The Butterfly's Dream (2013) Movie Script

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
Rt 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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!
Congratulations, sir.
They published another of your poems.
- In Varlk 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?
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?
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?
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Every unpublished poet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.
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, 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?
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?
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, Rt.
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 Rt, a poet and writer.
What's going on!
C'mon, keep walking!
We can't write poems for that girl.
- Why not?
- She didn't shake your hand.
She was scared, nothing extra or dinary.
- 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, Rt?
- 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.
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 a ching
In bed at night
You need to be rich
Where as 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 Ayegl.
My cousin, Suzan zsoy, from Istanbul.
She's joining our class this year.
- Our literature teacher, Behet 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?
- Aquarterkurush.
- 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'.
Should I be born again
I'll be sane and wise
- I'll have no truck with taverns
- Bravo!
Sundays I'll spend in the park
with my wife
If you find one.
I know only what I know
Which is this
To die or not to die
That is the question
Suffice that a man a voids death
That he sleeps at night
And wakes in the morning
That his hair is ruffled by the wind
No more, no less
The labordodgers are coming!
God is great!
God is great!
God is great!
Those eyes...
Your eyes...
Your eyes...
No, c'mon! What eyes?
Love in the Time...
Of Compulsory Labor
Aone-act play.
The story begins in a misty forest village.
The whole village is uneasy.
Something strange is afoot.
Soldiers are converging on the village.
Youngsters start running forthe forest.
Mehmet is there among them.
It looks like he'll get away
until suddenly the soldiers pounce.
As I lie on the cross of years
The days stone my body
Nailed to my horizon
Seasons come and go
Rain clouds
Who knows whether
My lidded pot boils
With meat or misery?
Mister,just a moment please!
If you'll take me,
I'd like to shake your friend's hand...
...and wish him well.
After you.
You don't catch tuberculosis by shaking
hands. Just a little love at most.
- And that goes away once forgotten.
- What do you do for a living?
I'm a poet.
So you don't have a job?
I climb the town's telegraph poles.
- Because you're a poet?
- No, because I'm a public servant.
- You stole the blanket too?
- It chose to come with me.
I pray you recoverquickly, Mr. Rt.
You pray I do?
How long since I heard those words
spoken so beautifully!
- Get well.
- Thank you.
- So is everything OK now?
- Just fine.
- Have you everacted on stage before?
- I was the swan in a school play once.
The swan?
Good, she has experience.
- Watch out!
- No, I'm fine.
How did you escape compulsory labor?
Because you're sick?
- Can't you pick a nicer conversation?
- That law is for villagers.
- Have you ever been down there?
- In the mines? I work there.
- He works above ground.
- I so want to go down.
It's no place for girls. Well...
No place for humans actually.
- Go down where?
- The mines.
- That's great.
- What?
- It's perfect.
- What?
I'll explain.
- What's going on?
- Don't worry, I'll explain.
Weren't you going to start
a nice conversation?
How do I know
what 'nice' means to you?
- What else? Art, literature.
- Forget it!
I dance, play tennis.
Sport is my thing.
Rt, c'mon, let's go.
- What's wrong?
- If a poet spends too long... a poetic setting with a philistine,
his poetry dries up.
And that scares us.
So long, sorry sportsgirl!
Don't you think you sweat too much?
What's keeping you, Rt?
Where are you going?
- You're on your own from here on.
- Goodbye!
I'm playing a match at the Company
this weekend.
Why not come along, Mr. Poets?
- Hey, stop! It was a joke!
- Suzan!
See? She knows nothing about poetry.
Stay away.
That's OK.
I'll teach her.
- Have a good evening, Muzaffer.
- You too.
- Aforest village swathed in mist.
- Nice.
A forest village...
...swathed... mist.
I'm trying to sleep!
Wait. Wait a second.
Keep the noise down.
Who do you think I'm talking to?
- Dash.
- OK.
Who's playing Mehmet?
No idea.
What do you mean?
I am of course.
If Hatice is Suzan, I'm Mehmet.
Hold the lamp properly, will you?
- Here.
- Hold it here. You're a lousy actor.
I'm a lot betterthan you,
just not as crazy about theatre.
Look, hold the lamp there when you read
and here when I type.
- I am! Stop blabbering and type.
- You aren't! You're holding it wrong.
- Hatice... Dash.
- I typed that.
- You did the dash?
- Yes.
I'm going down the mine, Mum.
I'm go...
- I can't see! Hold it here.
- C'mon, type!
Look, I'll show you.
Goodbye, Mr. Muzaffer.
Bring me the mirror.
When a man has a son...
He feels safer.
He thinks...
'I'm no longer alone in this battle. '
'I'll have my son at my side. '
'He'll do all the things I couldn't. '
Could do no more
than a public sector salary allowed.
But my son...
Will conquer the world.
Hold it straight!
But then...
My son follows his own whim
instead of a meaningful purpose...
And that's the end of that.
I'm sorry to hear it, OK, Muzaffer?
- I'm fired and I have to console you?
- You could help.
I feel guilty, you see.
You are guilty, Rt.
Look on the bright side.
I'm off sick, you're fired,
we can rehearse as we please.
How will we feed our selves, Rt?
Optimist orpessimist: who's braver?
Bravo, Suzan!
We start rehearsals tomorrow.
At the community centre.
After school.
OK, on the eve of marriage
Mehmet is seized by soldiers.
The wedding was in a week
and his bride was to be Hatice.
You already know Suzan.
Now, as the two lovers look woefully
at one another...
The soldiers take Mehmet away.
Look at one another.
Look woeful, Suzan.
OK, OK. She can't do it now,
but give hertime.
So then...
So then...
Hatice is left alone.
Life without Mehmet
is like a death sentence for Hatice.
She has to do something.
Then she has a crazy idea.
To disguise herself as a man
and go down the mine.
So she cuts off her hair,
dresses as a man, dons a helmet...
And sets off to be a miner.
- Then what?
- That's all I've written so far.
I've written more actually...
But that's all we've typed up.
- What happens next?
- Don't worry, it's all in my head.
- So what's my part?
- Don't worry, roly-poly!
I'm writing great roles for you all.
OK, everyone on stage
to rehearse what we have!
Suzan, look at me sadly.
- Very funny.
- Look...
Stop gabbling, Muzaffer.
- Why this play?
- Why do you ask?
- Those guys have TB!
- I know.
- What if you catch it?
- Worried I'll give it to you?
Don't you love me any more?
- I neversaid so.
- Nor did you say you didn't.
- Because I do.
- There, you said you loved me.
Don't worry, Krat,
I can look after myself.
- Oof, Muzaffer!
- It was hard enough to get her walking.
Watch out,
there may be crocodiles!
Let's have some overhere.
We have two eggs.
Divide this equally into eight.
Now there's a challenge!
I read a bit of poetry.
- And it bored you.
- A bit.
Nice, you do a bit of everything.
I can't figure out if I was bored
because I didn't understand...
Or I didn't understand
because I was bored.
That's poetry for you.
What is?
Let me ask you something.
Could you write a poem right away?
No. You need inspiration, don't you?
Does a baker need inspiration
to bake bread?
There, I just wrote you a line.
Which was that?
We didn't understand
so were bored
The bakerwas uninspired
so we starved
So is that a poem?
I don't know. Maybe.
We didn't understand so were bored
The bakerwas uninspired so we starved
- Hatice!
- Mehmet!
What's up, boys?
Haven't I told you never to ask
for the typewriter?
You do all the time, sir.
I can't figure why we're still asking.
It belongs to the school,
so don't get me fired.
- Bring it back by noon tomorrow.
- Tomorrow?
- Yes, Rt, tomorrow.
- Sir, typing also requires paper.
I don't have any.
I'm always giving the kids homework
to get paperinto the house.
Look, writing requires three things.
Ideas, paper
and a writing instrument.
- Most of the time you're missing two.
- You're no better, sir.
The school's typewriter,
the kids' paper.
Well, OK.
I'll give you some paper.
- Then I want you out of here.
- Thanks, sir.
- Sir...
- What?
We have nowhere to type.
What are you doing
in the mine, Hatice?
- Doing in the mine...
- Hatice, dash.
The coal ran out at home.
- The coal ran out at home?
- She's joking.
- It's no place for jokes!
- Just type.
OK. First worker.
I'd rather die down here
than live without Mehmet.
- I'd rather die down here!
- Mehmet, centre stage.
As they look woefully at each other...
C'mon, look woeful.
- OK. The coal ran out at home.
- What are you doing here, girl?
- Take him away, soldiers!
- Wait, wait!
No! Go on, don't listen.
Take him away!
Dump that here.
I want continuous action!
- What are you doing here?
- What kind of gesture was that?
- Faster!
- Welcome!
- Welcome!
- Welcome!
- Welcome!
- Welcome!
- Welcome!
- Welcome!
In the scene before, Hatice and Mehmet
know they know each other.
- But they don't! Herback's turned.
- She's right, he doesn't recognize her.
What does it matter if he...
I've lost very dearfriends to TB.
May God heal you.
- Thank you.
- But keep away from my daughter.
Or you'll be sorry.
Please, help yourself.
- Thank you.
- Enjoy.
- Where's Suzan?
- I don't know.
I didn't believe it when they said
ice cream was coming from Istanbul
It cost more than I bargained for.
Do you want some?
Why didn't you say?
- Say what?
- That the boys have TB.
Mehve, look after the guests.
Would you ratherhave a father
who didn't care?
I'd ratherhave a father
who didn't humiliate me in public.
Be inside in five minutes.
I didn't bring you to Zonguldak
to associate with lowlife.
Don't give me reason to get angry.
When spring comes...
You know that feathery stuff
poplartrees scatter everywhere?
- Cotton fluff.
- Is that the name forit?
- What about it?
- Nothing.
Cotton fluff.
Things like that are beautiful.
Which is a beautiful thought, isn't it?
Yes, beautiful.
You'll get better one day,
won't you?
One day...
A mystic dreamt he was a butterfly.
He woke up all confused.
Did he dream he was a butterfly...
Orwas a butterfly dreaming
that it was him?
I have to go.
Will I see you again?
I hate you leaving like this.
Without a laugh.
I have no reason to laugh.
You're so beautiful.
You can laugh for no reason too.
- You're writing again, aren't you?
- Yes.
- You won't give up, will you?
- No.
- What good is it, for heaven's sake?
- None.
Shall I read you one?
- No.
- But it's about you.
How do you mean?
When I asked how I was
People laughed
Even motherwouldn't look at me
Because I wrote poetry
But overlunch one day
She said we were fated to die
Whereas I am destined
To live
Drink your tea.
Hello there.
Hello, sir.
Amiracle has happened.
What's happened, sir?
Mr. Rt has been invited
to the sanatorium.
My poem.
I didn't sign it. Don't you either.
She shouldn't be influenced.
Have you written yours?
- There's no point now anyway.
- Muzaffer...
Don't invite misery.
We have plenty of it already.
Keep up your poetry.
We're obviously good for nothing else.
Misery is an excuse for poetry.
Goodbye, sir.
I'll get you a place
as soon as I'm there.
Just take care of yourself.
- If I can't, all my gold is yours.
- Don't get me in then.
There is a fragrance
About you
Of warm
On your hands
In your eyes
Or in your hair?
I don't know which
There is a fragrance about you
- Hello, sir.
- Hello, Muzaffer.
I didn't know
you were invited to the ball.
- You invited me, sir.
- Really? I didn't know that either.
Suzan. Suzan!
So you came?
You look beautiful.
I mean,
you looked beautiful dancing.
Thank you.
Umm, look.
This is for you.
There are two poems inside.
- See what...
- Suzan!
- What's going on?
- I won't be long, Krat.
- We're talking, can't you see?
- Maybe you are.
But your germs could make this girl
very sick. Do you realize that?
I think this turd told your father.
Did you call me a turd?
Yes. You...
- You called me a turd?
- Krat!
You called me a turd?
- Turd!
- Who are you?
- Who are you!
- Help!
C'mon, Suzan. Move!
Weddings and festivities
are the perfect time for a fight.
I agree.
But go for guys your age next time.
Luckily there were just six of them.
Yes, luckily.
Are you OK?
Happy holiday, Mr. Muzaffer.
Happy holiday, sir.
The eyes express much
And intimate more
The occasion of encounter
Flying in the torrid elements
Weary as a bird
- The meaning of 'encounter', ahin?
- Sorry, sir?
You can sit down, ahin.
- 'Encounter', Ayegl?
- Meeting, sir.
Bravo. So the meaning?
The occasion...
The occasion...
The occasion of encounter.
The meaning of'occasion'?
Time, sir.
Time ormoment.
Bravo, Krat.
That gives us 'the moment of meeting'.
Weary as a bird.
Why is the bird weary, ahin?
Maybe it's been flying too long, sir.
Forget literature,
but he knows all about birds.
Bravo, ahin.
That's your first everright answer.
Come in!
Sir, Suzan zsoy is wanted
in the headmaster's office.
Really? Go ahead, Miss Suzan.
The change of scene will wake you up.
The occasion of encounter
Weary as a bird
What about the headmaster's office?
Thanks, Veli.
Remind me to give you my book.
Thanks, but you already did.
- Give it to a date when you have one.
- I already did.
OK, Veli. You can go.
What are you doing here?
Shall we meet tomorrow...
After school by the sea?
- I don't know.
- I'll be waiting for you.
- Quick, go!
- I'll be waiting for you, Suzan.
- Go!
- Look, Suzan!
Even if you don't come,
I'll carry on waiting.
- Go!
- I'll be waiting.
- Go, will you?
- I'll be waiting. I'll wait for years.
- Go now!
- No, I'm here. You go.
I'll be waiting for you.
I'm just fine, my friend.
Medication, treatment,
everything is superb.
Eating three meals a day
seems to be a cure in itself.
Still, I won't go on about that.
Brace yourself.
I've met a girl here.
Well, I will
as soon as I finish this letter.
She's looking at me right now.
I told the guys here about you.
They said 'no',
but I didn't sink to their level.
They go on about waiting lists,
but I keep hounding them.
But what are you up to, bard?
Are you OK?
Did you give Suzan the poems?
Which one did she like?
How come you haven't written me
a single line?
What was that?
- A letter from Rt.
- Really? So is he OK?
He's fine, in good spirits.
He met someone. I mean...
- He was about to.
- No, really? Who?
I don't know.
It just flew away.
How about those poems?
Is that why you came?
I don't have them here.
Didn't you memorize them?
Let's hear.
You must read them
and say which one you like.
And Hatice was all set
to go down the mine.
- What?
- In the Time of Compulsory Labor.
I mean in the play, not real life.
- I see.
- You can't really go down, can you?
- Are you out of your mind?
- What if we go in disguise like Hatice?
Forget the idea.
It's too dangerous.
They'll slaughter us.
I'll find someone else
to take me then.
Have your father take you.
- I should go. Ayegl is waiting.
- Wait.
Will we meet again?
It's too dangerous.
They'll slaughter us.
Suzan. Suzan!
- Hello.
- Hello.
Here, the poems.
And here's our disguise.
Like in the play.
C'mon, quick.
- Ayegl, look after these.
- Where are you going?
I'll be back in two hours
Don't worry, OK?
Let's go.
- You're so pale we'll stand out a mile.
- As if you aren't.
- I'm a guy.
- So? We're talking about color.
Here's some color for you.
This is as faras we go.
- Move!
- Faster!
Go, go, go!
- Oh God! Fumigation!
- What's that?
- What's going on?
- Wait.
Just hold on.
What are those guys doing?
It's forlice.
Lice? Do something, Muzaffer.
What can I do?
What are you waiting for?
Carry on.
Wait there.
Now go.
Go, go, go!
- Go.
- Strip fast. Faster!
C'mon, hurry.
You too.
C'mon! Hurry!
Why aren't you stripping?
My handkerchief, Mum!
Get a handkerchief.
The morning sun floods into my room
Through the closed window
Wishing me a good moming
On the back of the chair
my jacket
Has no memory of last night
And urges not to make a fuss.
After which my window chimes in
"Good moming, Mr. Muzaffer
The streets await you"
So the streets await me
Good morning
The US base at Pearl Harbor
has been bombed by the Japanese.
In the wake of the attack,
President Franklin Roosevelt declared...
...that the USA had
officially joined World War ll.
What's up, sir?
The European Waris over.
We now have a world war.
The Japanese have attacked America.
Never mind about that, Muzaffer.
Your own battle needs all your care.
That sounded like a poem.
Never mind about that, Muzaffer
Or... Keep your mind
on yourself, Muzaffer
Your own battle needs all your care
How's that?
- Never mind about that, Muzaffer
- That's better?
Your own battle needs all your care
Yes, that's better.
Read all about it!
Japan bombs America!
Read all about it!
Read all about it!
Japan bombs America!
Read all about it!
- Thanks, sir.
- You're welcome.
I don't like to ask, but...
Why are we even going there?
They won't take me.
They will.
How come?
In my view, it's rude to ask a teacher
a question he can't answer
God is great.
- We're here to visit a patient.
- It's not a visiting day. Sundays only.
No hospital can turn away a patient!
Ever heard of the word 'emergency'?
That's the chief physician!
Sir, sir!
Sorry to stop you.
Could you spare me a minute?
I have an invalid with me.
- Hello.
- I wish you a quick recovery.
- Thank you.
- So many youngsters like you are sick.
And they're all on the waiting list.
Now if we were to admit you...
- Wouldn't it be unfair on them?
- He's been on that list for years too.
Well, exactly.
If someone else was admitted,
wouldn't it be unfair on you?
- True, but one second...
- etin!
Sir! This boy is a great poet.
If anyone on the waiting list
is a better poet...
...I think you should admit them.
That would be the fair thing.
Muzaffer! Get out your notebook.
Let's not take the gentleman's time.
Read one of your short poems, quick!
They'll say of me
When I'm gone
"All he did was write poetry"
"And wander, hands in pockets,
On rainy nights"
"Too bad,"they'll say
after reading my diary
"What a hapless man"
"Being defeated by poverty"
We have another like him here.
I know, doctor. I sent him too.
- Really?
- Yes.
I tell you, this girl was born
to play 'velleyball'!
So much for a poet knowing language!
It's called 'volleyball'.
Seems you learned the name
but then got no further!
Look, you're ruining our game.
Clear off, or I'll report you.
God forbid!
We quake at the thought.
OK. We'lljust sit here quietly.
Where did you suddenly spring from?
How are you?
- Fine. And you?
- Fine.
What happened to your face?
I'll tell you later.
- Good to see you, Rt.
- Welcome, Muzaffer.
Come here.
I'd rather you were here on a visit.
You'd rather I weren't treated?
I'd rather you weren't sick, idiot.
Don't make me laugh.
How are you, Nurse Mjgan?
Miss Banu, this is Muzaffer Tayyip Uslu.
Another poet.
- Hello.
- Hello.
Adamn good poet at that.
That's our teacher, isn't it?
It wasn't easy
getting you in here, boys.
- Make the most of it, OK?
- OK, sir.
Use the rest of the time to write.
Nonstop, about everything.
Then send it to me.
Don't go crazy for what you write,
but write.
- See you soon, Mr. Rt.
- See you, sir.
No hugs.
- See you soon, Mr. Muzaffer.
- Sir, I don't know what to say.
- Thanks for everything.
- Say nothing. Just write.
Don't worry, we will.
All we know is to keep a record
The rest is the will of the Lord
- Whose lines, sir?
- Anonymous.
Good poetry is anonymous.
- What's that?
- Alcohol.
It's how they serve alcohol here.
Thanks, Nurse Mjgan, that'll do.
Too much and it goes to my head.
We went down to the mine together.
You and Suzan?
- You made my dream come true!
- Yes.
- Which mine?
- Karadon.
- Karadon?
- Karadon.
So what happened?
It all started perfectly.
But it ended in disaster.
You got caught?
Yes. We got caught.
- They beat you up, no doubt.
- No. Why do you think that?
I wish you'd seen her
in herminer's gear.
She was so...
I told you not to take it seriously.
So which poem did she like?
I didn't get to find out.
I didn't see heragain.
Hey, where are we going?
I owe you one, my friend.
The time's come to pay you back.
Dear Suzan,
I'm writing you my first letter...
In a sea of typewriters
at the Heybeli Sanatorium.
I'm here with Rt.
We're eminent members
of a choirof 100 coughers.
Dear Suzan,
This is my second letter.
I guess you didn't like the first...
Dear Suzan...
The mailman retumed all my letters.
It's as if those letters I sent you
were written to myself.
Don't! Don't throw it!
What's wrong?
- Nothing.
- Where's the smile?
Mediha, what's wrong?
- Are you OK?
- Mediha?
Mediha, wait.
Can you call Nurse Mjgan?
Call Nurse Mjgan!
You aren't carrying
the TB bacteria, dear.
But I'm afraid we don't have
the cure for your complaint.
I need to go back to Zonguldak.
The honeymoon will end...
And we'll go back to our old lives.
We're supposed to keep up the treatment
once we've left.
Where will I find such good food?
I've already packed my bag.
- Let's get time off.
- There's no such thing.
If we leave, we can't come back.
I love you...
I'm being discharged soon.
Will you marry me?
I'll help your family.
How else can I stay at your house
if we don't get married?
I won't go back to Zonguldak.
Anyway, I'm in Istanbul now.
Once the poems come out in Varlk,
I can start writing for a magazine.
And as soon as my name gets around...
I'll start making money.
We're sick.
We're in love!
What do you say?
- Goodbye.
- Mediha?
- Everyone inside.
- Mr. Muzaffer, please.
Mr. Rt.
Inside please.
No hugs!
You're going to be my wife.
You'll be having our child.
You must take care of yourself.
Do I really want there to be
another one of you?
We may be in luck
and he'll take after you.
- Here.
- But it's...
Your wedding.
- I can't take it.
- Someone just pinned it on.
They'll be more.
Well, hopefully.
Go and find her.
Poetry is an excuse for life.
Pretend I pinned it on.
- That music's started.
- Run along then.
We're married.
We're married.
- One no-trump.
- Pass.
- Three no-trumps.
- Pass.
Teacher, you know the Germans.
How will this war end?
Will they win?
Well, the only Germans
I know are their poets.
And they're winning nothing
these days.
Poets? What's their problem?
He got married?
Sir, we've done things
that'll make you mad.
Like what?
- Sir, where's Suzan?
- What did you do to make me mad?
No one at the sanatorium
is cured in three months.
You feel a little better, but...
I see.
You ran away.
- Sir, where's Suzan?
- They took her to Istanbul.
- Where in Istanbul?
- How do I know?
What happens if you find Suzan?
No idea.
Maybe it'll complete my cure.
I have something here for you.
They arrived 10 days ago.
I sent you copies, but as you ran away
you won't have got them.
And both of us at once!
Congratulations, Mr. Muzaffer.
Is any patient allowed time off
when everthey like?
Those in bettershape, well...
Just patients who do as they're told.
Bravo, you do as you're told now!
Why did you need time off?
I missed Mum, Dad.
I missed you both.
- Do they pay your travel expenses?
- Sure.
Sure they do.
Well, you seem a little better.
- Good.
- Praise God!
I'm a lot better, Dad.
So is Rt.
He sends his regards.
- How long are you staying?
- Why didn't he get time off?
They said it clashed
with his treatment thing.
How long will you stay?
I have to go back tomorrow.
After all,
I'm not fully recovered, Mum.
They're hardly going to let me
stay out for days.
I should be back
the day after tomorrow at the latest.
Thanks, Mum.
Dear Mr. Poet,
I'm in Istanbul.
And everything is so boring.
I can't forgive myself
for what happened to you.
I just can't seem to reach you.
Why don't you write back?
If you hadn't got my letters,
they'd have been returned.
Which means
you don't want to write.
Dear Poet... Maybe you're right,
silence is best.
Silence and forgetting.
And if forgetting isn't possible,
maybe not remembering is.
After all, there's a difference,
isn't there?
Any fresh poems, Mr. Greengrocer?
Forgive me, Uncle Mehmet.
- Welcome, Muzaffer.
- Thanks.
- Welcome.
- Nice to see you.
What brings you here?
Turns out Suzan is here.
C'mon, let's go upstairs.
- Are you OK?
- Yes.
I'll be right back, Father.
I say propose
as soon as you see her.
You're working at the factory
in this state?
You're madly in love, aren't you?
Mind your own business.
Get married,
move into this room with us...
And let your rich girl
see the real world.
My rich girl won't marry me.
So why look for her?
My love, don't fret so much
whenever I get fever.
Worry makes you unlikable.
Besides, I have to find Suzan...
To give hersome good news.
Good news?
What's that?
My poet friend Rt Onur and I
have had our poems published.
Listen here, poets.
One day everyone will know you.
And know your poems by heart.
You'll say a simple textile girl
told you so.
Simple? I nevermet
a more difficult person.
- Who, me?
- Yes.
C'mon! Shame on you.
But I do agree
with my wonderful wife...
That we've made a start, Muzaffer.
The rest will follow.
C'mon, read them.
Where are they?
- The rest will follow.
- C'mon.
- Hold it.
- Give it here!
How are you, sports girl?
How are you, Mr. Poet?
- Fine.
- Are you really?
Yes, fine.
You're in Istanbul...
I have so much tell you.
Shall we meet tomorrow then?
- In Beyolu, the Caf Nisuaz at 14:00.
- I know it, the famous poets' caf.
That's why I suggested it.
- OK. Two o'clock.
- I'll be there.
- What are you doing?
- Tensing myself.
To make the pain go away.
Is it working?
I don't know.
Where's Rt?
Why are you alone in this state?
Don't worry.
Mediha, you have a raging fever.
I can't have.
If I did,
why would I be so cold?
Shouldn't fever make you hot?
You went to the factory again,
didn't you?
I get bored at home.
Did you find her?
When did you last eat?
Does my breath smell?
Mediha, why don't you
look after yourself?
Oof! You sound like my mum.
No, I...
I sound like my own mum.
The doctor made faces last time
when I couldn't pay.
So I said it wasn't worth
making a face about.
God knows why, it just came out.
I have this mysterious arrogance
lurking in me.
He said, "I'm not coming then!"
All I could get was this bottle.
I'm no good at pleading, Muzaffer.
If I'd pleaded,
he may have come.
I ask why he's making faces!
C'mon, honey.
We're going to the bathroom.
- We'll keep your clothes on.
- Rt...
That way you won't get so cold.
Rt, calm down.
I'm fine.
Anyone glad to be alive is fine.
Not those glad not to be dead.
- C'mon, Mediha.
- I don't want to.
What did the doctoron the island say?
"Heat is our enemy, cold our friend. "
C'mon, Mediha!
I told you, I don't want to!
I just remembered you at the mine.
"Muzaffer, do something! Please!"
Well, what about you?
"Just wait! Hold on!"
Besides, at least I had clothes on.
Shame on you.
It was all my fault.
It was.
Our poems came out in Varlk.
Both of us.
Finally you did it!
We did.
So which poem?
I wish I could remind
a beauty of herbeauty
Before mirrors spoke
Is that it?
That's the shortest poem
I've everheard.
But it's beautiful.
Thank you.
Which one did you like?
Of the poems I gave you?
Why are you so anxious to know?
Believe me, I don't know any more.
No word from God
No fruit on the trees
Neither memories embrace
Nor ships everreturn
Why are you laughing?
I found a good reason.
It's so cold.
- Will it work with raki?
- Well, it's alcohol.
I explained the situation
to the barkeeper.
He was sympathetic.
He refused payment.
"This isn't raki," he said.
"It's medicine. "
You're lying, aren't you?
Of course.
When he refused to put it on credit
I had to steal it.
Happiness, as you know, my carnation,
is a thing lost.
Why did you suddenly say that?
I don't know.
You say bleak things so beautifully.
But that's nothing!
Your very being stops everything
from being totally bleak.
Otherwise, everything but you
is bleak, my sweet wife.
Even your illness is beautiful.
How do you mean?
If you weren't sick,
they'd never have let us marry.
See? You said something bleak
beautifully again.
No kisses.
No kisses.
Take a deep breath.
Take a deep breath.
What about this smell?
Don't worry, I'll drink it later.
It's me, Muzaffer.
Open the door.
Dear God
I never bared my soul
Reunion must now wait
Until Judgment Day
There is neither sailboat,
Norship in the harbor
Must wait for a long voyage
The ships are said to be
on coral shores
Finding them
Must wait for gloomy days
You try.
They may open the door for you.
It's me, Suzan.
I'm so sorry for our loss.
In that case...
I'll come back later.
I gave my cough
On the back balconies I see on my way
ladies' laundry
I'll sell cucumbers
Death is within me
It is
Suzan liked your poem more.
I meant to tell you,
only I forgot. I mean...
I didn't forget...
But I guess I resented it.
The time was never right anyway.
You wrote a poem...
Me a love letter.
So what does that mean?
The girl does know about poetry.
Congratulations, bard.
You won.
All my gold is now yours.
I can't breathe!
POE Has the butterfly woken now?
The poem you liked was Rt's.
We made a bet between us.
He won.
You were right.
It may be possible to not remember...
Rather than to forget.
I don't know why
I didn't tell you all this.
Maybe everyone
had their own worries.
Maybe you weren't around.
Maybe this letter was never written.
Maybe a butterfly...
Was so happy dreaming...
That it didn't want to wake...
From its sleep.
It emerged much
later that MEDIHA ONUR died...
...of a burst appendix after
not being diagnosed in time.
SUZAN OZSOYspent her subseqent life
as a teacher of literature.
BEHCET NECATIGIL became one of the most
esteemed poets of Turkey.
RUSTU ONUR died in 1942, at the age of 22,
17 days after his wife's death.
at the age of 26.
And they were forgotten...
And they were forgotten...
Until Today.
This film is dedicated
to the memory of all lost poets.
What is beautiful
Is that we're alive
Not that one day
We will
...Tayyip Uslu.