I write poems
they don’t get published
but they will
I’m waiting for a letter with good news
maybe it will arrive the day I die
but it will come for sure
the world’s not run by governments or money
but people rule
a hundred years from now
maybe
but it will be for sure
translated by Randy Blasing & Nutlu Konuk
I shut my eyes tight:
you are there in the dark,
lying on your back in the darkness,
your forehead and wrists are a golden triangle in the dark.
My darling, you are inside my eyelids that are closed,
there are songs inside my closed eyelids.
Now everything starts with you in there.
Now, nothing remains there that was mine before you
and nothing that doesn’t belong to you.
translated by Talat S. Halman
Snow closed the road
you weren’t there
kneeling and facing you
I gazed at your face
with my eyes closed.
Ships won’t sail, planes won’t fly
you weren’t there
across from you I was leaning on the wall
I spoke and spoke and spoke
without opening my mouth.
You weren’t there
I touched you with my hands
my hands were on your face.
translated by Talat S. Halman
The snow falling hard through the night
sparkled in the starlight.
There is a house on a street in a city,
a wooden house so far away.
The child sleeping on the pillow
is plump and blond–my son.
There are no guests, no one.
Poor Istanbul out the window.
Shrill whistles screamed outside.
Loneliness feels like prison.
Munevver closed her book
and softly cried.
There is a house on a street in a city,
a wooden house so far away.
The snow falling hard through the night
sparkled in the starlight.
translated by Randy Blasing & Mutlu Konuk
Morning, six o’clock.
I opened the door of the day and stepped in–
a taste of young blue greeted me in the window,
the lines on my forehead remained in the mirror from yesterday,
and behind me a woman’s voice came softer than peach fuzz
and, on the radio, news from my country,
and now, my greed filling and overflowing,
I’ll run from tree to tree in the orchard of the hours,
and the sun will set, my love,
and I hope that beyond the night
the taste of a new blue will await me, I hope.
translated by Randy Blasing & Mutlu Konuk
Snow closed the road
you weren’t there
kneeling and facing you
I gazed at your face
with my eyes closed.
Ships won’t sail, planes won’t fly
you weren’t there
across from you I was leaning on the wall
I spoke and spoke and spoke
without opening my mouth.
You weren’t there
I touched you with my hands
my hands were on your face.
translated by Talat S. Halman
I’ve read about falling leaves in fifty thousand poems novels
and so on
watched leaves falling in fifty thousand movies
seen leaves fall fifty thousand times
fall drift and rot
felt their dead shush shush fifty thousand times
underfoot in my hands on my fingertips
but I’m still touched by falling leaves
especially those falling on boulevards
especially chestnut leaves
and if kids are around
if it’s sunny
and I’ve got good news for friendship
especially if my heart doesn’t ache
and I believe my love loves me
especially if it’s a day I feel good about people
I’m touched by falling leaves
especially those falling on boulevards
especially chestnut leaves
translated by Randy Blasing & Mutlu Konuk
Suddenly something snaps in me and catches in my throat,
suddenly, in the middle of work, I jump up,
suddenly, in a hotel, in the hall, standing up, I fall into a dream,
suddenly, on the sidewalk, a branch whacks me in the forehead,
suddenly a wolf howls at the moon, miserable, enraged, starved,
suddenly stars hang from a swing in a garden,
suddenly I see myself in the grave,
suddenly my head is a sunny haze,
suddenly I cling to the day I started out as if it wouldn’t end,
and every time you float up to the surface. . .
translated by Randy Blasing & Mutlu Konuk
separation swings through the air like a steel bar
it keeps smacking me in the face
I’m staggering
I run away it chases me
there’s no escaping it
my knees fail I’m falling
separation isn’t time or distance
it’s the bridge between us
finer than silk thread sharper than a sword
finer than silk thread sharper than a sword
separation is the bridge between us
even when we sit knee to knee
Because of you, each day is a melon slice
smelling sweetly of earth.
Because of you, all fruits reach out to me
as if I were the sun.
Thanks to you, I live on the honey of hope.
You are the reason my heart beats.
Because of you, even my loneliest nights
smile like an Anatolian kilim on your wall.
Should my journey end before I reach my city,
I’ve rested in a rose garden thanks to you.
Because of you I don’t let death enter,
clothed in the softest garments
and knocking on my door with songs
calling me to the greatest peace.
translated by Randy Blasing & Mutlu Konuk
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
Erm, what am I doing with my life?
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 