The Butterfly's Dream (Kelebeğin Rüyası)

THE BUTTERFLY'S DREAM

I'm leaving this town.

After years on the edge...

Of damp and gloom...

Of conversation in coal mines...

Of affluence and poverty...

Of another world war... I'm finally leaving.

I have before me the poems Rüştü and Muzaffer wrote.

I may have mentioned them in one of my letters.

Or doubtless, like everyone else, I'm guilty of the injustice...

Of forgetting them altogether.

BASED ON A TRUE STORY...

"MALE CITIZENS AGED BETWEEN 15 TO 65 FROM ALL VILLAGES OF ZONGULDAK PROVINCE...

...ARE CHARGED WITH WORKING IN THE MINES." COMPULSORY LABOR ACT (TURKEY, 1940)

Muzaffer!

C'mon!

- I have a good feeling this time. - It'll be another letdown, my friend.

- Optimist or pessimist: who's braver? - OK. If you win...

- My gold pocket watch is yours. - You don't have one!

OK, so you win an imaginary watch. What are you betting?

- My gold tipped pen. - Steady on, bard!

- That's your prize imaginary belonging! - No problem. I'll win whatever happens.

We'll see.

Daddy!

- Why do pretty girls grow up faster? - The prettiest can never resist a poem.

All it takes is a few pretty words she wouldn't hear from anyone else.

You think so?

For example, if I were to say: "Madam, your skin is so pale..."

"That you'd look naked in a wedding gown..."

You'd get the beating of your life! But if I went up to her and said:

"Your laugh, madam... Your laugh is begrudged by birds."

How's that?

"Begrudged" is a little crude. "Is the envy of birds" works better.

Right.

- I'm opening it. - I can see.

I'm looking.

I see nothing.

They've published the teacher's poem. But not ours.

So that feeling you had was hot air.

Don't get upset.

You won a gold tipped pen!

Hello.

Congratulations, sir. They published another of your poems.

- In Varlık magazine. - They did?

- And yours? - No. We're proud of you, sir.

- But also jealous? - Sure. The one goes with the other.

Which one did they publish?

WINDMILLS

Buy us dinner, sir, and there'll be no hard feelings.

Wait a second.

- What's he saying? - First he wants everyone to be German...

Then he says no one can be. Something like that.

- You were talking about dinner, sir. - Was I?

Honeycomb. How about 'Honeycomb'?

Too sweet.

Too sweet for a literary magazine.

It could be, say...

- 'The City'. - Or 'Life'.

'Life' is good, isn't it, sir?

Sometimes.

A life where we could pay upfront for this dinner, say...

Would be preferable.

- Where do you plan to find the money? - That's done. We spoke to the printers.

- But the guy said no! - Well, negotiations have begun!

Every unpublished poet wants to publish a magazine.

That's harsh, sir.

Muzaffer and I have made a bet over a girl.

We'll each write a poem. Whoever's poem she prefers, wins the bet.

- Why don't I know about this? - Scared, are you?

Why would I be? If the girl knows about poetry, she'll choose mine.

- If not, she's yours anyway! - If the girl likes your poem...

She knows nothing about poetry.

We'll see.

If a girl likes the poem...

- Does it mean she'll like the poet too? - Don't you think so, sir?

Well, I've known it not to.

I am without patience You without loyalty

What can come of these two wants?

- Who's the poet? - Yusuf Nabi.

Bravo.

I'll give you an extra-high grade for that.

Give half to your friend here.

- Good night. - Good night, sir.

Good night, sir.

Know that habit you have of reveling in a right answer?

Right, the habit you never have?

So memorizing literature makes you literary, does it?

- Not knowing it gets you nowhere. - I know.

It's just I don't want to expose you in front of our teacher!

- Need some poetry, honey? - No, honey!

That's what you think, honey.

Sir!

Sir, the bread stinks anyway. Buy a book here instead.

Your kid has nothing to eat...

So at least get some blood to his brain.

Who needs a handmade book anyway?

FOR NOW

Muzaffer! We need a typewriter.

I can't steal another. It's your turn.

Ask someone else.

But we're about to start rehearsals.

- Rehearsals for an unwritten play? - I wrote 10 pages. We need a fair copy.

Ten pages? Really?

Sure. Even the title is decided.

What's that?

Well, I have a few titles in mind. It'll be one of them, that's decided!

I see, Rüştü.

A typewriter, Muzaffer.

A typewriter.

- What do we say? - Offer her a part in the play.

There's a perfect role for her. Or will be when I write it.

- Hi there. - Hello.

We're from the community centre drama group.

I'm Rüştü, a poet and writer.

What's going on! C'mon, keep walking!

Rüştü.

We can't write poems for that girl.

- Why not? - She didn't shake your hand.

She was scared, nothing extraordinary.

- Why write poems for someone ordinary? - You wouldn't?

- Would you? - But we're not writing poems for her.

The girl's our excuse.

Love is an excuse for poetry.

- How's that? - Not bad.

- How are you feeling, Rüştü? - Clogged.

- Coughed any blood? - A little.

- How are you, Muzaffer? - Fine, sir. And you?

Well. Very well.

And in fact, I've brought you...

A new book from your favorite poets.

- You mean they've come out? - And already kicked up a row.

About time too!

- At last we're bringing down the idols. - Don't worry, they'll raise new ones.

Wait. Wait a second.

Wait, open the cover.

- Open the cover! - All three names are there!

For three whole months I've lain sick

Dead to myself and the city's streets--

Pass me some water.

Here.

Lie back.

You're letting an invalid read poetry. C'mon, you do it.

To have fish, you need sea

To make love, to be jobless

And to stop your soles aching In bed at night

You need to be rich

Whereas to whistle

You need nothing

- Is this dress made of gold? - The fabric is from Istanbul, Dad.

- It could've been Aleppo for that price! - And we'll be getting ice cream too.

- You're not to eat on the street! - You can't get ice cream now anyway.

- Can't you get ice cream here? - "Can't you get ice cream here?"

Don't wail about not having ice cream when people are going hungry, will you?

- I'm not that kind of person, Dad. - Good.

- Goodbye, Mr Zikri. - Great! You mock me in front of my Dad!

How are the books selling, Muzaffer?

I had an interesting offer from the nut man.

What was that?

He said...

He'd pay 2.50 lira for all the books.

Why does he want books?

To make paper cones for his nuts.

- What did you say? - I said, "But this is poetry!"

And he said, "But people will read it when they finish their nuts!"

- I think it's a great idea. - Sure. We just couldn't agree on price.

Try talking to him again.

- Hello, sir. - Hello Ayşegül.

My cousin, Suzan Özsoy, from Istanbul. She's joining our class this year.

- Our literature teacher, Behçet Necati. - Nice to meet you, sir.

Hello, welcome.

So you can shake hands if you want to.

Excuse me?

Why didn't you shake my friend's hand?

Umm... I...

How is he?

In hospital.

- I hope he recovers soon. - Recovery isn't easy with his illness.

- See you at school, sir. - Goodbye, girls.

Is that the girl?

- Why were you rough on her? - Humankind, sir.

If you're nice, they soon forget you. See you!

- Hello there. - Hello.

Battal, I'd love to know if the horses like you shoeing them.

I'm just trying to imagine someone nailing a shoe to my own foot.

- What do you want this time? - I have the book you ordered.

Muzaffer, why don't you understand? I can't read or write!

- So? Maybe the kids will read it. - God Almighty!

- How much is it? - A quarter kurush.

- Give him a quarter. - It's all I have anyway.

- Take it and go. - Here, the book.

I don't want it!

I'll be sure to mention you in a poem.

For valuing poetry despite being unable to read.

- What's he selling? - Poems.

- Poems? Really? - Want one?

- Sure. Go on, read one. - I meant do you want a book?

Give me a taster. If I like it, I'll get one.

In that case, I'll open a page at random...

And read you the luck of the draw.

The poem's called 'The Dead Speak'.