Category Archives: Poetry

A Voice from Africa in Turkish

“In Africa”, a poem by Emeghara Collins © March 4, 2019 ~ Translation into Turkish by hülya n. yılmaz © March 6, 2019

In Africa

Like
the ants…

We’re the restless
people of the world…

People in
endless torment…

And must sing
praises in shame…

If any man
from Africa…

Should
go to hell…

That’ll mean
a cheat o Lord…

For in Africa
we live in hell…

We live in
hell o man…

For with our hands
we bury our children…

With our eyes
we see our own death…

Mr preacher, preach
about hell no more…

For in Africa
we’re already in hell…

We live in
hell o man…

Our belly the mirror
of our economy…

Our lives, used to
kola the terrorists…

In Africa
we live in hell…

We live in
hell o man…

How do I manage
these tears in my eyes?

How do I convince
myself, it was all a lie?

Polling units an alter
we must offer our blood…

Go back and
tell God o preacher…

That in Africa
we’re already in hell…

Oh, we live
in hell o man…

Look at those
singing in shame…

Watch their shoes,
longing for summer…

Behind
their eyes…

Lay huge lump
of frustration…

You ask of truth
here is the truth…

In my Africa
we live in hell…

We live in
hell o man…

For mothers watch
as their child is buried…

Yet, we blow
trumpets in shame…

Instead of standing
naked in our holy places…

To seek the
face of God…

For a naked man has
no pocket to put his hands…

Yes
It’s true…

All copyrights@reserved
Emeghara Collins
March 4th
2019.

“Afrika’da”

Karıncalar gibi . . .

Biz dünyanın kıpır kıpır

Insanlarıyız . . .

Bitmez acılar içindeki

Insanları . . .

Ve utanç içinde

Övgüler söylemeye mecburuz . . .

Eğer ki, Afrikadan herhangi bir ınsan

Cehenneme giderse . . .

Bu bir aldatmaca olur,

Tanrım . . .

Zira biz cehennemde

Yaşıyoruz, a be dostum . . .

Biz cehennemde yaşıyoruz . . .

Çünkü kendi ellerimizle

Çocuklarımızı toprağa veriyoruz . . .

Kendi gözlerimizle

Kendi ölümümüzü izliyoruz . . .

Sayın vaiz, cehennem üzerine

Vaazlar verme artık . . .

Zira Afrika’da

Biz zaten cehennemdeyiz . . .

Biz cehennemdeyiz, a be dostum . . .

Karınlarımız

Ekonomimizin aynası . . .

Hayatlarımız

Teröristlere yatak . . .

Afrika’da biz

Cehennemde yaşıyoruz . . .

Biz cehennemde yaşıyoruz, a be dostum . . .

Gözlerimdeki bu yaşların

Nasıl mı geliyorum üstesinden . . .

Nasıl mı inandırıyorum kendimi

Her şeyin bir yalan olduğuna . . .

Oy sandıkları birer adak taşı

Kanımızı ikram etmeye mecburuz . . .

Dön, geldiğin yere geri git ve Tanrıya söyle,

Sayın vaiz . . .

Afrika’da zaten cehennemde olduğumuzu . . .

Amanlar olsun ki,

Biz cehennemde yaşıyoruz, a be dostum . . .

Baksana, şu utanç içinde övgü şarkıları söyleyenlere . . .

Ayaklarındakine bir baksana,

Nasıl da bir yaz mevsiminin özlemi içindeler . . .

Gözlerinde

Buğu buğu bir hüsran . . .

Gerçeği merak ediyorsun ya hani,

Işte gerçek . . .

Benim Afrikamda

Biz cehennemde yaşıyoruz . . .

Biz cehennemde yaşıyoruz, a be dostum . . .

Çünkü annelerin gözü önünde

Yavruları gömülüyor . . .

Ama biz ne yapıyoruz,

Borazanlarımızı çalıyoruz utanç içinde . . .

Kutsal yerlerimizde çırılçıplak

Ayakta kalıp Tanrının yüzünü aramak üzere . . .

Çünkü çıplak bir insanın

Ellerini koyacağı bir cebi olmaz hiç . . .

Evet,

Doğru,

Gerçek işte bu . . .

 

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On the Road Again

not empirically

reflecting
reminiscing
contemplating
all my beloveds, in my love-line
to be remembered at the core of my being
entering my soul’s depths again one by one

i am trying hard not to feel sad
for their passing to death or to life
surely, they, like i, faced many a strife
but they also were given, like i, many a smile

a sorry excuse for a selfish sense of comfort . . .

have i been loving enough?
have i hugged them with a caring
that had by far surpassed the empirical?

on the road again

questions galore

if only one more lifetime with them
could knock today on my self’s door . . .

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, February 27, 2019

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“Taking Loved Ones for Granted”

taking loved ones for granted . . .

my beloved said these words this morning
as a response to my unease with my self
about matters pressing hard on my psyche

he was not judging,
only listening through his heart
reason joined in on our soulful exchange

my dis-ease of the self in many of its aspects
had to come out and speak up,
for the dissatisfaction i have been having
with my wholesome embrace of my loved ones
had become severe, so severe that i knew
deep inside something had to change

a serious improvement was long overdue

my love is immense, it has been always,
but not so my actual actions

so, as i am examining my spirit at its core
i am jotting down these random lines
to have my contemplations, reflections,
emotions, thoughts, potentials,
capabilities, abilities and potential for a
higher consciousness chime in anew,
and i realize how much more there is
that i am ready and willing to do,
to say, to feel, to show, to reassure
and to confirm where my love is due

a self-examination of one’s own awareness
about life’s truly-mattering matters
is what i now find myself do

and this realization
arrived at my doorstep
not a moment too soon

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, February 15, 2019

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A Renga in Turkish (with English translation)

iyi ki kalem var
kalbimin elinde
sesli mi sesli

sevgim susardı yoksa
suni mesafelerde

anlatamazdı özüm
fani benliğimi hiç

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 24 Ocak, 2019

(In English translation, not in the Renga form)

a blessing it is
that my heart’s pen is voiced
my love otherwise would have to remain
without a sound
in our forced distancing

it would be incapable of
speaking for my mortal self

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, January 24, 2019

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An Attempt at a Renga-Poem

The following information on the poetic form Renga stems from poets.org (the underlined parts are my own doing because of my intent to invite you, dear reader to consider giving this tradition a chance in the “Comments” section of this post):

“Renga, meaning ‘linked poem,’ began over seven hundred years ago in Japan to encourage the collaborative composition of poems. Poets worked in pairs or small groups, taking turns composing the alternating three-line and two-line stanzas. [. . .] To create a renga, one poet writes the first stanza, which is three lines long with a total of seventeen syllables. The next poet adds the second stanza, a couplet with seven syllables per line. The third stanza repeats the structure of the first and the fourth repeats the second, alternating in this pattern until the poem’s end. [. . .] Thematic elements of renga are perhaps most crucial to the poem’s success. The language is often pastoral, incorporating words and images associated with seasons, nature, and love. In order for the poem to achieve its trajectory, each poet writes a new stanza that leaps from only the stanza preceding it. This leap advances both the thematic movement as well as maintaining the linking component.”

And here comes my attempt at a Renga-poem:

leaves began to rain from the sky
the Sun cried its rays
clouds yelled their blues

© hülya n. yılmaz, January 1, 2019

 

 

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“my ABCs”

my ABCs

one morning, as i found out
i had learned my ABCs
from A to V, that is
Venezuela
Argentina
Colombia
Suriname
Paraguay
Uruguay
Ecuador
Guyana
Bolivia
Brazil
Chile
Peru

yes, oh yes!
i now know my ABCs
but only in South America . . .

Asia? Europe? Africa?
Australia? Antarctica? North America?

not as of yet . . .

© hülya n. yılmaz, December 31, 2018

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This poem is one of the three I have submitted for the February 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet VI, published by Inner Child Press International.

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“indigenous”

indigenous

are we not all?
indigenous, that is?

at some point or another
our host country has feasted itself
with our native tongue, customs
traditions – our native everything
but then, our origins’ uniqueness began to melt
into our new home’s sphere
we were in no despair
we were devoted
and quested
to make it
here

our religion began to change
as did our original language
our ways of life altered themselves
we also had much baggage
from our long-gone past
we needed to adapt fast

did i say “indigenous”?
are we not all?

© hülya n. yılmaz, December 31, 2018

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This poem will be published by Inner Child Press International in the February 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet VI.

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