Nobody
gave it a name
They called–it was deaf, it did not hear
The murmuring of a cat
Is both its thinking
And
Its hearing
I’m writing
This
Which is
My murmuring
One who hears
Wouldn’t write this
Wake up
It was a cat who wrote this.
translated by Ayşe Banu Karadağ
with her slender heels as soft as can be
weary of the calloused caresses she knows
her mane shying at the prodding of the stirrups
one woman
shall break the bit that hampers her within
and canter off to a new mountain lea
lips pursed by the drawstrings of longing sealed inside them
in her sleep she surpasses her stature and rein
though she seems often by quandary enchained
returning to that same page of her book
to read it painfully over and over again
translated by Suat Karantay
My breath is a red bird
In the auburn sky of your hair
When I embrace you
Your legs grow long beyond words
My breath becomes a red horse
I can tell from my burning cheeks
We are destitute our nights are short
Let’s make love at full tilt
translated by Talat S. Halman
Everything started again in a harbor
The sea, the memory, and the woman.
Being naked, you were shivering
Your hair had come loose all the way down.
There were no flowers in the pot, no stars,
I didn’t have the money to buy you flowers.
Only the sky was left and a song,
There were patchy clouds in the sky,
You were there, your eyes too;
Besides your eyes were black as could be.
Everything started all over again.
translated by Talat S. Halman
That was a different time
Of all times,
Inside the tiniest earrings
Of white, round beads
She left by my bedside
Were light beams and shadows.
Perhaps Güler’s hours of love
Remained in those worlds. . .
Or maybe they flew away
Descending onto a vacant shore
With suns receding from rooms.
Day breaks, night descends.
Those kisses and caresses
Are now bright white pebbles
Found by children.
translated by Talat S. Halman
Monday I expect a letter from you
Tuesday I pour my distress onto paper
Wednesday your voice resounds in the void
I shall sigh my heart out on Thursday
Friday I am in the theater of memories
Saturday is pregnant to so much
How about Sunday my love
Just wait for Sunday
translated by Talat S. Halman
I woke, this meant a love in the world
–Your voice was like forsaking a rose.
I was black, like paper on all sorts of life
Each day my name was on those seas, could you see
For a millennium I was an M sound in Lower Egypt.
I struck at loves, didn’t anyone notice
For a millennium I unfurled you in my loneliness.
Whenever my name came up in your bright light
. . . . .This meant a love in the world.
In Egypt once upon a time solitude was lovely
It was a brave new sky one could cross with you
When I glanced, it grew like a lily in my memory
Now it’s a shadow that grows tall in my meadows
This is the way I woke which wasn’t really waking
. . . . .This meant a love in the world.
translated by Talat S. Halman
You’re on my mind when I walk, on my tongue when I talk,
if I sit, You’re next to me, otherwise. . .what do I have?
translated by Paul Smith
Everything happened all of a sudden.
All of a sudden daylight beat down on the earth;
There was the sky all of a sudden;
All of a sudden steam began to rise from the soil.
There were tendrils all of a sudden, buds all of a sudden.
And there were fruits all of a sudden.
All of a sudden,
All of a sudden,
Girls all of a sudden, boys all of a sudden.
Roads, moors, cats, people. . .
And there was love all of a sudden,
Happiness all of a sudden.
translated by Anil Mericelli
How pleasant, oh dear God, how pleasant
To journey on the blue sea
To cast off from shore
Aimless as thought.
I would set sail to the wind
And wander from sea to sea
To find myself one morning
In some deserted bay.
In a harbor large and clean
A harbor in coral isles
Where in the wake of clouds
A golden summer trails.
The languid scent of oleasters
Would fill me there
And the taste of sorrow
Never find that place.
Sparrows would nest in the flowered
Eaves of my dream castle
The evenings would unravel with colors
The days pass in pomengrate gardens.
translated by Ozcan Yalim, William Fielder, and Dionis Coffin Riggs
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.
An 'erm, what I doing with my life?' cabaret.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author 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 