Category Archives: Impulses

. . .

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
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

daily duties

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

necessary losses!

hey you
eat up yourself
fill identity’s void

necessary losses!

cheat on your self

necessary losses!

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

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


Filed under Impulses, Poetry, Weekend Reflections

. . .

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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. . .

the need to withdraw
from the present the future
to be able to let go
the nagging angst
over agonies of the past

three balloons were stashed away to last
color-coded in advance with care
favorites but only for me to bear

Erie was vicious that day
the wind was not letting me be
the leading path all frozen up
turned out to be quite a display
over-the knee-deep snow
escorted me from the side
together they put on a dangerous show
to prolong my long-awaited rite

on my poorly prepped frame
the cold felt like a shower of icicles
oozing through every closed-up pore
each tiny drizzle staked to my life its claim

i had never before realized
i had so many orifices
after a while i simply gave up
trying in vain to hold on to my layers

with two crystallized fingers
i held one balloon at a time
which color came first
did not really matter in the least

my lips continued to renounce
even a mumble of that dreaded word
heart’s tongue however
had bloodied tears to pronounce

none of the balloons went very far
one by one they landed on the shore

quite suitable for the beloved two
who had deceased in that distant land
surrounded by three ancient seas

though it too first hugged naked trees
arriving then on familiar soil
the third was to become
my soul-paralyzing challenge yet
it had to be buried along the dead
for that beloved had made
an indefensible fatal mistake
by time and time again setting ablaze
even the debris determined to survive
from among the resilient remains
of my few rebounding cells still alive

© hülya n. yılmaz, 5.16.2017

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