After a long day of mentally trying work, my recycled iPad entertains my late evenings by proving that there is a good number of soul-soothing Turkish TV series worth watching -at least for a while. There are also those kinds among them, which seem to seek a soul-torturing impact; or, which “aim at the vein” as we put it in Turkish (“Damardan Vurmak”). I happened to be quite captivated by one of the feel-good selections one night, when a line repeated several times in one episode alone finally attracted my attention: “Ölüm var. Ölümden öte köy yok.” Death exists. There is no other village beyond it. If you have ever read or watched Pollyanna, there is a real good chance that you will recall the initial church scenes where the pastor ended his Sunday sermons with a threat, in a frightening tone of voice: “Death comes unexpectedly!” Now, you can probably better picture my reaction -or my popped-out eyes at such finger-pointing and roll-calling, for that matter . . .
And so, . . .
in the middle of what was supposed to be a lighthearted show,
I was reminded of that much-dreaded inescapable exit from life
Thus began in me a totally new Impulses-Day-posts-strife . . .
~ ~ ~
The Turkish poem of mention may be read in its entirety at Ölümden Öte Köy Yok and it is written by Mehmet Akif Gülhan. As for the Turkish TV series in question, it is/was called Aşk Yeniden.
can you picture me with a flower in my hand
let me guess
you said yes
don’t do that again
don’t rush to me that is
with your answer as of yet
you first must listen to my story-let
i had convinced myself not too long ago
that i had enough of those nature’s prides
killer thorns adamant that they must stab my left
‘wait through this last time until the storm subsides’
was what i uttered the soul for it felt bereft
adding ‘you can then find peace in letting it go’
fate however told me
that blossom was not my last to woo
then came along a spectacular bloom
asking the hurt in me to play along
i recognized its incredible colors
though it was from a distance
i had seen it before
its incense was nothing to ignore
i was so afraid
i’m afraid i still am
as they were and are ever so real
and stampede all over the tiny me
all those agonizing fears
fears of all kinds fears galore
but i am ready to dare to get to know it more
having blossomed on the gentlest soil no doubt
petal by petal this flower came to me
each was donning a soothing scent
it sprinkled utter sweetness into my soul
as if to tip-toe
through my window
it enticed me with a dance
so enchanting that i now think
i must have fallen into a trance
“Under the Tuscan Sun”
an all-time favorite of mine
i must share with you its trademark line
i just changed my mind
watch it one day
you too may then say
what the older woman claimed
about the title of my poem today . . .
© hülya n. yılmaz, 5.20.2017
Reflections Of The Heart by Pino Daeni / Pino Dangelico (1939-2010)
Issız bir mezarlık, kimsesiz bir yer
Gölgesinde ulu, loş bir mâbedin
Bir yığın toprakla bir parça mermer
Sırrıyla haşr olmuş orda ebedin.
Bir yığın toprakla bir parça mermer,
Üstünde yazılı yaşınla, adın;
Baş ucunda matem renkli serviler
Hüznüyle titreşir sanki hayatın.
Seni gömdük anne yıllarca evvel
Gözyaşlarımızla bu ıssız yere
Kimsesiz bir akşam ziyaya bedel
Matem dağıtırken hasta kalblere.
Kimsesiz bir akşam, ezelden yorgun
Hüznüyle erirken Dicle’de sessiz,
Öksüzlük denilen acıyla vurgun
Bir başka ölüydük bu toprakta biz.
Ahmet Hamdi Tanpınar (1901-1962)
[Source: “15 Ünlü Şairimizin Anne Şiirleri”]
kuru kuruya sevdiniz mi siz hiç?
On this day of “Impulses”, I am thinking back on “love” -the kind that is gifted to the bad, the capricious, the inappreciative, the unlikeable, the obnoxious, the mean-hearted, . . . in the same generous, accepting, understanding, tolerating, nurturing, forgiving way that it is reassured infinitely for the good, the thoughtful, the thankful, the likable, the agreeable, undemanding, the kind-hearted, . . . the kind I had been blessed with until the last living hours of my mother, my father, and my maternal uncle.
Then, there is “love” -the kind that I have always known as an idiom in my native tongue, “kuru kuruya sevgi”. The kind that is the same as giving someone water from a dry well . . .
[More to follow someday]
[Photo courtesy of the Turkey Ministry of Culture and Tourism]
have you ever touched the sun
madness you would say at once
even if you were asked in a dream
its proximity is ecstatically freeing
all-immersing are its rays of light
sheer layers of tulle its cocooning heat
when you leave your shine is as bright
no i am not losing my mind
i should know
for i have touched the sun
not only did i not die of that incredible conception
but i also returned with firm determination
to shed fear guilt and self-depreciation
along with assumption blame and expectation
its proximity was ecstatically freeing
all-immersing were its rays of light
sheer layers of tulle its cocooning heat
when i left my shine was as bright
© hülya n. yılmaz, 5.2.2017
[Image Credit: Mirific Sun]
Filed under Impulses, Poetry