feel the saliva on my right ear, I’ll wash it off conspicuously at the gas station stop. Relax, Take it Easy by Mika plays. Sometimes I still can’t shake that feel off.

2011

I’m squeezed between the moving male bodies, metal and greasy aprons. I don’t have time to think or feel. There is no way you can move too fast or shout too loud and clear. The cold room door shuts close, is there a way to open it from the inside?

PIctures overlay, the touch of the fabric causes me panic, I resist the urge to jump out of the uniform and hope no one notices.

2012

“Эй, смотри, какая сука” I hear from two guys passing me by. 

“Да это же пидорас!” I hear from behind. I’m scared.

-

I just shaved my head, but immediately miss the hair. It almost physically hurts, but now I must commit. 

My dad falls ill.

It’s autumn, I fall asleep by the weaving machine in the attic. I am someone’s fever dream.

“Лысая башка, дай пирожка”

My body gives up and I go on punching the table screaming, I feel like a prisoner facing the concrete wall.

I feel my head and find the crevices I never thought existed.

-

He says I look like Grimes. I don’t get such compliments often.

Snow carried in warm air like little lights.

I burrow the nose in my spacious scarf. I am a soft body in a chrysalis. I’m like a child.

The highway noise fades in and out.

I lie in the dark, picturing what I’d look like if I was a daughter. I feel peace.

-

I must go outside, but it’s dark and my memories of being jumped up are still too fresh. An anxiety nap turns into sleep, my body falls ill.

The christmas tree is heavy and bruises my hands, there is no sky and the streets surround me like decorations for a 90s Russian crime series. I’m not here.

-

He meets me at the airport, his face feels tired and annoyed.

I rest my hands on the bag, my nails are longish and gestures feminine. I’m afraid he picks up on that and doesn’t like what he sees.

It’s snowing like in Siberia, it’s Berlin.

We drink wine on an old sofa, there are so many people, I love his warmth by my side. Horizontal movement of the S-bahn, I throw up on Medvedev's portrait.

-

Dog Day Afternoon on a movie night, his leg touches mine.

 “Softer, softer” he teaches me to kiss.

I feel painfully pried open, so we stop. I weave my hands around him as we fall asleep, but he isn’t into that.

-

We watch a movie and smoke on a couch. I recline to blow the smoke out. T-shirt slides off my shoulder, normally I would adjust it, but here I feel safe.

-“Is your mother beautiful?” 

-“I don’t really know, maybe.” 

-“Because you are so beautiful”

-“I never really felt beautiful.”

-“I don’t believe it. You’re also really androgynous.” 

-“I feel like an alien” 

-“Well, aliens are androgynous.”

He’s like a big friend who makes me feel protected. I rest my head on his side and talk about my deceased cat Ksjusha and how I felt her spirit by my side.

We dance away to 80s and 90s hits, there's a spirit of a new era in the air.

2013

I misread the exam task and picked a nonexistent topic, there is silence, I bite chunks from the inside of my lip.

-

I run in a white dress, almost drift in the morning mist. 

A phone call from my taxi driver uncle wakes me up: "Your father is gone, you don't have to visit him anymore."

I’m a funeral spectacle with my shaved eyebrows, an oversized scarf and an overall soft aura. 

An older man paces around. “Hey girl, have you got breasts? Yes, of course. Then why did you leave them at home?”

My friend gets out of the taxi, the driver doesn't take the turn, I silently panic for a few seconds. I never take taxis on my own.

Lying on the floor at the end of a yoga class, letting sounds enter my ears. My body is just a vehicle, I'm simply in it.

2014

We sit by the channel watching the colour of our nails and comparing our arm hair. 

I feel the upper lip stubble as we pull away and go on dancing to Prince. 

An art academy bathroom mirror, we look nothing alike, except for the shape of our eyes.

The smell of warm hair feels intoxicatingly calming in a cold park.

Hands moving in the dark, we weave something invisible together. I feel human.

The other touches feel like surgical metal against a painful tumor. I lie there like an alien on a dissecting table.

-

I hear "junge Frau" before I realise the woman ahead motions me to jump the line. I feel unsafe and respond with "danke schon, aber ich bin keine Frau". It felt nice to be seen in such a way, way too nice, and nice things are overwhelmingly scary.

I wait for him to come and stop the painful ordeal. I am drunk and want to sleep, but I act like I enjoy it. I knew I could say "no" and we wouldn't do it, but I felt my "no's" were limited and I needed somewhere to sleep.

-

I insert a bigger septum, like insect pincers, and shave my eyebrows. It’s a mask and it frees my body language. I hug a pillow and pose in front of the mirror, like the Birth of Venus, my face is still puffy from sleep and it looks so right.

2015

I stood up against rude grownups on a bus and my nervous system is shutting down. I lie down for an anxiety nap. It's cold, but I only have the energy to cover myself with a hoodie.

2017

The space is like a bath, a giant drain with smooth walls and smooth corners. I'm dressed in wrinkly nitrile. I lie down, I want to take all of this room in.

Dissected human bodies integrated as circuits, corpses operating heavy machinery, their rigid thudding steps all over the corridors, 

Hospital floor is a morgue city. The public announcement voice squeezes my brain.

I am a robot made of lard..

Glimpse into a gym with muscle men. The machines are torture racks and the bodies are dissected, I convulse out of sleep.

Distant red lights against deep blue concrete.

2018 

My head is dizzy from cigarettes and walking up and down the stairs.

A friend leans in to ask: “so, are you a boy or a girl?”

“I’d like to avoid categories right now” of course I know the answer, but it’s too overwhelming.

-“But how should I perceive you?”

-

He tells me I really do have huge feet.

He talks about how he’s afraid of emotionally messing me up.

I really don’t care about him and can’t help laughing, it is a new feeling and it’s fun.

2021

It’s February, I’m in a soft spacious hoodie. I carry the box with Misha’s food cradling it in my hands, the edges gently brush against my breast buds. My body doesn’t threaten me anymore.

-

The lights go out and I’m losing breath. I wake up hyperventilating.

-

Butterflies push out of my throat, I’m aching and it’s like a dance.

[exquisitecadavre]

Marzo del 2017

Una noche de Marzo de 2017 me encontraba en mi pequeño cubículo que llamaban habitación de la residencia de estudiantes de Hotwells. Rebuscando entre mis archivos del disco duro me topé con algunas fotos de mi padre, ni siquiera sabria deciros que de año, pero seria de alguna de los ultimos 9 años porque eran fotos suyas en Cardiff, o quizás en Málaga algún verano, no lo recuerdo bien. El caso es que yo llevaba desde el dia de su muerte sin ver su rostro, y verla tan real me recordaba a esa tarde de agosto en que dejo de tener calidez y rojez. No podia procesar la perdida, sabia que ya no estaba, yo lo sabia, pero es muy diferente aceptarlo. En mi cabeza él estaba en Málaga, tumbado en el sofá con sus cascos escuchando y viendo sus cosas, tranquilo, sin molestar a nadie.

O donde fuese, me daba igual, yo pensaba que no estaba presente porque yo me habia ido lejos de casa y tenia que estar sola, porque en Reino Unido es lo común, y es lo que queria desde los 18, irme a estudiar a otra ciudad sola. Pero tenia 22 años, repitiendo primero por la tercera vez, no tenia amigos y me costaba la vida hacerlos.

Mi ansiedad social era perpetua y pesada, nunca cesaba, por mucho que me esforzase en ser como era antes. En ese tenso instante, mantenia inmobil la mirada sobre su imagen, intentando procesar algo que me negaba a hacer desde hacia meses.

Hay algo que la perdida permanente despierta en ti, algún mecanismo de defensa innato en tu consciente que no te deja procesar una mierda. No podia, honestamente, y ahora que lo pienso, no queria.

Es normal, no habian pasado ni dos años y aunque me pasase noches y noches pensando en su ausencia, en lo breve que se habia sentido su presencia, 21 años, se dice poco, seguia sin poder engullir ese dolor y digerirlo. Asi que lo vomitaba.

La ansiedad, esa ansiedad existencial, esa que te provoca horror, se apoderaba de mi cada vez que veia sus pequeños ojos avellana de largas pestañas con sus gafas gruesas y elegantes, y su tez amarillenta que yo habia heredado. Dejé de poder respirar. Me levanté de sopetón y sin ponerme ni los zapatos bajé corriendo los tres pisos hasta el exterior de mi bloque B.

Llovia, no mucho, pero lo suficiente como para mojarme y ponerme mala si me quedaba alli. Pero me daba igual, era mejor sentir el frio de las piedras mojadas y la humedád pinzante de los charquitos de agua.

Las gotas de lluvia, débiles pero cargadas caian sin piedad sobre mi ser. Ahora que lo recuerdo y me veo desde lejos, parecia una escena de los Simpson en la cual Nelson llora en el mar, o en los animes cuando lloran bajo la lluvia y el narrador dice un cliché poético como “me gusta llorar en el mar, por que es el unico sitio en el que mis lagrimas parecen pequeñas” .

Lloraba y lloraba muy silenciosamente, eso es lo que tiene el duelo, que no es un llanto violento, es un llanto cargado y pesado que no te deja respirar. Yo no podia ver una mierda, no podia dejar de llorar e intentaba respirar de nuevo para calmarme.

Vi que alguien llegaba por mi derecha, por donde daba a la calle, esa que subia hasta Clifton.  Yo estaba cerca del muro,al final del edifico principal, lejos de todos. Los del bloque C no solian salir a esa hora y me sentia más refugiada supongo. Aunque no tenga mucho sentido la verdad.

Cuando lloro, suelo llorar porque no hay nadie y nadie me ve, a menos de que seas mi amigo desde hace 6, 7, 8, 20 años, y me de ya todo igual. Cuando vi a alguien llegar, dejé de llorar un instante, intentando evitar el contacto visual, pero al momento de di cuenta de quien era.

A. quien me habia visto y reconocido al instante mientras ataba su bicicleta de carrera a las barras de la terraza del edificio, vino directamente hacia mi sin decir una palabra.

Yo no sabia que hacer, no queria llorar pero tampoco podia actuar como si estuviese todo bien, estaba descalza y en pijama debajo de la lluvia a la 1 y media o dos de la mañana. Sin decir una palabra me agarró de la cintura con sus dos brazos y me alzó del suelo, abrazandome, como si me quisiese refugiar de la lluvia. Yo le rodeé con mis debiles brazos y mi cuerpo mojado. Y recomenzé a llorar. No recuerdo nada más.

[hamaa]

Ah, another one I'm curious about (Wish I'm not bothering you!) What's your favorite anime and anime genre? 'v')/

FAVOURITE ANIME OH BOY LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY FAVOURITE ANIME  

and as for genre uuuuuuuh i don't really know but I tend to go for  IDK HO TO EXPLAIN IT im a sucker for symbolism and nice (unique!!!) art design (see: ping pong anime) things like err katanagatari, shinsekai yori, and kyousougiga i highly recommend all three of those and everyone should watch them i don't know about genre but most of the things i like are all kind of niche for some reason laughs 

[cosmoglaut]

Soooo. The Voorman Problem. Didn't quite get it. So went to search for the book from which this excerpt is taken. The book seems even more...vague. If this movie is turned into a feature length one (which is something that is being discussed apparently), I am fairly sure my brain will turn into a Picasso painting after watching it.

[schlock-luster-video]

On March 7, 2000 Slacker was re-released on VHS.

[reinventingthecuil]

Space Dandy Episode 11

That was fucked up. That fucked me up.

[prockwellslade]

I want to take time to explain a feeling. 

I woke up sluggishly. The rays that peered in through the psychedelic-kaleidoscope Urban Outfitter's tapestry held a stronger glow. It had to have been almost noon. I slept for ten-ish hours. More than enough to call it a full night's rest, but I was still foggier than smoke.  Haylee was gone, and Meesha lay curled up at my feet. She has a special place at the foot of the mattress. You can tell where by the wolf-like hair that accumulates like the after-stroke from a dust broom. As I start to adjust my back against the wall, Meesha awoke quickly with surprise that I was finally coming to consciousness. I think she had tried to wake me up earlier, but to no success. I was a sleeping giant. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and bellowed a deep and true yawn. It was good to be awake.  

Liberation.

Lately I've been surprising myself with subtle nuances. These small gifts would come in sporadic bursts of unlikely character moves and thought. Like a revolution within myself. You know how we usually dream of how we could somehow be the person we want to be... Think like we want to think, talk like we want to talk. Tell the server when your soda sucks, or refuse to change your seat because "I was here first, that's fucking why." I'm unshackling the burden's of timid reason.

Do what ever you want. 

I quit my bullshit job in January. I was irrationally bored. It provided a meager income for bills and the occasional night out with Haylee, but it cost me much more than my sanity. I'd never been a morning person. I never understood why modern society in the United States started so awfully-fucking-early. If people could get deep sleep -- like 20,000 leagues kind of sleep -- maybe they wouldn't have the need to be assholes. I have problems with authority. Not like "fuck-the-police" kind of authority. I've never even gotten a traffic ticket. 

What do you mean you have to? 

I dropped out of my very first semester of "post-secondary-education" last week. College. I don't know why I imagined college like a utopia of young intellectuals striving to absorb knowledge to better themselves. That's almost erotic. All the kind of personalities you never got used to go to college. I'm not a self-intreverted douche bag with a high nose and superior gusto, but I can tell when almost everything that comes out of your mouth is bullshit, and don't mind the fact that I'm really not trying to hold this conversation with you. I was going to school for an EMT - B certification. The 'B' is for basic. I didn't want to be there anymore, so I dropped out. Everything about societal self-worth riding on the arbitrary existence of diploma is a complete deal-breaker for me. I swear I'll never work for anyone ever again. 

Knowledge is wherever you can feel it.

You'd be surprised how freaked out people can get when you would suggest a change in their primitive routines they call "life". They rely heavily on direction from everywhere but themselves. Their television screens, their boss, their parents. Responsibility holds a different meaning entirely. "Taking care of yourself first" has never been so irrelevant. People will almost never do what they want to do. 

[cosmoglaut]

salsify replied to your post:Just realized that I am developing a mental block...

Well, isn’t it about quality of writing: when it’s used as an “I don’t want to figure out how these 2 things are related” way to jump over coherent plotting, it’s an abomination. In capable hands, less so, it seems to me.

Usually yes. But this time I did read a good fic, and had really no desire to connect the disjointed dots. And the reason was, "no timey-wimey jumps please" kept repeating in my head! Let's see how long this lasts

[schlock-luster-video]

Today in Gen-X / indepenedent film history: on December 4, 1992 Slacker debuted in the United Kingdom.

Here's some Teresa Taylor fan art!