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No: 093, Décembre - Aralık - December 2017

love is the venice of us all Featured

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-------------------- translated by ender gürol

Poetry is the empire
of betrothed maidens and maquis.
I, who was brought up courting music;
look, I am posing for a river.
This is the reason why cities dreams of me;
this is the reason why I came
after having scythed a street.
The occupation of a room we had taken up
was a sign denoting the impossibility of catching
the ray of light in my exiled heart

-Love is the Venice of us all.

Poetry is more accessible to me
than a sparrow.
Every spot where my mouth begins with the morning
is a den of terrorism of course.
Neither paved roads nor fleets can save me,
a barbarian with a scathing look.
For my heart has been prohibited like a jazz musician from Prague.
Yet it is a land covered with heath, Chagal it is…
the best answer being the irreversibility of sorrow.

-Chagal is the elder brother of us all.

Revolutions, eroticism, plants, birds’ leftovers
and heath reveal us: a bleeding history
is our defense.
When I turn you round to face me clasping you by your hips
is a festivity challenging death.
A poppy in your hand leaning on the sky
you swiftly pass by through a narrow and yellow street;
a narrow street is everybody’s knowledge;
the blue child cannot possibly evade their faces,
run away no matter how hard he tries.

-Children’s faces have no telephone number.

No, nothing
will ever go by without being hit by my words.
Even though my heart is shattered like a barren land
I shall bear witness to you all! To our age!
In some corner of the Earth
my breast is thronged with cranes and
I am dancing to the tune of blustery winds.
Young and tender a morning is my weapon,
whose butt is engraved
with marks of my younger years and of sadness.

-You know, don’t you, İzmir is my diary.

 

-------------------- iç. "Allah ve Tango", Cem Yay., 1990

Last modified on Jeudi, 14 Février 2013 21:41
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