Category Archives: Impulses

. . .

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“Nothing haunts us like the things we don’t say.” ~ Mitch Albom

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. . .

No one has imagined us.
We want to live like trees,
sycamores blazing through
the sulfuric air,
dappled with scars, still
exuberantly budding . . .

~ ADRIENNE RICH, in: Twenty-One Love Poems

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. . .

babam canbabam güzel babacığım
o komşu apartmanlara destan kahkahan
kulaklarımda taptaze
oysa ki kaç yıl oldu
sana özgü o şaklamayı son kez duyalı

(aramızdaki son seneni saymayı reddediyorum)

ya takunyandan inşa ettiğin
yemek masamız altı
halımız üstü taban-tabana-kulen?
nasıl güldürürdük seni
televizyonu açmaya gider havalarında
gururla ayaklarına taktığın Alman yapımı terliğine
neredeyse halı altından
attığımız saygı sevgi yüklü çelmelerle . . .

June 14, 2017

 

 

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. . .

on my way to work
a school bus hugs the children
of my immediate neighborhood
a parent a grandparent a guardian is always there
to see them off safely

i think back of my own child’s privilege
hand-in-hand with mine . . .

children also live in other parts of the world
naturally
left without parents grandparents guardians
awaiting their unnatural deaths
contracted by the psychopaths of their birth nations

in those forgotten geographies
even school busses refuse tiny corpses

June 7, 2017

 

 

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Weekend Reflections + . . . (=Impulses)

Sil Baştan

Gücün var mı sevgilim,
Derin sularda inci tanesi aramaya?
Cesaretin kaldıysa
Hala benle aşktan konuşmaya
Söyle canım sevgilim
Hayat bize oyun oynuyor olabilir mi?
Yorgun gibi bir halin var
Duyguların karışık olabilir mi?
Sil baştan başlamak gerek bazen
Hayatı sıfırlamak
Sil baştan sevmek gerek bazen
Herşeyi unutmak
Sanki bugün son günmüş gibi
Dolu dolu yaşamak istiyorum ben
Her ne çıkarsa yoluma
Selam verip yürümek istiyorum ben
Sil baştan başlamak gerek bazen
Hayatı sıfırlamak
Sil baştan sevmek gerek bazen
Herşeyi unutmak

Söz ve Beste: Şebnem Ferah

Start Over

Are you strong enough, my Love
To look for a piece of pearl in deep seas?
If you have courage left in you still
To talk of love with me,
Tell me then my Heart, my Beloved,
Could life be playing with us?
You seem to have a tired look about you.
Could it be that you are harboring mixed emotions inside you?

One must start over sometimes,
Must reset the clock of life.
One must love all over again,
Must forget everything.

I want to live this day to the fullest
As if it were the last;
I want to walk on after I salute
Whatever comes my way.

One must start over sometimes,
Must reset the clock of life.
One must love all over again,
Must forget everything.

(Own Turkish to English translation, 6.4.2017)

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. . . (=Impulses) + Weekend Reflections

birth: female
date: irrelevant
place: somewhere

euphorias
aspirations
blossomings
imaginations
commitments
daily duties
obligations
yearnings
cravings
loves

growth chart: within the norm
head circumference: average height male-equal
self-growth: out for starvation

necessary losses!

hey you
female
eat
eat up yourself
fill identity’s void

necessary losses!

cheat
cheat on your self
repeat
rewind
repeat

necessary losses!

conform
you’d better conform
to your relations and your nations
it’s all about
subjugations

necessary losses!

maturity rate: off the charts
biological aging: per nature’s request
self-confidence: enough to value risks

becoming the woman-self: priceless!

© hülya n. yılmaz, 6.1.2017

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. . .

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.

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