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Articles tagged "Turkish"

from “The Lost Lands of Paradise”

Aram, I am but a poor, ignorant woman. I have no one. My grandchildren laugh at me. I hear the whispers of the people who come to visit me. "She lived too long. Let her die and be at peace already!" I am unlucky, ignorant, unfortunate, lonely, unhappy, resentful, and angry . . . Aram, what would you do if you could see my miserable life now? Would you put me out of my misery with that shotgun you always had with you? Ah, Aram, the answer to all my questions. If only you knew how much I...

Omaira

The question I left you takes a lifetime to answer dear friend whose linen sleeve smells of blood The master’s gaze is bare, I lean back, untroubled my checkmate at hand, a cyanide solitaire in my ring and these two wayward angels, my groomsmen calling the end of the line, the adventure of the adventure, this love muddled with your name Here, a few hazy images stolen time, cloaked in atlas weft in the shuttle, cherry laurel a province dulled under snow Was it love or adventure, this...

If You See Fatima

Translators’ note: Maria was the name of a girl murdered in an honor killing in Sweden; Fatima Shahindal was killed for the same reason a few years before Maria. Maria, If you see Fatima, tell her They are still here, the women-killers, still here with knives, Waiting. Tell her still This darkness, this killing devours us, all our seasons. Tell Fatima This atmosphere changes from one song to another, One sea flies to another, One garden gives rain to another. Every twilight, a door...

To the Islands

She hadn’t seen him since the day when she had bitten his nose and he had chewed on her ear, in a fight over secondhand books. So when, from her comfortable seat on the swing under the mulberry tree, Hazel saw Mutti appear that afternoon, pokerfaced, she didn’t know quite what to do. He came to her and, carefully maintaining his serious expression, said: “I want to take you somewhere.” Under ordinary circumstances, her price for fulfilling this wish of...

The Map

In one of Ankara’s forgotten streets, there is a narrow, dark bookstore. I stop by there every now and then to look at the dusty old books. The moldy old books interest me; the smell of dust gets into the back of my throat there, I chat a little with the old bespectacled bookseller, who sits in a corner at a worm-eaten desk , then I go out into the sunny streets again and walk away. Late one afternoon I went into the bookstore, where the sun rarely penetrates and which has a kind...

Tunnel

The roads I walked didn't tire me, the plans I formed to kill myself didn't work, I did not diminish one bit, I did not increase I forgot the night I died in your nakedness. I found myself like an inner pain I neither escaped from your murder nor died there was blood around, it felt cold, desolate . . . Carrying a tunnel's wind-rush in me I passed through the agony, throughout the road, in time's fragments they reckoned me a shiver and yet, except for a...

Water

I won't talk anymore, I won't say harsh words in the morning for a dream I embroider a flower of pearl on my bosom. I never knew, what you understood from my words, I spoke the forest's frightfulness the plain's tranquility silenced you slept a long sleep, I saw the dream. Unceasingly I spoke of a path: I'm water, I didn't forget my name I spoke of a mountain I came across while wandering; I didn't meddle with the world's affairs, the world does not...

from “Twelve Grams of Happiness”

This World An Invocation to God - I He asked me to meet him at the Kreuzberger Café, promising to tell me a story I could use while still staying within the confines of propriety. His call came at an inconvenient time; it was my day off and I wanted to just sit at home and watch videos. But he refused to be put off. His cousin - that much he was ready to tell me - was "infatuated" with a decent young man, but as a devout Muslim she couldn't have a normal romantic...

Women

With their blue tattoos And bruises from endless mournings They stand still looking at the fire They all shiver when the wind blows Their breasts bend to the earth Carrying burning wood in their hands Old as black rusty cauldrons Women continue their wandering When the fire bursts in a rage Voices multiply The fire burns incessantly there Extinguishing it is such a hassle Women with shrunken breasts Are thinking of the hardness of the wood They'll hold with their...

The East with Its Acrid Wind

I came Silent and sad I abandoned myself to the earth My heart was saying Wait Hurry and find a temple But I was too late The shadow of the walls remained But they themselves had gone Sometimes I say the east The east with its acrid wind Is surely enough for me to understand For comfort I packed in my bag Quatrains and maps I gathered pebbles I let my hair down in sorrow In the midst of that strange crowd Talking of you I looked into the deep sleep of mountain...

It Hurts To Be Here in This World / I Came To Know It

All the crimson stones on earth Are washed with God's blood. That is why crimson stones Teach us how to be children. When we are children God goes around with us. Touches our earrings And our necklaces. Hides in our shoes and The folds of our little girls' Ribbons. I must buy a crimson dress and crimson bed A crimson ring And lamp. The time must come When the mother's time runs and then runs out. The blood that knows to wait Knows too to turn to stone...
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