top of page

He had reached Bomonti tram station. He felt the cold of the air once more. There was not long to go before he reached the house that his father bought while he was still alive. He was about to continue walking when he heard the voice of the minibus driver ahead. 


"Atikali, Atikali, is departing! Atikali!!!” Would he go to Atikali at this time of the night? He would.  It would even be more correct to say as follows; in the middle of the night, in that cold, broke, having nothing to do there, only Sait Faik would go somewhere because he came across the voice of the minibus driver. When he went, he would not return empty-handed, he would definitely return with a story. 

In fact, if he walked another hundred meters, he would reach his house, cram into the pit of his double quilt bed, and think of his friend Pancho. Maybe he did, who knows... 

1_edited.png Kopyası
1_edited.png Kopyası

Sait Faik, the great master of Turkish literature and storytelling, broke all the patterns known and applied until then. He changed the flow of modern Turkish storytelling after the Republic. The style he created in his works was accepted all over the world. He was awarded the "Mark Twain" Honorary Award " for his contributions to humanity. This award was given to only two people in Turkey. Before Sait Faik, the same award was given to Mustafa Kemal Atatürk and Atatürk accepted the award. Sait Faik proudly accepted the award, too. 


As if he never existed, never lived, with great naivety, he would watch life and make the subject of what seemed the simplest. Hence the success of his articles. Sait Faik sometimes thought that he lived what he wrote, and sometimes he wrote about what he lived. It was as if he came into this world just to write. He was not capable of doing any other work. He was writing with such skill that it was almost thought that what he wrote could not belong to him. He had developed such a close relationship with literature. Despite this, he had a high level of modesty. He was trying to establish a life in which he sustained his life just by writing. He lived such an invisible life that the inhabitants of Burgaz Island, which is known as the island of Sait today, could only understand that he was such a great writer after his death. He had such a deep silence, that he could easily hear all the sounds of life. He could hear the sound of a tree, a fish, the sea, a leaf, a human… He could hear the sound of all of them, moreover, he made us hear them. Hush… Hush…


bottom of page