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No: 093, Décembre - Aralık - December 2017

jazz and carnations Featured

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

Humans, carnations, jazz
and the world
reach me having stabbed my portrait.
Whatever was stolen in the small hours of the morning
I am stealing the same
----------------- from the Earth.
Trains pass through my room,
--------- restaurants
----------------- winds
----------------- ----- hissing bullets
and child faces rent asunder
in the uterus
--------- over a blue river.

Were I to depict a river
------------------ -but a blue one-
I’d have depicted I think
all the children
that died of starvation, in wars.

-Who’s then the worst bloody tyrant in history?

All right, you did well
In letting me stretch your belly a little too taut
so that moonlight spurted from my gun;
--------- ours are now all the children of the fall.
Whoever entangled
--------- violets in my beard

whoever is wherever
--------- Wherever I’ve pegged my jacket
--------- Wherever the world has been swirled
I am there swaying in the air
with a scorching heartache
--------- reminiscent
------------------- of a
--------- ----- --------- moaning
--------- ------------- --------- saxophone.
If we consider our world as
------------------- a collection
---------- ------------------- on which are pasted
dried corpses of soldiers
--------- and the burnt bodies of
young men whose hearts had been ripped
out from their bodies
------------------- under torture
--------------------------- there our era is reigning!
there each of us is called ‘Freedom’
------------------- that history will record.

My poetry plunders the world
what I insinuate by words is
the orgasm of rivers and doves.
I kidnap myself
------ through balconies
-------------- that move me away from the Earth.

The plaster of my heart
--------------- - was applied
-------------------------- with the raped
April evenings.
Although my chest
-------- has been rent asunder
by dense maquis
what I offer you
-------- ever morning
-------- -------- is flowery rivers.

An argentine tango on the radio,
you know,
-------- is more proletarian
-------- -------- than its American brother
-------- -------- -------- -------- jazz music.
Born in the brothels of Buenos Aires,
-------- Its father Astor Piazella
-------- -------- is still reigning
-------- -------- as a dirty yellow light thief
in all the Argentinian loves and us.
While I and Astor whose hearts are
-------- -------- somewhat more daring
-------- -------- -------- are asking now:

-Who traced the portrait of the sea on our lips?

I’ve taken up my pen in 1988
-------- -------- as though beginning a poem
dangerous and fugitive. I thought
-------- -------- what would poetry mean
for Huseyin, the grocer?
The juvenile wind and heavy heart
a sweet lie, perhaps.
I wonder where exactly a kilogram of white cheese
might be stored in the heavenly vault?
The feeling might be incomprehensible, but
I fear that barking of dogs may sound no more
-------- -------- -------- -------- in ‘the Star Wars’.
Who would tell about the small town
-------- ----------- asleep in the lap of acacias?
To whom can we describe the bliss one experiences
-------- ----------- while holding in one’s hands
the tiny feet of a newborn.
-------- ----------- Well then, it’s plain

-Peace is life’s fiancé.

Silence everybody! I’m going to sing
----- ---- to the mountains, rocks, trees and rivers
I intend to animate the world
----- ---- just like Australian aborigines
by singing songs.
Silence! If we keep silent,
--------- we might perhaps hear
--------- --------- the dialogues between
--------- --------- --------- the fishermen of Istanbul
and the Chinese philosophers.
--------- We can prick our ears to Prague’s heart
--------- --------- -------- from Bebek
in a misty November afternoon.

Silence! If we keep silent,
We may perhaps see
the rosy breasts of the fiancé bitten by
an infantry soldier from Khorassan while on leave.
A generation annihilated by bullets and in gallows
Is parading before you
--------- S i l e n c e!
A whole generation of victims
parading before you killed with bullets
--------- S i l e n c e!
He was thrown in front of history
--------- as a piece of bloody flesh
--------- ------ We are lying now in a coffin
to the accompaniment of chants,
--------- ------ expectations
------------------ ------ and colorful dreams.
consider my friend

-whose coffin has history been?


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

Last modified on Jeudi, 14 Février 2013 21:41
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