من دهمهوێت ئهمڕۆ گفتوگۆ لە بارەی چۆن خوێندنهوه دهتوانێت ژیانمان بگۆڕێت و سەبارەت بە سنوورهكانی ئهو گۆڕانه بكهم. دهمهوێت بدوێم لهبارهی چۆن خوێندنهوه جیهانێكمان پێ دهبهخشێت توانای هاوبهشیكردنی ههبێت له پهیوهندی بەهێزی مرۆڤ. ههروهها لهبارهی چۆنیهتی بوونی ئهو پهیوهندییه ههمیشه بهشكاری بێت. چۆن خوێندنهوه له كۆتاییدا پڕۆژهیهكی نامۆی بێوێنهیه.
I want to talk today about how reading can change our lives and about the limits of that change. I want to talk to you about how reading can give us a shareable world of powerful human connection. But also about how that connection is always partial. How reading is ultimately a lonely, idiosyncratic undertaking.
ئهو نووسهرهی ژیانمی گۆڕی ڕۆماننووسی گهورهی ئهمریكی بهڕهگهز ئهفریقی جهیمس بۆڵدوین بوو. كاتێك له میچیگانی ڕۆژئاوا له ١٩٨٠ كان گهوره دهبووم، زۆر نووسهری ئهمریكی بە ڕەچەڵەک ئاسیایی نهبوون حەزیان لە گۆڕانکاری كۆمهڵایهتی بێت. بۆیه ڕووم كرده جهیمس بۆڵدوین وهك ڕێگهیهك بۆ پڕكردنهوهی ئهم بۆشاییه، و ههستكردن به ئاگایی نهژادی. بهڵام ڕهنگه لهبهر ئهوه بێت خۆم ئهمریكی و ئهفریقی نهبووم، ههستم به بوێریی و تاوانباری كرد بههۆی وتهكانی. بهتایبهتی ئهم وتانه: "خهڵكانێكی لیبڕال ههن كه ههموو دۆخه ڕاستهكانیان ههیه، بهڵام باوهڕی ڕاستهقینهیان نییه. كاتێك تهلهزمهكان كهم دهبنهوه و بهڕێگهیهك پێشبینی دهكهیت بیگهیهنن، ئهوان بە ڕێگەیەک لهوێ نین." ئهوان به ڕێگهیهك لهوێ نین. ئهو وشانهم وهك خۆی وهرگرتووه. خۆم له كوێ دانێم؟
The writer who changed my life was the great African American novelist James Baldwin. When I was growing up in Western Michigan in the 1980s, there weren't many Asian American writers interested in social change. And so I think I turned to James Baldwin as a way to fill this void, as a way to feel racially conscious. But perhaps because I knew I wasn't myself African American, I also felt challenged and indicted by his words. Especially these words: "There are liberals who have all the proper attitudes, but no real convictions. When the chips are down and you somehow expect them to deliver, they are somehow not there." They are somehow not there. I took those words very literally. Where should I put myself?
چووم بۆ میسیسیپی دهڵتا، یهك له ههژارترین ناوچهكان له ویلایهته یهكگرتوهكان. شوێنێكه به مێژوویهكی بههێز پێكهاتووه. له ١٩٦٠ هكان، ئهمریكییه بە ڕەچەڵەک ئهفریقییهكان ژیانی خۆیان خسته مهترسی بۆ شهڕكردن بۆپهروهرده، بۆ شهڕكردن بۆ مافی دهنگدان. ویستم ببمه بهشیك لهو گۆڕانه، تا یارمهتی ههرزهكاره گهنجهكان بدهم دهربچن و بچنه كۆلێژ. كاتێک گهیشتمه میسیسیپی دهڵتا، شوێنێك بوو هێشتا ههژار بوو، هێشتا جیاكراوه بوو، هێشتا بهڕادهیهكی زۆر پێویستی به گۆڕان بوو.
I went to the Mississippi Delta, one of the poorest regions in the United States. This is a place shaped by a powerful history. In the 1960s, African Americans risked their lives to fight for education, to fight for the right to vote. I wanted to be a part of that change, to help young teenagers graduate and go to college. When I got to the Mississippi Delta, it was a place that was still poor, still segregated, still dramatically in need of change.
قوتابخانهكهم، ئهو شوێنهی لێی دانرام، نه كتیبخانهی لێبوو. نه ڕاوێژكاری ئاڕاستهكردن، بهڵام ئهفسهری پۆلیسی ههبوو. نیوهی مامۆستاكان جێگرهوه بوون كاتێك قوتابییهكان شهڕیان دهكرد، قوتابخانه دهیناردنه بهندیخانهی ناوخۆیی.
My school, where I was placed, had no library, no guidance counselor, but it did have a police officer. Half the teachers were substitutes and when students got into fights, the school would send them to the local county jail.
ئهمه ئهو قوتابخانهیه بوو تیایدا چاوم به پاتریك كهوت. ئهو ١٥ ساڵ بوو و دوو ساڵ دهرنهچوو بوو، له پۆلی ههشت بوو. هێمن، و تهنیاییخوازبوو، وهكو ئهوهی ههمیشه له بیركردنهوهیهكی قووڵدابێت. ڕقی لهوه بوو كهسانی تر شهربكهن. جارێكیان بینیم بازیدا نێوان دوو كچ كه شهڕیان دهكرد دایان به ئهرزهكه. پاتریك تهنیا كێشهیهكی ههبوو. نهدههاته قوتابخانه. گوتی قوتابخانه ههندێكجار زۆر خهمناكه چونكه قوتابییهكان ههمیشه شهڕدهكهن و مامۆستاكانیش خۆیان وهلادهنێن. دایكیشی دوو ئیشی دهكرد بۆیه لهبهر ماندوویهتی نهیدههێنا. بۆیه ئهمهم كرده ئیشی خۆم وای لێبكهم بێته قوتابخانه. چونکە من سەرشێت و ٢٢ ساڵ و له دڵهوه گهشبین بووم، بهرنامهڕێژییهكهم بریتی بوو له تهنیا لهبهردهم ماڵیان ئامادهبم و بڵێم، "سڵاو. بۆچی نایێتە قوتابخانه؟" ڕاستییهكهی ئهم بهرنامهڕێژییه كاری خۆی كرد، ههموو ڕۆژێك دههاته قوتابخانه. له پۆلهكهم دهگهشایهوه. هۆنراوهی دهنووسی، پهرتووكی دهخوێندهوه. ههموو ڕۆژێك دههاته قوتابخانه.
This is the school where I met Patrick. He was 15 and held back twice, he was in the eighth grade. He was quiet, introspective, like he was always in deep thought. And he hated seeing other people fight. I saw him once jump between two girls when they got into a fight and he got himself knocked to the ground. Patrick had just one problem. He wouldn't come to school. He said that sometimes school was just too depressing because people were always fighting and teachers were quitting. And also, his mother worked two jobs and was just too tired to make him come. So I made it my job to get him to come to school. And because I was crazy and 22 and zealously optimistic, my strategy was just to show up at his house and say, "Hey, why don't you come to school?" And this strategy actually worked, he started to come to school every day. And he started to flourish in my class. He was writing poetry, he was reading books. He was coming to school every day.
له نزیكهی ههمان كاتدا بۆم دهركهوت چۆن له پاتریك نزیك ببمهوه، له كۆلێژی یاسا له هارڤارد وهرگیرام. دووباره ڕووبهڕوی ئهم پرسیاره بوومهوه خۆم له كوێ دانێم، جهستهم له كوێ دانێم؟ بهخۆمم ووت كه میسیسیپی دهڵتا ئهو شوێنه بوو كه خهڵكی دهوڵهمهند، خهڵكی به بهخت، ئهو كهسانه دهڕۆن. ئهو كهسانهش لە دوایان جێدهمێنن ئهوانهن كه دهرفهتی ڕۆیشتنیان نییه. نهمویست ئهو كهسه بم كه ڕۆیشتووه. دهمویست ئهو كهسه بم كه ماوهتهوه. لهلایهكی تر، تهنیا و ماندوو بووم. خۆمم ڕازیكرد كه دهمتوانی گۆڕانکاری زیاتر ئهنجام بدهم به پێوهرێكی فراونتر گهر بڕوانامهیهكی یاسای پایهدارم ههبوایه. بۆیه ڕۆیشتم.
Around the same time that I had figured out how to connect to Patrick, I got into law school at Harvard. I once again faced this question, where should I put myself, where do I put my body? And I thought to myself that the Mississippi Delta was a place where people with money, people with opportunity, those people leave. And the people who stay behind are the people who don't have the chance to leave. I didn't want to be a person who left. I wanted to be a person who stayed. On the other hand, I was lonely and tired. And so I convinced myself that I could do more change on a larger scale if I had a prestigious law degree. So I left.
سێ ساڵ دواتر، كاتێك زۆرم نهمابوو له كۆلێژی یاسا دهربچم، هاوڕێكهم پهیوهندی پێوهكردم و گوتی پاتریك شهڕی كردووه و كهسێكی كوشتووه. من ڕووخاو بووم. بهشێك له من باوهڕی نهدهكرد، بهشهكهیترم زانی كه ڕاسته. گهشتم كرد تا پاتریك ببینم. له بهندیخانه سهردانم كرد. پێی گوتم كه ئهمه ڕاسته. كه كهسێكی كوشتووه. بهڵام نهیویست زیاتر لهبارهیهوه بدوێت پرسیارم لهبارهی قوتابخانه لێی كرد گوتی ساڵێك دوای ڕۆیشتنم وازی له قوتابخانه هێنابوو. دواتر ویستی شتێكی ترم پێ بڵێت. سهری له خوارهوه كرد و گوتی منداڵێكی كچی ههیه كه تازه لهدایك ببوو. وا ههستی دهكرد نائومێدی كردووه. ئهمه بوو، گفتوگۆكهمان بهپهله و نهگونجاو بوو.
Three years later, when I was about to graduate from law school, my friend called me and told me that Patrick had got into a fight and killed someone. I was devastated. Part of me didn't believe it, but part of me also knew that it was true. I flew down to see Patrick. I visited him in jail. And he told me that it was true. That he had killed someone. And he didn't want to talk more about it. I asked him what had happened with school and he said that he had dropped out the year after I left. And then he wanted to tell me something else. He looked down and he said that he had had a baby daughter who was just born. And he felt like he had let her down. That was it, our conversation was rushed and awkward.
كه ههنگاوم نا بۆ دهرهوهی بهندیخانه، دهنگێك له ناخهوه پێی گوتم، "بگهڕێوه. گهر ئێستا نهگهڕێیهوه، ههرگیز ناگهڕێیهوه." له كۆلێژی یاسا دهرچووم و گهڕامهوه. گهڕامهوه تا پاتریك ببینم، گهڕامهوه تاكو بزانم گهر بتوانم له كهیسه یاساییهكهی یارمهتی بدهم. ئهمجاره، كاتێك بۆ دووهمجار بوو بینیم، وامزانی ئهو بیرۆكه مهزنهم ههبوو، گوتم، "سڵاو، پاتریك، بۆچی نامهیهك بۆ كچهكهت نانووسیت، تاكو بتوانیت له مێشكی خۆت بیهێڵیهوه؟" پێنووسێك و پارچه پهڕێكم پێیدا، دهستیكرد به نووسین.
When I stepped outside the jail, a voice inside me said, "Come back. If you don't come back now, you'll never come back." So I graduated from law school and I went back. I went back to see Patrick, I went back to see if I could help him with his legal case. And this time, when I saw him a second time, I thought I had this great idea, I said, "Hey, Patrick, why don't you write a letter to your daughter, so that you can keep her on your mind?" And I handed him a pen and a piece of paper, and he started to write.
بهڵام كه سهیری ئهو پهڕهم كرد كه به منی دایهوه، واقم وڕما. دهستنووسهكهیم نهناسیهوه، ههڵهی ڕێنووسی زۆر سادهی ئهنجامدابوو. وهكو مامۆستایهك بیرم كردهوه، دهمزانی كه قوتابییهك دهیتوانی به شێوهیهكی بهرچاو باشتر بێت زۆر بهخێرایی، بهڵام ههرگیز وام بیرنهدهكردهوه كه قوتابی به شێوهیهكی بهرچاو بچێته دواوه . ئهوهی كه زیاتر ئازاری دام، بینینی ئهوه بوو كه بۆ كچهكهی نووسیبووی. نووسیبووی، "لهبهرامبهر ههڵهكانم داوای لێبوردن دهكهم، ببووره لهوێ نیم بۆ تۆ." ئهمه ههموو شتێك بوو ههستی دهكرد دهبوو به كچهكهی بڵێت. لە خۆم پرسی چۆن دهتوانم باوهڕ به خۆم بێنم کە شتی زیاتری ههیه بۆ گوتن، بهشێك لهخۆی كه پێویست ناكات پاساوی بۆ بهێنێتهوه. ویستم وا ههست بكات كه شتێكی سوودمهندی ههیه لهگهڵ كچهكهی باسی بكات.
But when I saw the paper that he handed back to me, I was shocked. I didn't recognize his handwriting, he had made simple spelling mistakes. And I thought to myself that as a teacher, I knew that a student could dramatically improve in a very quick amount of time, but I never thought that a student could dramatically regress. What even pained me more, was seeing what he had written to his daughter. He had written, "I'm sorry for my mistakes, I'm sorry for not being there for you." And this was all he felt he had to say to her. And I asked myself how can I convince him that he has more to say, parts of himself that he doesn't need to apologize for. I wanted him to feel that he had something worthwhile to share with his daughter.
ههموو ڕۆژێك له حهوت مانگی داهاتوو، سهردانم دهكرد و پهرتووكم بۆی دههێنا. جانتای گواستنهوهكهم ببووه كتێبخانهیهكی بچووك. جهیمس بۆڵدوینم بۆی هێنا، واڵت ویتمان،ك.س. لیویس م بۆی هێنا. پهرتووكی ڕێبهری بۆ دار، و باڵندهم بۆی هێنا، و فهرههنگ، كه بووه پهرتووكی ههڵبژاردهی ئهو. ههندێك ڕۆژ، ههردووكمان چهندین كاتژمێر بهبێ دهنگی دادهنیشتین، و دهمانخوێندهوه. ڕۆژهكانی تر، بهیهكهوه دهمانخوێندهوه، هۆنراوهمان دهخوێندهوه.
For every day the next seven months, I visited him and brought books. My tote bag became a little library. I brought James Baldwin, I brought Walt Whitman, C.S. Lewis. I brought guidebooks to trees, to birds, and what would become his favorite book, the dictionary. On some days, we would sit for hours in silence, both of us reading. And on other days, we would read together, we would read poetry.
دهستمانكرد به خوێندنهوهی سهدان هایكو (هۆنراوهی نهریتی ژاپۆنی سێ دێڕ) شاكارێكی سادهی گزیكهر. پرسیارم لێی دهكرد، "هایكوی ههڵبژاردهی خۆتم بۆ باسكه." ههندێكیان زۆر پێكهنیناوین. ئهمه یهكیكیانه له لایهن ئیسا: "خهم مهخۆن، جاڵجاڵۆكهكان، ماڵهكه به شێوهیهكی ناڕهسمی دهپارێزم." ئهمهش: "نیوهی ڕۆژهكه سهرخهوم شكاند، كهس سزای نهدام!" و ئهم دڵڕفێنه، لهبارهی یهكهم ڕۆژی بهفربارینه، "ئاسكەکان یهكهم زوقم له فهروهی یهكتری دهلێسێنهوه." شتێكی دڵڕفێن و نادیار ههیه لهبارهی ئهو شیوازهی هۆنراوهكه دیاره. بۆشایی بهتاڵ ههروهك وشهكان خۆیان گرنگه.
We started by reading haikus, hundreds of haikus, a deceptively simple masterpiece. And I would ask him, "Share with me your favorite haikus." And some of them are quite funny. So there's this by Issa: "Don't worry, spiders, I keep house casually." And this: "Napped half the day, no one punished me!" And this gorgeous one, which is about the first day of snow falling, "Deer licking first frost from each other's coats." There's something mysterious and gorgeous just about the way a poem looks. The empty space is as important as the words themselves.
ئهم هۆنراوهیهی و. س. مێروینمان خوێندهوه، لهو كاتهی ژنهكهی بینی له باخچه كار دهكات بۆی نووسی بۆی دهركهوت كه تهواوی ژیانیان بهیهكهوه بهسهر دهبهن. " با بێنمه بهرچاوم دووباره دێین ئهو كاتهی دهمانهوێت و ئهو كاته بههار دهبێت گهورهتر نابین له ههر كاتێكی پێشوتر پهژارهی كۆن وهكو ههوری زوو هێور دهبێتهوه كه بهناوییدا بهیانی به هێواشی بۆخۆی دێت" پرسیارم له پاتریك كرد لهبارهی دێڕی پهسهندی ئهو، گوتی، "گهورهتر نابین له ههر كاتێكی پێشووتر" گوتی ئهو شوێنهی بیرهێنایهوه تیایدا كات دهوهستێت، تیایدا كات چیتر گرنگی نییه. لێم پرسی گهر شوێنێكی وهكو ئهمه ههبا، تیایدا كات بۆ ههمیشه دهمێنێتهوه. گوتی، "دایكم." كاتێك له تهنیشت كهسێكهوه هۆنراوهیهك دهخوێنییهوه، هۆنراوهكه له ماناكهی دهگۆڕێت. چونكه بۆ ئهو كهسه دهبێته كهسیی، بۆ تۆ دهبێته كهسیی،
We read this poem by W.S. Merwin, which he wrote after he saw his wife working in the garden and realized that they would spend the rest of their lives together. "Let me imagine that we will come again when we want to and it will be spring We will be no older than we ever were The worn griefs will have eased like the early cloud through which morning slowly comes to itself" I asked Patrick what his favorite line was, and he said, "We will be no older than we ever were." He said it reminded him of a place where time just stops, where time doesn't matter anymore. And I asked him if he had a place like that, where time lasts forever. And he said, "My mother." When you read a poem alongside someone else, the poem changes in meaning. Because it becomes personal to that person, becomes personal to you.
دواتر پهرتووكمان خوێندهوه، چهندین پهرتووكمان خوێندهوه، یادنامهی فرێدریك دۆگڵاسمان خوێندهوه، كۆیلهیهكی ئهمریكی كه خۆی فێری نووسین و خوێندنهوه كرد و كه ڕایكرد بۆ ئازادی بههۆی خوێندهوارییهكهی. بهو بیركردنهوهیه گهورهبووم كه فرێدریك دۆگڵاس پاڵهوانه ئهم چیڕۆكهم وهكو بوژانهوه و هیوا بیرلێكردبۆوه. بهڵام ئهم پهرتووكه پاتریكی خسته جۆرێك له ترس. جهختی لهسهر چیڕۆكێك كردهوه كه دۆگڵاس گێڕابویهوه لهسهر چۆن، له كاتی جهژنی لهدایكبوونی مهسیح، سهردارهكان قوڵفه دهدهنه كۆیلهكانیان وهكو رێگهیهك بۆ سهلماندنی ئهوهی نهتوانن مامهڵه لهگهڵ ئازادی بكهن. چونكه كۆیلهكان له كێڵگهكان بهملا و ئهولادا دهكهون. پاتریك گوتی بهمه بهستراوهتهوه. گوتی كهسانێك ههن له بهندیخانه وهكو كۆیله، نایانهوێت بیر له بارودۆخهكهیان بكهنهوه، چونكه زۆر ئازاربهخشه. زۆر ئازاربهخشه بیر له ڕابردوو بكهیتهوه، زۆر ئازاربهخشه بیر بكهیتهوه تا چهند پێویسته بڕۆین.
We then read books, we read so many books, we read the memoir of Frederick Douglass, an American slave who taught himself to read and write and who escaped to freedom because of his literacy. I had grown up thinking of Frederick Douglass as a hero and I thought of this story as one of uplift and hope. But this book put Patrick in a kind of panic. He fixated on a story Douglass told of how, over Christmas, masters give slaves gin as a way to prove to them that they can't handle freedom. Because slaves would be stumbling on the fields. Patrick said he related to this. He said that there are people in jail who, like slaves, don't want to think about their condition, because it's too painful. Too painful to think about the past, too painful to think about how far we have to go.
دێری ههڵبژاردهی ئهو ئهمه بوو: "ههرشتێك، گرنگ نییه چ بێت، بۆ ڕزگاربوون له بیركردنهوه! ئهو بیركردنهوه ههمیشهییهی من بۆ حاڵی خۆم زۆر ئهشكهنجهی دام." پاتریك گوتی دۆگڵاس بوێر بووه بۆ نوسین، بۆ بهردهوامبوون له بیركردنهوه. بهڵام ئهو ههرگیز نهیزانی له پێش چاوی من چهنده به دۆگڵاس دهچوو. چۆن بهردهوام بوو له خوێندنهوه، ههرچهنده من خستمه ترس و لهرز. له پێش من پهرتوكهكهی تهواوكرد، خوێندییهوه له پلیكانهیهكی كۆنكریتی بهبێ ڕووناكیی.
His favorite line was this line: "Anything, no matter what, to get rid of thinking! It was this everlasting thinking of my condition that tormented me." Patrick said that Douglass was brave to write, to keep thinking. But Patrick would never know how much he seemed like Douglass to me. How he kept reading, even though it put him in a panic. He finished the book before I did, reading it in a concrete stairway with no light.
دواتر بهردهوام بووین بۆ ئهوهی پهرتووكی ههڵبژاردهی من بخوێنینهوه، "گیڵیێد" ی مارلین ڕۆبنسن، نامهیهكی دریژكراوهیه له باوكێكهوه بۆ كوڕهكهی. حهزی بهم دێڕه بوو: "من ئهمه له ڕوویهكهوه دهنووسم تا پێت بڵێم كه گهر ڕۆژێك پرسیاری ئهوهت كردبێت چیت له ژیانت كردووه ... تۆ بهخششی خودا بوویت بۆ من، موعجیزه، زیاتر له موعجیزهیهك بوویت."
And then we went on to read one of my favorite books, Marilynne Robinson's "Gilead," which is an extended letter from a father to his son. He loved this line: "I'm writing this in part to tell you that if you ever wonder what you've done in your life ... you have been God's grace to me, a miracle, something more than a miracle."
شتێك لهبارهی ئهم زمانه، خۆشهویستییهكهی، پهرۆشییهكهی، دهنگهكهی، دووباره حهزی پاتریكی بۆ نووسین بزواند. پهڕاوی تێبینی یهك لهوای یهك پڕ دهكردهوه بۆ نووسینی نامه بۆ كچهكهی. لهم نامه جوان، و ئاڵوزانه، خۆی و كچهكهی دههێنا بهرچاوی كه سواری بهلهمی كانۆو دهبن بۆ ڕووباری میسیسیپی. دهیهێنایه بهرچاوی جۆگهلهیهكی له قهراغ چیایەک دهدۆزنهوه ئاوێكی تهواو ڕوونی ههبێت. كه سهیری پاتریكم دهكرد دهینووسی، بهخۆمم گوت، ئێستاش پرسیار له ههمووتان دهكهم، چهند كهس له ئێوه نامهیهكی بۆ كهسێك نووسیووه وا ههست دهكهیت بێهیوات كردوون؟ ئهمه زۆر لهوه ئاسانتره ئهو خهڵكانه له مێشكی خۆت ببهیه دهرهوه. بهڵام پاتریك ههموو ڕۆژێك دهردهكهوت، ڕووبهڕوی كچهكهی دهبوویهوه، خۆی به بهرپرسیار دادهنا له بهرامبهر كچهكهی، وشه به وشه به جهختكردنێكی زۆر.
Something about this language, its love, its longing, its voice, rekindled Patrick's desire to write. And he would fill notebooks upon notebooks with letters to his daughter. In these beautiful, intricate letters, he would imagine him and his daughter going canoeing down the Mississippi river. He would imagine them finding a mountain stream with perfectly clear water. As I watched Patrick write, I thought to myself, and I now ask all of you, how many of you have written a letter to somebody you feel you have let down? It is just much easier to put those people out of your mind. But Patrick showed up every day, facing his daughter, holding himself accountable to her, word by word with intense concentration.
ژیانی خۆمم دهویست بۆ ئهوهی خۆم بخهمه مهترسیی بهو شێوهیه. چونكه ئهو مهترسییه توانای دڵی كهسێك ئاشكرا دهكات. با ههنگاوێك بگهڕێمهوه دواوه و پرسیارێكی نائاسووده بكهم. من كێم تا ئهم چیڕۆكهتان بۆ باس كهم، وهك ئهو چیڕۆكهی پاتریك؟ پاتریك ئهو كهسهیه لهگهڵ ئازارهكهی ژیا و من ههرگیز ڕۆژێكیش له ژیانم برسیی نهبووم. زۆر بیرم لهم پرسیاره كردهوه، بهڵام ئهوهی دهمهوێت بیڵێم ئهم چیڕۆكه تهنیا لهبارهی پاتریك نییه لهبارهی ئێمهیه، لهبارهی نایهكسانیی نێوانمانه. جیهانی فرهیی كه پاتریك و خێزانهكهی و باوانی لێی دوورخرابوونهوه. لهم چیڕۆكه، من بهرجهستهی ئهو جیهانی فرهیی یه دهكهم. و له باسكردنی ئهم چیڕۆكه، نهمویست خۆم بشارمهوه. ئهو توانایه بشارمهوه كه ههمه.
I wanted in my own life to put myself at risk in that way. Because that risk reveals the strength of one's heart. Let me take a step back and just ask an uncomfortable question. Who am I to tell this story, as in this Patrick story? Patrick's the one who lived with this pain and I have never been hungry a day in my life. I thought about this question a lot, but what I want to say is that this story is not just about Patrick. It's about us, it's about the inequality between us. The world of plenty that Patrick and his parents and his grandparents have been shut out of. In this story, I represent that world of plenty. And in telling this story, I didn't want to hide myself. Hide the power that I do have.
له باسكردنی ئهم چیڕۆكه، ویستم ئهو توانایه بخهمه ڕوو پاشان پرسیار بكهم، چۆن ئهو دوورییهی نێوانمان نههێڵین؟ خوێندنهوه ڕێگهیهكه بۆ داخستنی ئهو دوورییه. گهردوونێكی ئاراممان پیدهبهخشێت دهتوانین بهیهكهوه هاوبهش بین تیایدا، كه بتوانین به یهكسانی هاوبهش بین.
In telling this story, I wanted to expose that power and then to ask, how do we diminish the distance between us? Reading is one way to close that distance. It gives us a quiet universe that we can share together, that we can share in equally.
ڕهنگه ئێستا پرسیار بكهن چی بهسهر پاتریك دا هات. ئایا خوێندنهوه ژیانی ڕزگار كرد؟ ڕزگاری كرد و نهكرد. كاتێك پاتریك له بهندیخانه دهرچوو، گهشتهكهی ئازاربهخش بوو. خاوهن كارهكان بههۆی تۆمارهكهی له كار دووریان خستهوه، نزیكترین هاوڕێی، دایكی، له تەمەنی ٤٣ ساڵیدا بههۆی نهخۆشی دڵ و شهكره مرد. بێ لانه بوو، برسیی بوو.
You're probably wondering now what happened to Patrick. Did reading save his life? It did and it didn't. When Patrick got out of prison, his journey was excruciating. Employers turned him away because of his record, his best friend, his mother, died at age 43 from heart disease and diabetes. He's been homeless, he's been hungry.
بۆیه خهڵك زۆر شت لهبارهی خوێندنهوه دهڵێن بۆ من زیادهڕهوییه. خوێنهواربوون ڕێگهی له بێبهشكردنی نهگرت. ڕێگهی له مردنی دایكی نهگرت. بۆیه خوێندنهوه دهتوانێت چی بكات؟ چهند وهڵامێكی كهمم لایه ئهمڕۆ كۆتایی پێ بێنم.
So people say a lot of things about reading that feel exaggerated to me. Being literate didn't stop him form being discriminated against. It didn't stop his mother from dying. So what can reading do? I have a few answers to end with today.
خوێندنهوه ژیانی ناوهوهی بارگاوی كردهوه به نادیاری، به ئهندێشه، به جوانیی. خوێندنهوه ئهو وێنانهی پێ بهخشی کە خۆشییان پێی دهدایهوە: چیا، زهریا، ئاسك، زوقم. ئهو شانهی تامی جیهانێكی ئازاد، و سروشتی دهدهن. خوێندنهوه زمانێكی پێ بهخشی بهوهی ونی كردبوو. ئهم دێرانەی هۆزانڤان دیرێك واڵكۆت چهنده بههادارن؟ پاتریك ئهم هۆنراوهیهی لهبهركرد. "ئهو ڕۆژانهی ههڵمگرتن، ئهو ڕۆژانهی ونم كردن، ئهو ڕۆژانهی گهورهتر دهبن، وهكو كچهكان، له قۆڵه لهنگهر گرتووهكانم."
Reading charged his inner life with mystery, with imagination, with beauty. Reading gave him images that gave him joy: mountain, ocean, deer, frost. Words that taste of a free, natural world. Reading gave him a language for what he had lost. How precious are these lines from the poet Derek Walcott? Patrick memorized this poem. "Days that I have held, days that I have lost, days that outgrow, like daughters, my harboring arms."
خوێندنهوه فێری ئازایهتی خۆیی كرد. بیرتان بێت ئهو بهردهوام بوو له خوێندنهوهی فرێدریك دۆگڵاس، ههرچهنده ئازاربهخشیش بوو. بهردهوام بهئاگا بوو، ههرچهنده بهئاگایی ئازاربهخشه. خوێندنهوه شێوازێكی بیركردنهوهیه، لهبهر ئهوهیه خوێندنهوه قورسه چونكه دهبێت بیربكهینهوه. پاتریك بیركردنهوهی ههڵبژارد، وهك له بیرنهكردنهوه، له كۆتایی، خوێندنهوه زمانێكی پێ بهخشی تاكو قسه بۆ كچهكهی بكات. خوێندنهوه ئیلهامی ویستی نووسینی پێ بهخشی، بهستهری نێوان خوێندنهوه و نووسین زۆر بههێزه. كاتێك دهست به خوێندنهوه دهكهین، وشه دهدۆزینهوه. وشهی دۆزییهوه بۆ هێنانه بهرچاوی دوو وشه بهیهكهوه. وشهی دۆزییهوه تا پێی بڵێت چهنده خۆشی دهوێت.
Reading taught him his own courage. Remember that he kept reading Frederick Douglass, even though it was painful. He kept being conscious, even though being conscious hurts. Reading is a form of thinking, that's why it's difficult to read because we have to think. And Patrick chose to think, rather than to not think. And last, reading gave him a language to speak to his daughter. Reading inspired him to want to write. The link between reading and writing is so powerful. When we begin to read, we begin to find the words. And he found the words to imagine the two of them together. He found the words to tell her how much he loved her.
خوێندنهوه پهیوهندیمانی لهگهڵ یهكتر گۆڕی. دهرفهتێكی پێ بهخشین بۆ دۆستایهتی، بۆ بینینی سهرووی باری سهرنجمان. و خوێندنهوه پهیوهندییهكی نایهكسانی برد و یهكسانییهكی خێرای پێ بهخشین. كاتێك چاوت به كهسێكی خوێنهر دهكهوێت، بۆ یهكهمجار دهیبینیت، بهتازهیی، به نوێی. هیچ رێگهیهك نییه بتوانیت بزانیت كامه دێڕی ههڵبژاردهی ئهوه. چ یادهوهری و پهژارهیهكی تایبهتی ههیه، ڕووبهڕوی تایبهتمهندێتی ئهوپهڕی ژیانی ناوهوهی دهبیتهوه. دواتر پرسیار دهكهیت، "باشه، ژیانی ناوهوهم له چی دروستكراوه؟ چیم ههیه كه دهتوانم لهگهڵ ئهوانیتر هاوبهشی پێبكهم؟"
Reading also changed our relationship with each other. It gave us an occasion for intimacy, to see beyond our points of view. And reading took an unequal relationship and gave us a momentary equality. When you meet somebody as a reader, you meet him for the first time, newly, freshly. There is no way you can know what his favorite line will be. What memories and private griefs he has. And you face the ultimate privacy of his inner life. And then you start to wonder, "Well, what is my inner life made of? What do I have that's worthwhile to share with another?"
دهمهوێت كۆتایی پێبێنم به چهند دێڕێكی ههڵبژاردهم له نامهی پاتریك بۆ كچهكهی. "ڕووبارهكه له ههندێك شوێن سێبهراوییه بهڵام ڕووناكی دهدرهوشێتهوه له درزی دارهكان... لهسهر ههندێك لق ژمارهیهكی زۆر توو ههڵواسراوه. دهستت درێژ دهكهیت ڕێك تا ههندێكی لێبكهیتهوه." ئهم نامه جوانهش، كه دهنووسێت، "چاوهكانت داخه و گوێ له دهنگی وشهكان بگره. ئهم هۆنراوهیهم لهبهره حهزم لێیه تۆش بیزانیت."
I want to close on some of my favorite lines from Patrick's letters to his daughter. "The river is shadowy in some places but the light shines through the cracks of trees ... On some branches hang plenty of mulberries. You stretch your arm straight out to grab some." And this lovely letter, where he writes, "Close your eyes and listen to the sounds of the words. I know this poem by heart and I would like you to know it, too."
زۆر سوپاسی ههموو لایهكتان دهكهم.
Thank you so much everyone.
(چهپڵه)
(Applause)